She wore tight bindings around her hips and chest, petals of decorative fabric floating around her hips. Camile also wore a fitted top, tight to her breast, her stomach bare. Andre had forgone a shirt altogether.
The more clothes one bundled themselves in, the harder it was to move and fight. The Fen gave up practicality for the sake of an insane notion of modesty. Leona could understand the argument for some extra clothes for the fragile race; even without coronas, their skin was thinner, their blood cooler, and they had less resistance to wind and cold built into their bodies. But she thought three shirts were excessive by any stretch.
Leona watched the gray people as they moved through the train station, utterly oblivious to the rank smell of Dragon blood that wafted up from the ground under their feet.
“You are the master of this station. You must know what transpires between its walls.” A dull thud scattered some of the more skittish Fen as Andre slammed the small frame of a man against a wall.
“I-I was not—” The man gasped for air, Andre’s hand tightening around his throat. “—here that day.”
“Then you are useless.” Andre’s hand tensed, his claws punching through the man’s neck on both sides. Crimson blood ran over his fingers, preparing the floor for where the lifeless body fell.
“That’s going to stain, you know.” Camile kicked her feet from where she sat at the ticketing counter. “Their blood isn’t like ours.”
Andre looked at where the blood had spattered his trousers with a grimace. Leona smirked at how he could always forget that fact. Bringing the hand to his mouth, he took a timid lap of the blood.
“Hanging stars! You actually ate it!” Camile howled with laughter at Andre’s offended scowl.
“What did you think it would taste like?” Leona drawled, crossing over to the counter. A small woman quivered behind it, ordered in place by Camile. “Were you here when the King’s Riders fell?”
The woman blubbered for a minute before collecting her words. “I was not.” Leona sighed heavily and Camile swung her feet over the desk. The woman held up her hands, backing against the wall. “But I know what happened. The woman who works the desk on even numbered days of the month was here and she’s my friend and she told me everything. I’ll tell you what I know.”
Leona and Camile exchanged a look.
“Can’t we just kill her and be done with it?” Andre spoke in Royuk. “She’s clearly going to be useless.”
“Let her speak.” Leona stopped him with a palm. She spoke in Fenish so the gray woman would understand her calling off Andre.
“You’re too nice, Leona To.” Andre pouted against the wall. “You never let me have my fun.”
“I let you have too much fun,” she replied in Royuk. “Plus, you can kill her once we have the information we need.” Leona turned back to the woman, shifting her language again. Fenish was soft and delicate, just like the people who it originated from. “Now, what do you know?”
“A Dragon attacked the Riders.”
“Blue skin, orange hair?”
“I think so… He wore a hood, goggles, and mask. But that sounds right.” The woman’s heart raced so loudly, Leona could hear every beat. She was lying through her ugly flat teeth, but Leona knew the Dragon could only have been Cvareh.
“And he had people traveling with him. Tell me about them.”
“Two.” The woman nodded frantically. “A girl—a Raven—with a revolver. Standard issue for initiates in Dortam. I don’t know how she got it.”
That would be Florence. Leona kept her thoughts to herself. But the pasty little Mercury Town man’s information continued to hold up, affirming that the decision to barter with him was a wise one. “And the other?”
The Fenthri looked around nervously. Leona tilted her had to the side in interest. No matter how afraid of them she was, she was more afraid of uttering this one name.
“I can’t say for certain… But the rumor I heard is that it was the blight of New Dortam.”
“The blight of New Dortam?” Leona knew exactly who the woman spoke of, but she was going to make her say it. She wanted to watch this Fenthri squirm, to understand the root of the fear.
“The White Wraith.” The Fenthri’s eyes flicked around like beady little flies, as though the criminal could be summoned with just an utterance.
“Why do you think it was this…White Wraith?” Leona asked coyly. She had her own reasons to think it was the infamous organ thief. But she wanted to hear the woman’s logic.
“Three days ago, the harbor master reported a break in. A theft. He discovered the funds missing in the middle of the day, in broad daylight! Now the whispers from the station… everyone knows it must be the Wraith. I don’t know how he’s expanded his territory so widely, but we are all in danger if it is the case.”
“Do you fear the White Wraith?” Leona asked loudly.
“Everyone in Ter.5 does. And you should do the same. The Wraith is infamous for a—”
The woman gurgled blood from her flooding lungs. She looked down in shock. She never even saw Leona move over the counter to thrust her razor sharp claws into her chest. Leona leaned forward to whisper in the woman’s ear. “There is only one in this wide world whom you should truly fear. And that is your King.”
Leona held her hand in the woman’s chest cavity until the last muscle spasms faded from her heart. Withdrawing her hand, Leona wiped it on the woman’s shirt, taking a page out of Andre’s book. It worked to an extent, but she’d want to wash it sooner than later.
“Isn’t she cute when she defends her mate?” Camile teased to Andre.
“If only the Dono was here to witness it,” he joked back.
“Now, don’t be jealous. I would kill Fenthri for your honor too.” Leona grinned, flashing just enough of her teeth to caution them to tread lightly when it came to her fondness for their sovereign.
“I’m not sure if that’s really a compliment…” Andre folded his hands behind his head, falling into step with them.
“Given the high regard you hold Fenthri in,” Camile finished.
“But defend us to, hmm, a member of House Tam? Then maybe we’ll think you care.” The man grinned.
Leona laughed. “Your laziness knows no bounds. You just want me to fight your duels for you.”
“No one can tear out throats—” Camile started.
“Or hearts—” Andre jumped in.
“—or maim like you. Just look at how long your beads are compared to ours.” The other woman ran her fingers over the strand that ran down from Leona’s right ear.
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Leona batted her hand away.
“Not unless you’re Yveun Dono,” Andre muttered.
“Enough.” Leona would only let their jokes go so far. They were her friends, but she was their leader foremost. If she didn’t exercise the fact now and again, they would fall out of place and she’d never wrangle them.
“So where are we headed?” Camile asked as they strolled through the streets of Ter.5.2. “Or are we just taking an afternoon walk?”
Leona extended and retracted her claws. “I want to speak with this Port Master.”
The man proved to be relatively useless, imparting no additional information than what the woman at the station had already delivered. Leona milled about his tiny office, almost hitting her head twice on the lamp that hung from the ceiling. She’d begun to tune him out, letting Andre and Camile deal with his ramblings so her mind was free to wander.
She didn’t much care how the White Wraith had infiltrated the man’s offices. For all Leona cared, the Wraith could actually be a specter from the other world. Perhaps that would explain the strange blood smell she picked up in Dortam and again in the station. Perhaps it would actually give Leona a challenge to look forward to on the barren rock known as Loom.
But specter or mortal, there was some logic around how this person was moving. The little man in Dortam would have Leona believe so, and Leona was
actually inclined to trust his word after so much else had proved true. She looked out the windows at the harbor.
“Give me the logs of the ships that were here the day you discovered the theft, and a day before.” Leona interrupted suddenly. The harbormaster blinked at her. “Now.”
He rummaged through his office, fat little fingers wiggling over files to find the documents she requested. He laid them out across the desk in batches.
“Information on all these ships.” Leona pointed to the ledgers.
“Yes, right.” The man repeated the process until she had all she needed.
“Now, get out. You reek of Fen, and if I am forced to smell it for another second I will eat your throat.”
The man fled the office in a sweat, only exacerbating the problem. Leona sighed heavily the second the door slammed behind him. The air was heavy enough as it is; she didn’t need the Fen to make it worse.
“Would you really eat his throat?” Andre leaned against the desk next to her.
“Twenty gods above, no.” Leona grimaced at the idea. “But he certainly doesn’t know that.”
“You’re thinking Cvareh is on a ship?” Camile rounded the other side of the desk, scanning the documents.
“The Wraith broke into the harbormaster’s office, not the air admiral’s,” Leona reasoned aloud.
“His scent will be harder to pick up the closer he is to the salted sea.” Andre followed her logic.
“I can’t decide what’s more impressive, the idea that the Fen helping him would know that, or a Xin who’s never set foot on Loom could.” Camile hummed in thought.
“I don’t think we’re facing an ordinary Fen,” Leona finally confessed aloud.
“You can’t believe this ‘Wraith’ nonsense.” Andre rolled his eyes dramatically. “Lord Xin would let none escape the afterworld.”
“A true Wraith, no,” Leona agreed. “But there is more to this. I can smell it.” She didn’t tell them about the strange blood scent she’d picked up twice now. If they couldn’t figure it out, they didn’t deserve to know.
“Which ship do you think he’s on?” Camile asked.
Leona looked over the ledgers. Five ships had left the port in the two days around the theft. She pushed the two that sailed the day before aside. The harbormaster collected taxes and tariffs daily—meaning he’d notice a safe discrepancy quickly. The Wraith would have left before the harbormaster really began work for the day. That narrowed it down to two ships. One had left in the night and the other in the early dawn.
She straightened, looking at the big picture and weighing her options. “We ride for Ter.4.2 and will swing the wide route across the coast.”
“We’re not going after a ship?” Andre asked.
“There are two possible options, but it doesn’t matter which one Cvareh is on. Four out of five ships, including these two, were headed for Raven territory. That’s our best chance.” The reasoning was sound, and her gut corroborated the fact. Still, something was off.
The schematics Cvareh had stolen for the Philosopher’s Box would need a Rivet to interpret and complete. One vessel had headed to Ter.5.4, the last city in the Revolver’s territory that was the closest to the Rivet’s. Leona pursed her lips. Perhaps they had just wanted to leave Ter.5.2 quickly after the commotion at the station. Once in Ter.4 it was easy to get anywhere with the help of the Ravens and all their moving machines.
“When we find Cvareh, what are we doing with him?” Camile asked.
Leona thought about it a moment. Yveun Dono had never much specified what he wanted done with the traitor, only that he wanted the schematics back. She could whisper and ask him, but saw no need to bother her King.
“Well, Petra has assured us that he’s not even on Loom—that he is praying to Lord Xin high in the mountains.”
Andre snorted, showing how much stock he put in the claim.
“So we’re hunting a Wraith, a Fen, and a man who was never even here.” Leona’s lips curled into a malicious grin.
“So no one will care if such creatures were to, say, vanish.” Camile wasted no time on the pick up.
Andre laughed aloud. “Very cloak and dagger. What are we, assassins now?”
“I don’t think we can assassinate someone who isn’t here.” Leona started for the door. “And don’t act like you’ve never cleaned up a mess before. I know how many invisible beads you both wear.”
They all flashed their teeth madly. The Riders were the King’s men and women, the Dono’s most loyal warriors. If they were to be thieves, nothing would keep them out. If they were to be advisers, none would give better counsel. And if they were to be assassins…
Then let the scent of blood put a gnawing hunger in their stomachs.
20. CVAREH
They stood in complete darkness at the end of a dinky pier. His Dragon sight pierced through the blackness, enhanced by the goggles Arianna had upgraded him to. The world was reduced to a reddish filter over shades of gray, but he could see clearly enough to move without hesitation.
The woman was nothing if not meticulous. She waited for the boats around them to creak with every small wave before undoing another knot or line. She was dressed once more in her full regalia as the White Wraith: a pistol on her thigh, canisters around her waist, her winch box and spools of extended line on her hips and strung through her harness.
His attire wasn’t much different. It had been strange to be outfitted by the two Fenthri. Foremost, because it had been the most attention they’d paid him his entire time on Loom to date. But mostly because he’d not the foggiest idea how the guns and canisters strapped around his hips worked.
Florence did her best to explain them, but the girl went into far too much enthusiastic detail about alchemical runes, stored magic, latent power, adding will to the shot, and different types of powders for Cvareh to make sense of it. Arianna’s explanation made a lot more sense: point one end at the enemy, pull the trigger, and hope they die. The longer he spent around her, the more he saw Petra in her. The two had undeniable similarities in the way they approached the world. Things fit neatly into binaries defined by “that which would help them achieve their goals,” or “that which would hinder them.” He smirked privately, amending the last: That which had to be eliminated. He wondered if they would get on well, or be two strong personalities repelling, if they ever met.
Which really was a foolish thought, because there was no way Petra could come down to Loom—that was why he was there in the first place. As the Xin’Oji, Petra had too many eyes on her; navigating the Crimson Court for potential allies and enemies was too necessary an occupation to leave. No, the only way Ari and Petra would ever meet would be if the Fenthri traveled to Nova, and that was a trip he couldn’t imagine her taking.
Finally finished with the ropes, Arianna nimbly boarded the rocking vessel and held out a hand for him. Cvareh blinked at the gesture. She extended her arm a little further, impatiently.
He didn’t want her help; he wasn’t a soft House Tam. He was House Xin. He was sharp of claw and mind, and something like boarding a skiff wasn’t going to—
The boat rocked unexpectedly. With one foot on the pier and one foot on the vessel he was sent stumbling forward, arms flailing. Between the waves and his balance issue, the floor beneath him heaved back and forth, leaving him straining to find footing.
Two strong hands gripped his shoulders and Arianna virtually shoved him into the front seat. She set her feet wide, her knees bending with each wave to keep her balanced. Her face dominated his field of vision as she encroached on his space, their noses nearly touching.
“We don’t have room to be proud,” she hissed. “I must accept your help tonight when I need it. You must do the same. Or we will die here.”
All her pride, all her hatred for him and his people—however unjustified—she had put aside. Cvareh felt as though his slate had somehow been expunged of the crimes she had chiseled in from before they had even met. This was a woman on
a mission: the White Wraith, free of the prejudices her alter-ego carried like armor.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He admired her resolve. For all her faults, this was a side of Arianna he could appreciate. If they failed tonight, it would not be because of him.
“Good. Now no more talking. Voices carry over water.” She eased away and sat in the back seat. Keeping the small sail furled, Arianna began straining against two oars, pushing them through the choppy inner sea.
Her warmth retreated with her, but her scent remained. He smelled her keenly over the salty sea. They both knew what was going to happen, but hadn’t talked about it much from the start. He would imbibe from her again before the night was out. He would taste her power once more.
Cvareh’s eyes dilated in the darkness.
The floating prison of Ter.4.2 grew in size. What had been nothing more than a black silhouette breaking the horizon on their way into port was now an ominous colossus of woven metal and impenetrable stone. Arianna had gone over its basic structure with him three times over: an outer ring of cells, an inner guard tower from which guards could observe their tenants at any point without the convicts being aware of who was where. As a result, the prison needed fewer guards. The idea of being watched proved a stronger deterrent against unwanted behavior than the actual, physical presence of someone watching.
From Arianna’s limited time to research, she had come to the conclusion that there were between five and fifteen guards on staff at any time. But they were all heavily armed and well trained—trained to kill before asking questions.
She pulled the oars a short way out from the rocky island, allowing them to coast toward the shore. When they were within a stone’s throw, she stood, easing herself out of the boat and into the water. Arianna held onto the skiff, inspecting the walls, waiting.
She extended her hand and he took it. It was like a dance, and she was leading. Everything Cvareh had been taught screamed against letting another be in control. It was opposed to the dominance structure of Dragon society. But with Petra, obedience spun from loyalty was a familiar feeling for Cvareh—a feeling that Arianna was slowly stealing for herself as well.