The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(18)
“Corona are meant to keep out steel, bullets, blades, weak Chimera magic… My claws are none of those things.”
“I see.” It was the first time he’d witnessed her mind put to action when prejudice wasn’t hindering the winds behind her mental sails. Arianna squinted at him thoughtfully. She kept using new eyes to give him looks he didn’t yet comprehend.
“The other Riders will catch up soon,” he warned.
“How soon?”
“I can’t tell. I can sense their magic growing, but not how near or far.” If they’d been bleeding, he would’ve been able to catch the smell or get a true taste of their power on the wind. But he wasn’t exactly surprised that they had yet to be wounded. The only Fenthri whom Cvareh could see standing a chance against a Rider stood before him.
“Then I must assume the same is true of them and you?” He was surprised when her voice rose slightly on the last word, indicating a question. She was actually asking him things. Quite the sudden change from a few hours earlier.
“As long as we stay ahead of them. And I’m not coughing up more blood anytime soon.” Cvareh wasn’t pleased about her abuse of his powers. He should have known from the moment he told her about it that she would demand he use the ability for her ends, and it’d only taken her a minute to back him into a corner until he felt there was no other option. Why had he told her?
“I won’t need you to stop time again.” She vaulted over a railing and down into a tiny side stair. Cvareh walked around as she whirred dials on a strange looking lock built into the doorway. “We’re here.” Arianna paused, considering him for a long moment. “And you best hope that Florence is too.”
Cvareh knew the outcome of her threat before he could respond. Arianna contained her emotions well. Her face remained impassive, swathed in the unnatural, terrible light of the electric bulbs that lined the tiny stairwell. But he could feel the relief about her, standing so close.
This was one of the many reasons why imbibing from the living was so taboo. If every person’s mind was a locked chest, then their magic was the key. It was the way into a carefully guarded and illogical system, unique to each individual. Letting someone imbibe was allowing them to make a copy of that key. They could open you up and understand you without effort for a length of time after the imbibing. And really, once that understanding was imprinted on the mind, could it ever be forgotten?
Cvareh vowed to himself that he had no interest in understanding this woman as she opened the lock on the second door. She was equal parts intolerable, brash, harsh, improper, and—worst of all—unfashionable. But there was a counterweight to her heart. Something in her magic shone as brightly as starlight as she swept up her ward into a tight embrace. Something about it made the gray skinned Fenthri woman almost… glow.
“Flor! You had me more worried than a Harvester who can’t find their mining pick.”
“You know I can take care of myself.” The girl patted the pistol that sat just under her arm for show. The motion was brave—false, but brave. “It’s not like you to be so worried.”
“There are Dragon Riders about and we’re hiding in the bunker. This isn’t normal. I think my worry is justified.”
“Speaking of…” Florence’s eyes drifted over to him. “They’re looking for you, I think.”
Cvareh wasn’t surprised. His hand went to the folio strapped around his waist, checking to make sure the clasp hadn’t come undone. The Dragon King would know what he’d stolen, and Cvareh had been expecting that he’d go to any measure to retrieve it.
“Yes… I don’t believe we ever finished that conversation.” Arianna stared at him with her stolen eyes. Cvareh wondered what Dragon had given them up. Had they been killed? Or were they harvested and left to suffer as the organs grew back in their empty sockets?
“I thought we had.” He sighed, leaning against some of the boxes. The room was horribly dusty, but his clothes were already soiled past hope. Cvareh was distracted long enough to inwardly cringe at the notion of eventually being forced into some coverings like those they wore here on Loom.
“Dragons barely lower themselves—” her tone was sarcastic “—to come to Loom. Never Old Dortam and even less Mercury Town.”
“Didn’t you hear the doomsayers in the streets? They say Dragons are going to start raining from the sky and finally torch the gods’ forsaken rock known as Loom.” He returned her sarcasm with some of his own. Cvareh was tired of her mood swings, but could only seem to succeed in drawing them out.
She crossed the room in two long steps, almost as wide as his own. Her hands twisted around his collar as she pulled him onto his feet again. Cvareh met her halfway and kept his lips closed, resisting the urge to curl them back in a snarl.
“You’re going to rip my shirt, and I quite like this shirt.” So what if he’d already decided one of his favorite garments was forfeit? He’d already kicked the hornet’s nest that was Arianna again; he may as well stomp on it too.
“I don’t give a damn about your shirt.” For a Fenthri, this woman could act like quite the Dragon.
“Then give no more care to who exactly I am, where I’m going, why I need to get there, or why the Riders want me.” He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the hideous line of her teeth. “Care about getting me to the Alchemists’ Guild hall. You think I’m any more thrilled at the idea of traveling with the White Wraith?”