The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(30)
She stumbled, dazed. Arianna knew that look: glazed, dull eyes sent reeling from a sudden surge of foreign magic. She’d inflicted it on enough people to know it well and had seen it in Cvareh’s eyes when he’d imbibed from her.
This was their chance.
Arianna sprinted over to Cvareh, pulled him off the floor and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The man was built like a bag of bricks and even Arianna’s muscular legs strained against gravity, pulling him to his feet. If she could run against the slowing of time, she could run and support him—or so she told herself repeatedly. With a magical command, her line retracted, the gears in her winch box whirring.
“Time to go!” she called to Florence.
Her apprentice nodded. With a jerk of her hand, she snapped her revolver closed, another canister loaded in the chamber. Florence looked at the Rider, nearly recovered from her last shot.
“Filthy Fen,” she sneered.
Florence lowered her gun slightly, her aim changing from the Rider’s heart to her feet. Arianna gave an approving nod and Florence pulled the trigger. They had no canisters on them that could sufficiently destroy a Dragon’s heart. Their chest cavities were practically made of diamond. And even if they did, it would need to be Arianna shooting it in order to give the canister enough magic to be lethal.
The explosion was small by Florence’s standards. Enough to stun, but not enough to hinder. Its real purpose was obvious as the reaction of the chemicals plumed thick purple smoke into the room. Remaining Fenthri coughed, trying to blink through the smog. Florence pulled up the goggles that sat around her neck and settled a mask around her nose and mouth.
Arianna gave her an appreciative once-over as they sprinted out into the sun. Florence panted softly, but returned the gesture in kind. The girl was brilliant for thinking of practical, multi-functional disguises. Flor’s planning and foresight had bought the three a few precious seconds. Now, it was up to Arianna to figure out how not to waste them.
11. Florence
It felt like the side of her face had been pistol-whipped. Florence’s cheek had swollen to twice its size, pressing her eye half-shut uncomfortably. It was true what they said about Dragons, that their bones were twice as dense as the average Fenthri’s. No wonder the lone resistance on Loom had been squelched effectively the moment it had sprung up. The Dragons were superior in nearly every way.
Her eyes drifted over to Cvareh. The Dragon stumbled along with Arianna’s help. If the Rider had messed him up that badly, Florence couldn’t even fathom how strong she’d really been. The Dragon hadn’t even fallen after being shot through with a magic canister.
“Where are we headed?” Florence dared ask the question. Arianna had that faraway look that always overcame her when she was thinking.
Arianna snapped back to reality. “The port.”
“There’s no way we can board an airship now. If they had a customs line in the train terminal, they’ll certainly have one on any airships—especially those headed for Keel.”
“We’ll see when we get there. I’m just hoping to use all the people to mask our trail.” Arianna glanced at Cvareh. His wounds had nearly healed, but it was taking a magical toll on him and he bumbled along, exhausted. He looked like Ari did after a particularly rough mission. Healing might be in Dragon blood, but it certainly wasn’t without cost. “Flor, you did well.”
The statement came like a rogue beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Florence had never seen such a thing happen, of course, but she’d heard it was possible and if it did happen, she imagined the encouraging smile Arianna was giving her would feel the same. She’d been terrified. Rushing in headfirst with reckless abandon was more Arianna’s mode of operation. But she’d take the praise in duplicates if Arianna was the one giving it.
Arianna stopped suddenly, pulling into a sidewall. Florence didn’t question and followed suit. They crouched next to a rubbish bin that reeked of spoiled fish and sour milk. Florence was grateful that Dragons didn’t seek out blood trails entirely with their noses; otherwise they might have had to bathe in such a foul concoction.
The cause for Arianna’s wariness became clear as the unique cry of a Dragon’s glider echoed across the clouds. Both women turned their eyes skyward, seeking out the ominous rainbow trail—but neither saw it. With a dull thud, like a metal spoon hitting the bottom of a pot filled with water, the Dragon crossed through the clouds that separated Nova from Loom.
“I’ve never seen a Rider retreat before.” Cvareh frowned, massaging his shoulder. It had hung at an odd angle previously, but was now almost right again.
“Maybe it’s a good sign?” Florence was hopeful.
“Never.” The Dragon squelched her optimism on the spot. “She’s going back for reinforcements. She has our scent now.”
“Dragon—” Arianna started tensely.
“Am I back to Dragon now? I thought I had been upgraded to ‘Cvareh’ on the train.”
If Florence had been in his odd, supposedly fashionable shoes, she wouldn’t have been trying Arianna’s patience at that exact moment.
“If I call you mongrel you’ll answer, after that stunt you pulled,” Arianna snarled.
Florence expected Cvareh to rise in kind, as he usually did. But the man tilted his head back, exposing his neck and chest. Florence was oddly reminded of a dog exposing its stomach to the leader of the pack.