The Rebels of Gold

  “Underground fighting pits and back alley brawls do not a Rider make. We can’t recognize those kills for beads.”

  “Do you think she cares?” Coletta reached for her wine again.

  There was a good reason she always saw wine set out. If Yveun was well mannered, they enjoyed it together. If he was stubborn but tolerable, she enjoyed having something to take the edge off. The few times he was outright unpleasant toward her, Coletta fantasized about how easy it would be to place a lethal dose of poison in his glass.

  “So she goes with Finnyr, then.” Yveun finally resigned. “For what purpose? House Xin will not appreciate us sending a bodyguard for a man they no doubt want to kill.”

  “Since when have we cared what House Xin thinks?”

  Yveun laughed. It was a delightful sound, so genuine that even Coletta could admit it made him particularly attractive.

  “Petra is dead. They are clawless. Now is the time to press harder, not pull back. No half-measures.”

  He repeated their House motto, toasting her as he did. “‘Break them again when they are already broken, and see they rebuild in a way we find fitting.’”

  She raised her glass to her lips with a smile. Yveun had the look of a king, but his mind was always a step behind hers. They made for a formidable pair in that respect. He was every inch what Nova wanted and Loom needed in a Dragon King; she was every scheming thought required to maintain the façade of his qualifications.

  “I believe Fae has magic in her ears. Set up a whisper link with her so that we may know what’s going on,” Coletta suggested.

  “But—”

  “I will not be going anywhere.” She waved the notion away. It was kind, but unnecessary for him to reserve that channel of communication for her alone. Allowing him to establish a link with Fae would not only give them a direct line to the Xin Manor, but would also please her mate, deepen his bond with Fae. “Set up a link with her.”

  “If you insist.” Yveun couldn’t conceal his excitement at the notion, though he mastered his face into seriousness. “There’s another matter I wish to discuss about the woman.”

  “You have my attention.” And what a rare commodity that was.

  “I assume you know of her . . . tastes.”

  “You mean her proclivity for imbibing?” The delicate manner in which Yveun brought it up made it clear they were speaking about more than feasting on the heart of a fallen foe. This was imbibing from the living. “Yes, I am aware.”

  “An idea has crossed my mind.”

  “Oh?” Coletta always enjoyed Yveun’s ideas. They were either fantastic—an equal match for her own—or they reminded her why she was usually the strategist between them.

  “All this nonsense over a ‘Perfect Chimera’—a Fenthri that can possess all Dragon organs containing magic without falling. Why not a perfect Dragon?”

  Coletta paused, considering the idea. The difficulty of a perfect chimera for the Fenthri came from the fact that their bodies weren’t meant for magic; they struggled to combat the rot that resulted from forcing magic on a body not intended to contain it. Dragons did not share this same barrier.

  “You want to give Fae organs as a Fen Chimera would receive.”

  “I want to make her strong.”

  “The woman is plenty strong as the gods made her.” Coletta ran her fingertip across the lip of her wineglass until it hummed softly, stopping the moment the vibrations made sound. “But I agree with you, Yveun. And I do not think she would be opposed to the idea.”

  “Excellent. Then we shall keep her here until such time as—”

  “No, she will leave with Finnyr as planned.” It was one of Yveun’s better ideas, and Coletta would reward him for it—in time, in her own way. But keeping Fae on Ruana while sending Finnyr to the snake pit unprotected would not be that reward. “That is most important. I will seek out Fen slaves who bear the Alchemist triangles, and we shall experiment first. After all, if Fae is to be sculpted as the perfect Dragon, we must perfect our process foremost.”

  “Very well.” He hummed. “Speaking of that which we will sculpt to perfection . . .”

  “Loom?”

  “Loom.” Yveun rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers in front of him. “What word have you from your little flowers on the gray rock?”

  “The Fen are, indeed, demoralized. But it seems that one is spurring another rebellion.”

  “Stubborn, suicidal creatures.” Yveun shook his head as a father might, faced with a petulant child.

  “They are convening on Ter.0 for a Vicar Tribunal,” Coletta continued, reciting her information, not bothering to correct Yveun’s incorrect assumption that it came from a Dragon on Loom. Even Fenthri would sell out each other for the right price.

  “Vicar Tribunal. How long has it been since I’ve heard such a notion?”

  “Not long enough.”

  “Indeed.” Yveun laced and unlaced his fingers in thought. “I suppose I should be impressed that enough vicars survived to have such a gathering.”

  “Fenthri lives are fleeting.” Coletta sat back in her chair, thinking of the brief periods of time the Fenthri walked the earth. A Dragon could easily live upwards of one hundred twenty years; Fenthri were lucky if they saw forty-five. How did one approach life knowing existence would be nothing more than a wink in time’s great eye? “I’m sure they rotated new ones in hastily.”

  “Too true.” Yveun placed his wine glass down. “I shall go to this Tribunal.”

  Coletta’s eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled slowly. “Why would you deliver yourself to them?”

  “Did we not raze them as vengeful gods do? Now, I shall descend as a god appeased, merciful and calm. I will show them the beauty of their submission.”

  “You mistake poetry for practicality.” Coletta shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She knew from the look in her mate’s eye that the battle was lost.

  “I will bring order and offer peace. Even House Xin was offered that.”

  “And what great dividends that paid.”

  “The Fenthri know they have been beaten.”

  “They have not known it ever. How many times must we destroy them before you see that they will never bow willingly?”

  “We have never destroyed them so completely before,” Yveun countered.

  Coletta was ready to strike back by pointing out the fact that they were far from destroyed if they were already organizing a Tribunal. But she knew when his mind was made up. There was little point in fighting the matter now.

  “Very well.” Coletta gripped and released the arms of her chair. “Go to them when you please. But meet with the leaders only, and do so under the banner of peace. Outnumber them in manpower, but avoid striking.”

  “It is hard to parlay for peace when claws are drawn.”

  “If they accept the natural order of things—” Dragons on top, Fenthri groveling far below “—then we shall all rejoice for the peace and prosperity our world will share. However, should they refuse—” and Coletta already knew they would “—then you shall heed me on such matters henceforth until Loom has returned to sense and order.”

  Yveun was silent for a long moment. Long enough that Coletta was afraid he truly had lost all sense and was going to deny her. “Very well. Your guidance has yet to lead me astray. And in any case, should Loom deny me yet again, I fear my patience will have been exhausted for good.”

  Coletta was counting on exactly that.

  ARIANNA

  Like a swarm of angry hornets, airships of all shapes and sizes buzzed in the skies above Ter.0. The roar of engines below mirrored the sound, magnifying it, harmonizing with it. It was more life than the barren earth had seen in years.

  Arianna stood on the deck of Louie’s airship, goggles on, wind whipping her hair across her face. She could barely see land from around the back fin of the vessel and the stretch of the wings, but what was visible filled her with curiosity and dread. Ter.0 had been the foundati
on on which the order of Loom once stood. What would this new world order look like, built on the ruins of the old?

  The airship touched down on a rocky stretch of mostly flat earth. Arianna worked her way through the narrow interior to the hatch that was currently being opened by one of Louie’s other lackeys—a man whose name Arianna had never thought learn.

  A sliver of light peeked from behind the door as the latches disengaged. Arianna’s eyes adjusted quickly as the door swung open wide. Nothing would ever be as bright as the sunlight on Nova.

  Raven-tattooed men and women rushed around the makeshift airfield, waving flags and directing passengers off landing strips. Runners sprinted between high points of rock, delivering messages after every new ship landed.

  There were massive ballooned ships and tiny glider-like vessels parked side by side. Most were Raven-marked; the next most common guild symbol was for Rivets. After that, Alchemists . . .

  Arianna didn’t see a single Revolver or Harvester.

  “You may find it easier if you disembark.” Louie’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  She offered no explanation or apology for her hesitation and ignored the man trying to work around her to get the departure stairs set up. Impatient, Arianna jumped the short distance from the airship to the ground. She landed in a crouch, then recovered, taking in the sights and smells of the world she was no longer observing from the shadows.

  This was the land where the Vicar Tribunal was founded. This was where Loom had thrived, where she had been born. This was where the Council of Five banded together against the Dragons, where her lover died, where her life was forever changed. It seemed a piece of cosmic poetry that this could well be where she would die.

  As promptly as the thoughts came, Arianna moved on from the notion of her own mortality. That was something she’d written off as unimportant years ago.

  “Where are you going?” Helen called after her.

  “To find Florence,” Arianna shouted back, half-turning. They had now exchanged a total of seven words in one week.

  “Perhaps you may find it faster to come with us.” Louie motioned toward the trike lurching to a stop beside them.

  A woman with long white hair, hanging loose and becoming a knotted mess, pushed a pair of streamlined, single-lens goggles up onto her forehead. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, speaking directly to Louie.

  “Hardly so.” Louie walked around to the cart attached to the back of the trike, accepting one of his bigger lackey’s help in getting into it. “How is our favorite rebel?”

  “Fine, fine. It’s a bit of a mess here, with everyone.”

  “A Raven’s nightmare.” Arianna was close enough to hear Helen mumble.

  “Logistically, yes, but it’s kind of like the Underground, I’ve heard some say. They never get to have this much fun driving or piloting in the sunlight. Not a single rule or regulation on vehicles in sight. Speaking of, looks like your ship had some interesting modifications . . . Heard you’d have a rainbow tail, didn’t expect it to be so clean.”

  Arianna couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes as she began to make her way to the benched cart with everyone else.

  “We had a Master Rivet to conceive and implement the modifications.” Louie motioned to her, bringing their driver’s attention with it.

  “You must be Arianna.” The slate-skinned woman didn’t miss a beat.

  “And you are?”

  “Shannra,” the woman replied. “Florence told me all about you.”

  Arianna’s blood seemed to boil and freeze at once. She wanted to know everything about Florence and didn’t want to think of some random stranger knowing more than her. Fear at this idea rose like bile.

  So much had happened. Would Florence still look to her for guidance as she once had? Would the girl value her as she once did?

  “I look forward to her telling me all about you.”

  “Typical Arianna.” Shannra laughed but had the decency to heed the conversation’s conclusion. She turned forward, revving the engine to life.

  The lurch of the trike jolted some tension from Arianna’s muscles. The airfield passed in a haze of Ter.0 dust, airships, and homeless Fenthri. She was close to Florence now and the only thing that mattered was seeing her again. Everything else in the world could wait.

  Off in the distance, the spires of Ter.0 grew in size. Arianna squinted at the diffuse light of Loom, trying to better make out their shape.

  “They’re stabilizing them,” Louie explained without invitation. “Won’t look like they did before the Dragons descended—that’d take years.”

  Arianna didn’t miss how Louie did not imply if they did or didn’t have years to take. “Assuming the Dragon King doesn’t kill us all first.”

  “I doubt he’ll do that.”

  “Let me guess: you’re also now some expert on Nova’s politics?” Arianna refrained from commenting that, of the two of them, she was the one who had just spent extended time on the floating islands. She was the one who had an all-too-personal encounter with the Dragon King.

  “I am the best organ dealer in all of Loom.” Louie’s chest swelled against his vest—so much that Arianna was afraid he might crack a rib. “It is important I pay attention to inter-world politics.”

  “‘The best’ may be a bit of a stretch.” Arianna leaned back against the railing behind the bench.

  Louie cracked a smile. It wasn’t one of his usual thin-lipped, tight expressions. It showed his teeth, yellowed with age, and his black gums that recessed away from them.

  Black gums. The man was a Chimera. Arianna made careful note of the information, filing and storing it safely away. He had no visible Dragon parts, which meant he only had blood. Or he had something unseen to the naked eye, like a stomach . . . or lungs.

  The gears of her mind ground to a halt.

  There was an odd disconnect between her body as it moved closer to Florence, and her mind as it thought back to the only Dragon she’d known personally with magic in the lungs—Cvareh. She wanted to be in both places at once. It was a divided soul that Arianna had never known before.

  Arianna played off her silence by twisting to get a better look at the once-great towers of Ter.0.

  “What did they look like before?” Helen asked.

  Louie and Arianna both opened their mouths at the same time.

  “After you.” He motioned with his bird-boned hand.

  “No, I’m curious what you’ll say,” Arianna admitted. “The last time I was here . . .”

  “You couldn’t have been older than twelve.”

  Ten, actually. Arianna kept the thought to herself, owing Louie no information on her past. She turned it back on him instead. “How old were you, Louie?”

  “Well, I was here a few years before the One Year War ended.” He paused. “I would guess around . . . twenty.”

  Arianna didn’t know what surprised her more: the fact that Louie was easily over forty years of age, or that he outright admitted to the fact. She inspected him as he continued speaking to Helen.

  His black hair was carefully pulled back, so taut it stretched wrinkles in his forehead and around his eyes. The parchment-whiteness of his mouth was lined with folded shadow around his lips. And his eyes, as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s, had a cloudiness to them that one commonly found in advanced age.

  Even with his Dragon blood, Louie was a man well into his twilight years. What did someone with such little time left fight for? Arianna looked over to Helen and Will, who were both listening intently to Louie’s descriptions. What were any of them fighting for?

  Dusk promised dawn to no man.

  “All around here—” Louie gave a small wave of his hand “—were schools and dormitories.”

  “Where breeding happened?” Helen clarified.

  “Indeed.”

  “Where you were born.” It was impossible to tell from the upturned slabs and forlorn remnants littering the road that this place had once been an
ything more than a rubble field. But Arianna still remembered what it used to look like with precision.

  “Not quite.” Helen gave a sly grin. “I was born in Holx, just after the Dragons instated family law.”

  Arianna couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. Helen was eleven. Oh, the girl’s insufferably childish nature made sense now. She was a Raven, an explorer, a curious soul, one who had seen beyond her years. But she was five years younger than Florence and had yet to reach adulthood.

  “I know, I’m clever for my age.” Helen beamed proudly.

  “Makes sense why the Dragons didn’t kill you.” Helen’s time in the floating prison of Ter.4.2 finally had an explanation. The guild had locked up a child rather than executing her for running, to preserve what would no doubt be one of the greatest Raven minds of their generation—as loathe as Arianna was to admit it.

  “I suppose I should be grateful.” Helen’s face fell as she looked out at the wasteland. Arianna wondered if she saw the iron bars of her cell in the curved rods of steel that protruded from the ground like industrial saplings, growing from the remnants of the old world. “So all this was beautiful?”

  “It was . . .” Arianna answered this time. She, too, had finished her schooling early, choosing the Rivets’ Guild and meeting Master Oliver when she was younger than even Helen. She remembered the land as it was then. It was a different sort of beauty than she’d seen on Nova. But her memories of Ter.0 glittered more brightly than the floating sky world and all its colors. “It all moved like clockwork. Teachers from every guild took up residence. We learned from the best in all disciplines.”

  “Sounds boring.” Helen yawned. “All I want is maps and speed.”

  Arianna huffed in amusement. The girl was such a little crow. “Why did you run away from the guild, if you are so akin to it?”

  Helen shrugged. “Freedom. Isn’t that what all Ravens want? Freedom to explore, go where you want, when and how. Take your life back from the world and hold it in your hands?”