“The Court?” Cvareh repeated, certain he’d misheard his friend.
“How have you not heard?” Zurut was in shock. “The Crimson Court will be happening on Ruana within the fortnight. It’s been all the talk across the city this afternoon.” His friend’s eyes drifted toward Arianna. “Though I see your attentions have been elsewhere.”
Cvareh had always known that choosing a mate beyond superfluous play would result in quite the talk. It was natural as the Ryu, and sometimes the tea parlors on Ruana were hard up for gossip. But today was not one of those days.
He muttered off an introduction, his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t even be certain what name and title he’d given Arianna, if it was the same as the one he’d fabricated before. He couldn’t be bothered.
A Crimson Court on Ruana.
The Dono intended to wash the streets gold with Xin blood. There would be no harbor, no excuses for why key members of their House could not attend. They were being cornered and led to slaughter. And now he had exposed Arianna as his potential mate, a Xin’Anh, easy fodder for any woman who had sought Cvareh’s fondness and the prestige it gave for herself. Cvareh swallowed hard. It was likely to be his first court in the pit.
“Ari.” She stood at the tone in his voice alone. “We need to return to the Xin Manor. Now.”
He was worried for himself. He was worried for maintaining Arianna’s illusion. But his mind remained focused on one thing: his House. He had to return to his sister.
20. Yveun
Underneath the main continents of Nova, there was the “below”. The underbellies of the iceberg-shaped islands had been carved out and hollowed into a reversed anthill of maze-like passages, freezing alleyways, and the seedy abodes where all manner of business was conducted. It was the type of commerce that could only happen in a place where the sun didn’t shine.
Below was a place where the threads that bound the structure of Nova together would barely hold knots. Here was where the Anh and lower Da of Houses were sequestered. Further down were the Bek. And further down, still, lived those who barely had a name. Close to the Gods’ Line, close to the vulgar world of Loom where only first names were used and all elegant social structure was lost.
It was a place a King should never venture, for it was far, far beneath him.
But it was in these places that he dredged up gold from among the rock and raw metal of his society. Leona had come from these chilled and dank halls. He had been given whispers and guidance regarding the woman he would find down here from Coletta, and Yevun had pulled Leona into the sunlight, molding her into something that truly shone by obliging his whims. Once again, this would be how he would find his next Master Rider.
Hooded and robed, he kept his face downward, focused on the smooth, sinking stairs that wound around a building. Wind whipped against his left side, intent on pulling him from the perch and tipping him into the abyss below. Graffiti stretched against the wall under his palm, glazed with moisture from the perpetual chill. Xin swords and books were painted atop Rok crowns that dwarfed Tam scales.
Blood was thick in the air. He could almost see it alight in the alleyway he turned into. A fruit cocktail of the scents of Dragons who had died from illegal duels.
How many organs were fed to the Fen below from fights gone awry? It was a wonder that the race below the clouds hadn’t learned of Nova sooner. It was all chance that their world and the world below had been separate for so many years. It had been chance they had connected at all.
He’d been following the blood for hours now. It led him to illegal pits and questionable feeding halls that engaged in the darkest sort of trade one could imagine on Nova—imbibing off the living. It was said that when a Dragon had a taste of a living host, nothing could satiate the hunger that followed other than more blood. It ensured the feeding halls stayed in business with a slew of loyal patrons. It also drove Dragons to madness with the craze that set in when they had gone too long without their last taste.
Still, it would be in one of these places that he knew he would find her. His current Master Rider had about as much tact as a battering ram and, unsurprisingly, turned up nothing when he’d ventured under to ask questions. There were things Yveun knew he would have to do himself if he wanted them done at all. He couldn’t send another to do it, for that was no better than a half measure in the worst sort of way. The best foe was one slain with one’s own claws.
Revelries and betting flooded his ears as he neared the fighting pit. Yveun entered, unhindered, to take his place among the crowd. The runner of the ring sat at its side before a low table, deciding fighters, calling odds, and taking bets. It reminded him that was a role he still needed filled before the Crimson Court was to happen, lest Petra get the notion that she may suggest one of her own with the Court happening on Ruana. Unsurprisingly, the woman who ran the pit here was a Tam. The balance keepers of Nova were unparalleled in ensuring the best fights by sensing the skill of the fighters involved.
In the pit, two Dragons tumbled. A blue Xin with the symbol of House Rok emblazoned on his cheek and a green Tam with the same. It was a battle of underdogs, and no matter who won, all the red native-born Roks would be pleased with the outcome.
Yveun watched five fights. No one shone. No woman who stepped into the ring fought with the grace and blood lust he assumed his target to possess. Yveun departed in frustration.
He continued on until the clouds below began to turn purple with the first light of dawn. Still, the woman eluded him. Perhaps it had merely been rumor, a grand underdog story those beneath delighted in telling of a no-name, no-rank, rising above and felling those with title and prestige. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.
Yveun wound upward, climbing questionable ladders and precarious stairways. As he neared the upper side of the island, the conditions steadily improved, but the weight of the world above them only grew heavier. The whole of the rock that supported Lysip was trapped beneath a nearly palpable weight, as if the whole expanse of the island above could suddenly drop its heft into his very lungs. A physical reminder of the world above that was so close and so far at the same time.
All roads funneled into one main tunnel that cut through the island. It was gated and guarded at all times. Yveun made for it with the ease of nearly being home, pulling his hood from his face in preparation to meet the Riders who manned the portal.
A hand shot from the darkness. It wrapped itself around his neck, claws pressing into his throat. Yveun only smiled.
“There you are,” he whispered.
“Tell me, Dono,” a deep and feminine voice husked into his ear from behind. “What happens if I kill you here? Do I become the Dono of Lysip?”
“Not quite.” He made no motion away, assessing the power in the woman’s forearm, the tension in her magic, the skill required to hold him in place using her claws while not drawing blood that would alert his Riders with a scent. “Coletta’Ryu would be come Coletta Dono, as this would not be a sanctioned duel.”
“So killing you will be for bragging alone.” Her fingers tensed.
“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“Your walk.” She inhaled deeply. “Your scent.”
“How do you know those things?”
“We know of the sun here below, even if we never see it,” she retorted. He’d allow her to keep her secrets, for now. It betrayed her cunning. There were ample plausible explanations: She’d seen him in a past Crimson Court. She’d worked at the estate. She’d been taken as a personal Anh for one of his To. She’d worked with one of Coletta’s flowers. It all mattered naught to him.
“Do you wish to see it? The sun?”
She gasped laughter, keeping her mouth by his ear. “You think you can buy your life with pretty things? With shiny baubles and the promise of ruby hallways everyone so lusts after in your grand palace?”
“I hope not. Or you are no
t the woman I am hoping for.” She remained silent, letting him speak. “I hope to buy your life with the promise of the one thing I hope you crave more than all else.”
“What do you think I desire?” she purred, her fingers tapping against his throat.
“Blood. More blood than you can gorge yourself on.” Dragons didn’t become as strong as this woman by remaining pure and not imbibing. She clearly cared naught for taboo and he wouldn’t shun her for it. He’d feed this little monster if it made her his pet.
“How will you give me that?”
“Come with me. Come as my new Master Rider, and I will see you have all the blood and carrion your claws and fangs would ever desire.”
She let him go. Yveun turned. The woman was cloaked as he was, hooded, and Yveun could only make out a strong chin and hooked nose from the shade of her cowl, but he could not recognize the shade of her skin in the low light. A smirk adorned her mouth, and Yveun was certain he’d won.
“I will think it over.” She turned, as if her sole intent was to prove him wrong.
“You would be wise not to disobey your King,” he cautioned, claws jutting from his fingers.
She merely glanced at them. “I gave you your life, you tolerate my disobedience. A fair exchange, Dono.”
The woman gave a small wave, dropping off the side of the wall and into the depths below. He didn’t hear her land, her movements more precise than that of a cat’s. Yveun bared his teeth into the darkness, frustrated and delighted at the same time.
He hadn’t even learned her name.
21. Florence
Florence was quite literally running out of foul language. She spat vulgarity with the same reckless abandon as she pulled on the throttle. The train went faster when she cursed at it.
She turned to the pressure gauges, only about three-fourths of which she could actually boast an understanding of their numbers. And of that three fourths, she only had a rudimentary working knowledge. Ari would have been driven up a wall. Helen and Will would laugh at the mere sight of her behind the engine. But none of them were there now.
Florence didn’t have an endless supply of numbers that spewed from the depths of her mind, only some vulgar phrases. She was certainly not one of the most gifted Ravens to walk the guild hall in Holx, just a little crow on the run. She had her wits, a basic amount of education in a number of areas, two dead bodies, and a lot of endwig as motivation for some quick thinking.
The train rattled and shook as it gained steam. Embers spit out from the engine gate, singeing her clothes and skin. The vessel lurched violently, sending her scrambling for some variety of hold that wouldn’t leave her tumbling out the side of the car. The clamp of teeth echoed by her ear as an endwig nearly missed her shoulder.
With a grunt, she righted herself in the engine room, her hands finding the levers again. Endwig were now splattering against the side of the train. Their attempts at a hypnotic hum were drowned out by the sound of the wheels on rails, the squeal of steel on steel as they rounded a corner in the wood.
It looked like they’d gained enough steam—finally—to outrun any real threat from the monsters. Florence still pushed the train hard, like a bullet from the chamber. This wasn’t the Underground, where the next move was to proceed with quiet and caution. The endwig slept during the day and fed in the twilight hours. She would take them past the dawn and into the only “safe” time they had now.
They. Florence hoped it was still a case of “they” and not just “her”. Nora and Derek only had to fend off the endwig for a short time before she’d gotten the train up to speed. After that it was just a matter of not falling out. Florence began to ease up the steam. If they couldn’t handle staying on the train, she really had no hope of helping them all the way to Ter.1.
The train coasted along the track, slowly losing momentum. They’d wasted a lot of coal on their flight, and she’d have to make what was left stretch. That meant using the brakes as minimally as possible and squeezing every last bit of heat out of the steam that it had to give. It was nearly midday by the time they finally ground to a halt.
She collapsed, exhausted, still sweating from the heat of the engine and the stress. Florence leaned against the wall, her head tipped back. She took in long, luxurious breaths of air and savored the silence. The blood of Anders and Rotus was caked on the floor around her. She’d ditched their bodies at some point in the early dawn in the hopes they might draw away the endwig. But their blood remained, and likely would for some time.
The train sighed softly with motion from the back. Florence heard footsteps nearing the engine door. She pulled her revolver, holding it up at arm’s length.
Lined up in her sight was a pair of familiar coal colored eyes. Derek slowly raised his hands.
The gun was heavy in Florence’s palm. It was like she lifted a cannon made of pure lead, not a revolver. Her finger tensed on the trigger. The hammer struck on the gun.
And nothing happened.
“Bang.” Florence had run out of canisters three hours ago. “If you were an endwig, you’d be dead,” she lied.
“Good thing I’m not.” Derek seemed to have the sense not to point out the falsehood of the weary Revolver’s claims, seeing as she’d just saved his life.
“Good thing.” She dropped the gun with a loud clang as it met the metal floor and closed her eyes. “Did Nora make it?”
“She did.”
“I felt one of your explosions. Damn near knocked me out of the engine,” Florence muttered. Exhaustion crashed down on her all at once. She never wanted to open her eyes again.
Derek stepped up into the engine, approaching her without hesitation or question. A hand slipped under her knees, the other rounding her back.
“Don’t,” she commanded as he tried to lift her.
“Nora is already asleep. I’m taking you back to the car with us.”
“No.” Florence shook her head. “We’re too close to the endwig. I need to sleep in the engine in case we need to make a sudden and unexpected escape.”
“Are you our Raven now?”
“And your Rivet. And your Revolver.” Florence grinned, opening her eyes halfway. She felt drunk off fatigue and high on the remnants of adrenaline. “It doesn’t matter what you want to call me. I promised the Vicar Alchemist I would get you to Ter.1, and you can bet that’s what I’m going to do.”
Derek rolled on his side, settling next to her. She watched him until her eyelids were spent and her neck was too exhausted to fight gravity a moment longer. Her head tipped onto his shoulder and Derek kept his arm around her.
They both stank of perspiration and blood, but neither cared. He tilted his head, resting it on hers. “Don’t be an Alchemist next.”
“Why?”
“Then you won’t need Nora or me.”
She huffed at the notion. “I don’t need you now.”
He chuckled by way of agreement.
“But I like having you both around,” Florence confessed. The two had been annoying for her, but it would be lonely without them on the journey. There was comfort to be found in the warmth of another, and the radiant heat reminded her for a moment longer that she was not alone.
22. Cvareh
The wind was still under his heels as Cvareh sped through the halls of the Xin Manor. Arianna was back sequestered to her room, only placated with the promise that he would return later to explain the Crimson Court in full. Ever since Zurut informed him that the Court was coming to Ruana, all he could think about was what he had to do to help Petra and his house.
For all the urges he felt toward Arianna, Cvareh would not let his loyalty to Xin be shaken. She was a new presence in his life, and he was loath to admit that she would likely force herself to be a temporary one. But his House would be his family forever. It was his home, his legacy, the greater picture of which he was only one small
part.
He ignored all others, focusing on the one place he expected to find his sister. Up a curving stairway, he ascended to the heart of Xin Manor. The ancients lined the walls. Dragons with mighty bat-like wings and mouths filled with pointed teeth hovered overhead, sculpted with lifelike precision. Candlelight flickered over their faces, slowly diminishing into nothingness.
Cvareh emerged from the smothering blackness into a room of pure light, feeling like he had been born again in the process. His eyes narrowed to thin slits, adjusting to the sudden change in brightness. They found the room’s focal point. Not any sort of art, but a woman. Muscles bulged from her skin, fueled by frustrations that Petra had yet to relinquish. Her eyes were locked on the Temple of Lord Xin, visible in the far distance through the glass windows that made up more of the walls than the stone.
“Brother.” Petra shifted slightly on the pedestal where she sat.
He accepted her invitation, sitting on the opposite edge. He leaned so their backs and heads would touch. One mind, one body, one unit that existed for House Xin. Cvareh closed his eyes and readied his ears for the words of the Oji.
“Yveun seeks to root out weakness in our House.”
“He does.”
“I informed Cain that all are to be ready, that we are to be the ones to fight duels. We will open our land to his Court, but I will not give him our blood easily.”
Cvareh expected no less. “I will seek out Finnyr for potential challenge opportunities.”
“Let it be done.”
None could ever say that Petra hesitated. In moments she could assess a situation for an opportunity and decide upon the best course of action. It was more than Cvareh could do in hours some days.
“I cannot keep you from this Court.” Her voice shifted slightly at the mere notion of him.
Cvareh gave the world a tired smile. “We knew this day would come.”
“I cannot stand for you.”
“I understand.”