The Master sat heavily, suddenly deflated. “If she still doesn’t, then we will honor her wishes. For the world will slip into true anarchy if the guilds begin to go against their Vicars.”
“Who would have suspected the Harvesters were lucky for their Vicar dying,” Nora whispered.
“It was certainly convenient for them,” the Master agreed, most of the table echoing the dangerous sentiment.
Florence remained at the table until the lamp glow was dim and the food had long since been finished. She listened to Masters and journeymen alike lament their situation. She listened to how they would want to do things differently.
By the time the last of them finally broke away, her mind was made up.
She knew where gunpowder would be kept. She’d know it by logic and looks alone. All good Revos were trained how to properly store their explosives.
“Florence,” Derek called after her, arm in arm with Nora. The two exchanged a look, and Nora gave a small nod, breaking away and starting in the opposite direction. Derek sprinted the distance between them.
She looked into his dark eyes, searching, waiting. She would not say the first word, not this time. He had sought her out, after all.
“You’re walking a dangerous path.”
“I’m walking the only path.” She shifted her weight, still assessing if they were, indeed, talking about the same thing. “Will the rest of them see it that way?” She gave a nod in the direction of the now-empty hall.
“I can’t say for certain…” The very idea of it made Derek uncomfortable, but he was not objecting. He had yet to speak a true word against it.
“Say for you.” Florence took a long step toward him, their toes almost touching. She ran her hands down Derek’s forearms slowly, encircling his fingers with hers. The touch demanded his attention. It was slow, but not quite sensual; demanding, but not quite heated. There was a certain life-changing weight to it that almost negated the need for a link mark. “Here, now, no one is around, Derek… What do you want, as an Alchemist?”
“I want to fight,” he whispered, as though the words themselves could damn him in some way.
“Good.” Florence squeezed his fingers.
For the first time in her life, she thought about kissing someone. She thought about closing the gap between them and placing her mouth on his, about crossing the line of familiarity into desire. It would be easy to do, almost too easy, and somewhere inside herself, she knew it wouldn’t be unwelcome.
“Why do you stand with me?” she asked, holding them in place, letting the world fall away in the gaps between her words.
“Because you see the world differently. You have a connection to the greatness that Loom was, like the elders… But you look with eyes like mine, like Nora’s, to how that will change to make a future for all of us. You’ve seen so much.” Derek swallowed. “Because you’re as undeniable as a pulse.”
“Stay with me, Derek. Stay with me. Tether the rest of them to you, and stay with me.”
“Are you sure you want this?”
“This is what I was made to do.” She let him go, allowing him to reach his own conclusions. She was satisfied.
The rest of them were chained to something: love of a guild, loyalty to a Vicar, memories of the past. Florence did not live in bondage. She had struggled for so long trying to find a place where she belonged that she had never stopped to see the innate benefits of belonging to nowhere. She could do things no one else could do. She could be things no one else could be.
Florence helped herself into the room where they kept the gun powder. The lock hung open on the door. A quiet invitation, the first “accident” in a series of many to come in the following minutes and hours.
The canister she made was simple and small. It would be a quiet shot, one with the power it needed and no more.
As she continued silently back through the city, across bridges that spanned the trees and through spiraling outer staircases, Florence cemented her resolve. She wondered what Arianna would think. The woman would undoubtedly find out. Would she be angry, or proud?
In the end, it didn’t matter. Florence wasn’t doing it for Arianna. She was doing it because she believed it was right. Because it was what Loom needed, and in the name of a cause she was willing to die for. She had set the future she thought the world needed in motion; she would accept the responsibility that came with keeping its momentum.
The door to the Vicar’s chambers was unlocked. Florence rounded the desk from behind which she had been reprimanded mere hours before. Behind it was another door that led upward to a makeshift laboratory. Magic hummed quietly in the air. The bubbling of beakers over tiny torches masked her footfalls. There was a power in sneaking, in moving unknown to all. It was a predatory rush and she wondered momentarily if Arianna still had the same feeling when she donned the coat of the White Wraith.
Florence opened the door to the uppermost level over the course of several breaths. It sighed softly, but the speed silenced any squeals from the hinges. There, sleeping under the moonlight filtered through the clouds above Loom and the thin curtain, was the Vicar Alchemist.
Florence adjusted the grip on her revolver.
Now was not the time for second guessing. Now was not the time for hesitation. There was one future before them, kill or be killed. Any who didn’t see that were a risk to the rest of them.
Strategic sacrifices had to be made.
Florence crossed the room in a few wide steps. A floorboard creaked from her unhesitant movement and the Vicar stirred. Florence raised her arm.
Sophie’s eyes opened to the barrel of a gun. Florence didn’t give her more than a breath. Her pupils barely had time to dilate in shock, to register what was happening, before it happened.
Florence squeezed the trigger.
A single shot echoed through the streets of Keel. It was the first bell to usher in an assembly the following morning, in which the Masters of the Alchemists’ Guild appointed a woman named Ethel—a woman who had been seated at the opposite end of Florence’s table the night before—as the new Vicar Alchemist. The transition was smooth, simple, and well received by the guild entire.
No one spoke of the mysterious departure of the not-Raven, not-Revolver, who had been in their midst for months. Not one Alchemist searched the airships headed for Ter.4 for a coal-skinned, ink-haired girl. No one even breathed a word about finding the assassin of the former Vicar.
Sophie’s death was a mystery, and the culprit was nothing more than a whisper on the wind.
51. Yveun
It was not long after Yveun descended beneath the surface of Ruana that he was approached. He always knew what Coletta’s little shadows looked like, when they chose to show themselves to him. Coletta dried and lacquered flowers for each of them, which they wore as pendants. His mate was too particular to assign the different buds and colors at random, but whatever system she used, he’d yet to decipher it.
It was merely another layer to his Ryu, a mystery cocooned in the delicate webs of her mind. Yveun was content to let her keep her secrets, for doing so both afforded him freedom, and odd benefits like the one that now stood before him.
“You will take me to her?”
The figure nodded.
There was no further exchange. It was one of the many unspoken rules he’d picked up along the way and followed with ease. He never tried to see their faces or otherwise uncover their identities. They would not speak, only gesture yes or no to questions with a nod or shake of the head. He never asked anything unrelated to the task at hand.
The woman led him into the dim, dank depths of the underworld. The condensation on the walls combined with the general filth made it appear as though they were actually oozing, as though he was in the innards of some kind of grotesque beast.
They shimmied through passageways and wandered around storeroom
s that connected to equally unappealing alleys. They stepped over the remnants of carnage and the destruction left from illegal duels. The stench of blood and rot quickly became so potent that Yveun had to mentally keep his hand at his side, lest he end up walking with his nose covered the entire time like some kind of delicate Fen.
He adjusted his wide hood as they entered the imbibing parlor. The man behind the counter looked up but stopped shy of addressing them. His guide held out her pendant. Just the sight of it silenced the owner and dropped his gaze.
The shadow woman lifted her finger, pointing toward the end of the hall.
“The last door?” Yveun whispered in a higher note than he usually spoke.
The woman nodded.
Yveun left her and the man behind him. He had what he had come here for. The door ended up being not a door at all, but a heavy curtain that was well framed. Still, he didn’t knock, and he didn’t announce his presence.
His Master Rider was laid out upon a lounging chair. Arms and legs stretched every which way, muscles cutting out from underneath the skin. She was naked, save for the thin coating of blood that seemed to cover most of her body.
But the blood wasn’t hers. She had engorged herself to the point of her stomach growing fat and her eyelids heavy at this little illegal parlor. Her body moved slowly to life, her eyes opening just enough to see him.
They were a bright purple, the color of lilacs, and seemed to nearly glow with power. It gave him pause. They were so similar to eyes he had only recently lost a battle of wills and magic against.
A smile crept upon his mouth. It pleased him that his new Rider and the Perfect Chimera known as Arianna would share similar eyes. Let them both be monsters.
“I was told you would be coming again,” she purred, a fat cat on its bed.
“You’re House Tam.” He focused on the expansive and unbroken display of her emerald skin.
“That’s what you choose to say?” She laughed at him.
She laughed at him. This was going to be a very different Master Rider than his Leona had been. He couldn’t wait to discuss with Coletta what methods she’d suggest he employ to ensure the woman’s loyalty.
“And you’re not marked as loyal to Rok.”
“I haven’t had a reason to be.”
“Marked? Or loyal?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions.” She slowly drew herself to a seated position. Her hair was short and as wild as she, spiking in every direction. “Let’s say both.”
“And if I give you a reason?”
“It’s what I’ve been waiting for.” She stood, as tall as him.
Yes, this woman will do nicely.
“I was sold the idea of coming here by one of the flower women. She told me there could be an exciting opportunity for one such as myself, but that I had to wait until the time was right.”
“So you made your own excitement in the meantime.”
“I did, though I’m getting bored.” The Tam woman sauntered over to him. “Tell me, King, is the time right?”
“It is.” He let her put her hands on him. He let her slip her palms under his vest, over his chest, and onto his shoulders. She touched him fearlessly and without reverence. She touched him like an experienced lover who knew exactly what she was looking for. “I want to make you strong.”
“I am strong.” She gave him a coquettish grin.
“I want to make you stronger.”
“Will it feel good?” she breathed into his ear.
“The best you will ever feel.” Yveun smiled into her neck. She had no idea what he had in store for her. He would find Alchemists and bring them to Nova. They would sew and stitch until she was the Perfect Dragon.
“Will there be blood?”
“So much blood.”
She quivered, whimpering softly as if his words had put heat straight to her groin. The woman smelled of fallen Dragons and freshly healed wounds. Coletta had done a good job identifying this one for him. Yveun’s palms fell on her narrow hips.
She straightened away. “Now?”
It took him a moment to realize she was talking about imbibing. But when the woman raised a clawed finger to the top of her breast and carved a golden line down to her nipple, blood dripping off its peak and onto the floor, the point was made well and truly clear. She smelled sweetly of dewy honeysuckle. She looked like some kind of dark goddess, bleeding both life and pleasure from her tit.
“Not now,” he refused, though the thought was certainly appealing. His hand cupped her breast, thumb flicking over the nipple to smear the offered blood across its surface. It hardened at his touch, a rigid point coated in gold. “For now, I wish to take you to the surface, and find you marked as mine.”
“If I must.” She raised a hand to her cheek. “I think I’m far more appealing without any tattoos on my face.”
She had a sharp chin and a crooked nose. He wasn’t inclined to agree that anything could harm the overall aesthetic, or lack thereof, of her face. But Yveun didn’t argue. The appeal of this woman was not feminine curves or pleasant features. She was raw strength. She was wild and carnal, danger personified as flesh, and it was rare for Yveun to find anything that set him to throbbing more.
“Come, my Master Rider.”
She grabbed for her tattered cape, throwing it over her shoulders.
Yveun paused in the door frame. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “What is your name?”
“Fay.”
Master Rider Fay. It would work.
When they left, neither the flower woman nor owner of the establishment was anywhere to be seen. Yveun and Fay helped themselves out, she no doubt skipping on the bill. They didn’t speak much up the pathways. It wasn’t until they were halfway up that he heard the certain zip a glider made when it took to the skies.
Yveun raced down a narrow walk, heading for the glimmer of sunlight he saw at the end. It was a precarious balcony, but a good enough vantage for him to see the rider shooting by. It was not a Dragon of his, but the Rivet. Yveun growled in rage. She had escaped. And not only had she escaped, but she’d stolen one of his gliders and was riding it better than any of his own Riders.
“Stop!” He shouted, his voice echoing with magic, as Arianna gave a wide turn and spiraled down toward the Gods’ Line.
The Chimera stilled. His influence reached her. Yveun knew it wouldn’t be enough to truly sway her in any way. She was much too strong for that. But all he wanted to do was give the word enough of a jolt to gain her attention.
Once he had it by virtue of her eyes, he wasn’t letting go. Yveun poured every ounce of will and asked for something very, very simple. The more complex a command, the easier it was for the person he was commanding to refute it. This was a simple wish. Two words. Just the mere distraction they would cause could be enough.
Let go.
When he saw her fingers uncurl, he knew he’d won.
The girl flopped through the air like a fish out of water. She was a rag doll that had been cast aside, headed toward its ultimate demise. If he could not have her knowledge, no one would; he would see her dead. The woman plunged into the clouds a mere hand’s width from grabbing the glider.
To have even a hope of surviving, she’d have to find a way to reach it and then summon the magic, mid-air, to muster a corona. She’d either have to sustain that magic, or fly it again to survive landing.
Yveun cursed aloud.
Had it been anyone else, he would’ve taken them for dead. But not Arianna. He had been trying to kill this woman for years, and yet she persisted.
“Who was that?” Fay asked, caressing his forearm as she pressed her breasts into his triceps.
“The first person you are going to hunt down, kill, and consume.”
The woman on his arm shivered in delight and it was enough to bring a
small smile back to his lips. He had tried to hunt Arianna before. But it had always been in half measures. He hadn’t known the girl, not really, to issue a full command. But now they had both seen each other. Now he had a Master Rider worthy of the name, and he would not stop halfway when molding her into the perfect killing machine.
Let the Rivet return to her bleeding world, Yveun thought darkly. Let her know only hopelessness, before her imminent demise.
52. Louie
What a time to be in the organ business. Dragons blowing guilds up. Guilds blowing themselves up. The world had gone crazy and there was only one thing he was certain of: everyone could use a little bit more magic right about now.
“King Louie, we have received reports that a glider has fallen into the remnants of Dortam.”
After the destruction of Mercury Town, Louie had decided it was time to invest a bit in the real estate business. Dortam had always been dangerous, but it was taking a new turn with the past year’s events. He found a comfortable spot down along the main train line out of the city. Close enough that his men could pop into the Revos’ world whenever they needed something, but far enough away that he was well removed. Conveniently, it also positioned him better to run down the line in the opposite direction to Ter.5.2, which opened a whole world of opportunity for exporting.
Business had been going so well that he was considering moving operations permanently in that direction. Or even onto Ter.4 altogether. He’d been contacted by two very interesting Ravens at the behest of a certain girl he once did business with for the infamous White Wraith of Dortam. It almost made him feel bad for selling out young Florence to the Dragons. Almost.
But all was well that ended well. The girl clearly survived and was none the wiser to his decision to trade her for a few organs. Organs he never got.
“Would you like us to investigate?” Ralph asked.
Louie took his eyes away from his personal harvesting operation. “Let’s continue this upstairs. The smell is overwhelming.”
Ralph followed him upward. They switched back in a half dozen flights of stairs up to ground level, and a few more to Louie’s new “throne room”. The depth helped hide the scent of harvesting, so Louie had purchased the building immediately when he had discovered the depth of its underground portion. Bloody cogs, how he loved the Revolvers and their need to build a bunker into everything.