And should you never walk through the open door I’m leaving for you, then so be it; know you have my thanks. This runaway Raven will forever be in your debt as the woman who pulled her shaking and scared from the Underground, and once more, showed her the light.
Sincerely,
F.
P.S. I am truly sorry about what happened to Cvareh. However, if you said or did anything to ensure Cain would be so open to keeping positive relationships with Loom, I thank you.
ARIANNA
The moon peered down through the clouds onto the streets of Dortam.
The light was bright enough to cut one’s shadow into the cobblestone of the streets, wet and glistening with the night’s chill. It was the same moon that had borne witness to the rise of the White Wraith years ago, and was now the sole member of the audience witnessing the rebirth following the metamorphosis of that lone creature.
Arianna darted between back alleys, the hem of her freshly-tailored coat flapping against her legs.
Two Revo grunts were on her tail. They had all the persistence of fresh journeymen let out for the first time to “keep the peace.” Yes, they were determined, but Arianna wasn’t dissuaded.
Even as rubble and ruin, she knew the pathways and side-streets better than anyone. The farther she got from the center of Dortam, the rougher and more broken things became. It was an area that was still mostly untouched by time—a holdover from the days of Dragons.
She pushed deeper and deeper, knowing she’d lose them eventually. They were already tired of wasting ammunition by taking cheap shots at nothing.
This part of the city had been far enough away from the epicenter of the Revolvers’ self-destruction that it had been spared from total ruin. Dortam was a target now; the bullseye was the new metropolis, springing from the ashes of the old. Out from that center was ruin, still in the process of being rebuilt. Further still, a peace of Arianna’s heart would always live—Old Dortam. Buildings here jutted at odd angles and collapsed rooftops sagged holes between persistent walls. It was the city of Dortam’s criminals and less-than-desirables. It was home for her.
She waited out of sight, tucked in a shaded alcove, listening carefully to the footsteps of the Revos slow. They cursed aloud, debated further pursuit, and eventually decided to let her go. Smart men, Arianna applauded. After all, she so hated killing talent. The Revolvers had little and less of it, in their present circumstances.
Arianna reemerged into the moonlight, looking around at the street she’d tracked to for the first time. It was instantly familiar. She remembered the sounds of industry—welding, hammering, the buzz of saws—that filled the air by day, and yielded to the revels of gambling parlors at night. Now, there was only silence, and her footsteps breaking the stillness.
Two streets down, one over, along a back alley, was a stairwell. Some stairs were missing—the iron rusted out and peeling away from itself like rotten flower petals. But the main joints to the building were still strong enough to hold her weight.
She didn’t have anywhere else to be tonight. Her patron could wait until morning to get the trinket Arianna carried. For now, she’d rest in what was an all-too-familiar flat.
The door was ajar, but the room showed almost no signs of life.
Almost no signs.
Arianna waded through the familiar smells and nostalgic sights over to the kitchen table, where a letter sat among cookie crumbs that had somehow evaded rats for years. It was pristine, fresh, and on it were the letters “W.W.” in a familiar hand. Arianna turned it over, and paused.
The floorboards behind her creaked under the weight of another presence. Another ghost reemerging from the memories of past lives she’d given up when Arianna had died.
“It’s a bit much don’t you think, to have the Dragon King himself hunt me down?”
Arianna turned, setting the letter back down on the table to have her hands free. She didn’t know what she should anticipate… a fight? A flight? Or something more?
A Dragon emerged from the bedroom. His hair had grown out in the months since she’d last seen him. It almost brushed his shoulders in its burnt orange disarray. Cvareh wore dark pants and a long-sleeved, high collared shirt in the current fashion—if any of Loom’s tailoring could really be called that compared to the pomp of Dragons. It was plain, functional, and everything she’d never associated with him.
“Very much Dragon, not quite King.”
Arianna tilted her head curiously.
“You have not heard?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“When you’re a ghost, you don’t hear much.” Arianna leaned against the wall, folding her arms over her chest. Seeing him was like running her fingers over the dried ink of long-forgotten schematics. She’d not realized just how much she’d missed the familiar designs.
In truth, Arianna had only been truly oblivious until she’d return to Dortam no more than a week ago. Her attempts to fade away had been sincere. She’d secured a cottage in the mountains to the north, far outside the city, that had everything she’d needed.
Or thought she’d needed.
For she still found herself drawn back to the city that had been her home following the last rebellion. She’d made the excuse that it was for fresh supplies alone. Then, somehow, a new coat had found its way onto her shoulders, and her feet had found themselves standing before Helen, asking if there were any odd jobs that needed doing.
“Apparently not.” He chuckled deeply, a sound that could turn moonlight to sunlight. “Though, I’m coming to realize such myself. We are both ghosts.”
“Oh?” She could do little more than make noncommittal noises that encouraged him to continue until he gave her enough information to work with.
“I fear it falls to me to regretfully inform you that the Dragon King you worked so hard to save perished due to poison from Coletta’Ryu.”
The words sank into her flesh slowly, seeping through her. They eventually reached her brain and elicited the most ineloquent response of, “What?”
“I hear, however, that his replacement is every inch the man both worlds hoped for in a Dragon King.”
“Cvareh, what are you saying?” Arianna truly had been gone too long. No one on Loom had ever said the Dragon King’s name; it was always just “Dragon King” or “the king.” Surely, Helen had known. Arianna was already fantasizing about how she’d wring the girl’s neck for neglecting to mention the “death” of Cvareh.
“Cvareh is dead.” He phrased it in a different way, as if she hadn’t already figured it out on her own.
“A pity I couldn’t kill him. I’d so wanted to kill the Dragon King in the last rebellion.” There it was again, the sarcasm that arose in defense of the fragile hope her heart had begun to bleed.
“I have it on good faith that you accomplished that task.”
“You should check your sources, as Yveun’Dono was killed by Cvareh’Oji.”
They both shared a smile that was quickly stolen by silence. She’d fantasized about seeing him again, but Arianna had never let the thoughts take hold. He was the Dragon King, needed in the sky world, and she had no place there. Now that he was in front of her, she was at an utter loss of what to do.
“You should go back to Nova,” she whispered. Arianna knew it was pointless.
“I don’t belong there, not any more.”
“You’re a Dragon. Isn’t the only thing that matters to you your place? In society, in the hierarchy?”
“You’re right,” he affirmed. The man hadn’t moved a muscle and she wanted to tackle him for it. Though she had no idea what would happen once she had him on the ground.
“Then why are you here?” And why was she whispering?
“Because this is my place.”
Arianna wanted to scream at him for the answer that wasn’t an answer. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t dislodge the lump in her throat that was blocking all sound. He took a step, and then another. Arianna burned the sight of him into her
eyes. The idea that the end of this rebellion, the true end, might not require her to sacrifice everything she loved, rooted itself unbidden in her mind. It was a notion she’d not considered with even the smallest corner of her heart, and now it burrowed so deep, she feared the hole it would leave would have no bottom.
“Is it my place?” he asked, standing toe-to-toe with her.
“I can’t choose that for you.” It was the only response she could muster. He hadn’t forced her to choose, in the end, and so neither could she.
“I long ago made that choice.” Cvareh leaned forward with all the slowness of a man who had her daggers shoved at his throat the last time they had occupied this space. His forehead met hers, their noses almost touching. And for a moment, for a brief and blissful moment, they merely breathed. “Do you want me?”
“Yes,” she confessed to herself, to him, to his twenty gods, to every maggot and rat and cut-purse that might be listening.
“Do you love me?”
Arianna opened her mouth to respond and closed it. She swallowed once more. She couldn’t make this easy for him, not now, not ever.
“Follow me, and find out.” Arianna stepped away and locked eyes with him for one deliciously long moment, before she strode out the door, his footsteps close behind.
With the moon watching, the Wraith and the Dragon stepped into the night together.
World of Loom
Pronunciation Guide
The Five Guilds of Loom
Guild Brands
Found on the right cheek, tattooed guild brands were imposed by Dragon Law to designate a Fenthri’s rank and guild membership. The tattoo is elaborated upon as new merits are achieved.
Dragon Houses
All members of Dragon society belong to one of three Dragon houses. Ties into the House can be by blood, adoption, mating, or merit.
Dragon Names
All Dragon names follow the structure:
[Given Name] [House Name]’[House Rank] [Societal Rank]
Shortened names are said as one of the following:
[Given Name]’[House Rank]
or
[Given Name] [Societal Rank]
Acknowledgements
NICK—I wouldn’t have made it through this manuscript without you. I push, and you push me harder. Your thoughts, suggestions, insights, were all imperative for me to make it through this story that demanded so much of me. Thank you for having both the strength to demand the world of me and hug me hard enough so I keep it together when I may crack under the pressure.
ROBERT—thank you for all the inspiration you gave to me, however inadvertent. You’re an exceptional friend and a role-model for me on how to be a decent human being (even if I’m pretty sure I regularly come up short). Thank you for being a parallel river of temperate waters.
MY EDITOR, REBECCA FAITH HEYMAN—there should be a saying that behind every marginally decent author is an editor who’s ten times more amazing. Thank you for working with me on this manuscript and helping me from throwing ideas around to cleaning up my structure when it needed it most. I am so, so glad we met and are getting to have this experience together.
KATIE—as always, thank you for keeping me sane. You give me something no one else does in your unique blend of encouragement and love. I would’ve long gone crazy if I didn’t have you to get turkey clubs and fancy tea with.
SABRINA—You were so very helpful in organizing the Loom read-along and more when I needed it most. Thank you for your continued support!
ROB and the KEYMASTER PRESS TEAM—thank you for your continued belief in me and, you know, not deciding I’m not worth your time. It’s been a delight to work with you and I can only hope we continue to bring worlds into readers’ hands together.
THE TOWER GUARD—my dear street team, thank you for everything you do! You’re always there when I need you and such a great group. I’m so honored to be surrounded with people who really take care of their own.
About the Author
ELISE KOVA has always had a profound love of fantastical worlds. Somehow, she managed to focus on the real world long enough to graduate with a Master’s in Business Administration before crawling back under her favorite writing blanket to conceptualize her next magic system. She currently lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, and when she is not writing can be found playing video games, watching anime, or talking with readers on social media.
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Elise Kova, The Rebels of Gold
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