The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(40)
Locking the safe behind her, Arianna scanned the room, comparing it to her mental image of its appearance when she entered. One or two things showed small signs of having been moved, but only to eyes that were looking for inconsistencies. People only saw what they wanted, and there should be no cause for suspicion until their vessel was well out to sea.
She closed and locked the window, slipping back into the night through the front door. Come morning, the port authority would be none the wiser of their late night guest.
When she returned to the inn, there was talking on the other side of the door; Florence’s laughter gave her pause. Arianna had felt guilty the moment she’d proposed the notion of navigating through Ter.4 with Flor’s old comrades. The young woman’s mental collapse had been poison more potent than any Arianna had ever drank. So to hear laughter now… it fit a gear in the mechanics of her heart back into place.
Her expression fell at the resonance of Cvareh’s voice. “I can tell you that Dragons wear much less than even that on Nova.”
“What about modesty?” Florence asked.
“What about it?”
“Having everything so… on display all the time. Wouldn’t that make people nervous?” she ventured timidly.
“Why would it? If anything it displays our physical prowess and discourages duels.”
Arianna opened the door with a disapproving glare in Cvareh’s direction. He looked up at her, barely stopping short a dramatic roll of his eyes. Arianna’s fingers twitched for her daggers but remained at her side.
“You’re corrupting my pupil with your tales of Nova,” she seethed. Florence had a clever mind, too curious for her own good, and she always saw the best in people. Arianna knew that just a taste of Nova was likely to leave the girl wanting more, no matter how many times Arianna told her that Dragons were not to be mingled with.
“I think it’s fascinating.” Flor smiled.
And that was what kept her from sewing Cvareh’s mouth shut. He had begun to endear himself to Florence. No matter how much Arianna hated him, she wanted Florence to smile even more. So she would do as she’d always done with Florence. She’d linger in the shadows, hovering in a place not even the girl could see her. She’d give her pupil the freedom to spread her wings, fly, be curious and inquire, experience the thrill of feeling on her own. Florence would work with the fear of falling because Arianna believed that fear was necessary to grow, but she’d always be hovering nearby, ready to pick up the girl if necessary.
“If architecture and fashion are corruption, perhaps Loom could use a bit more corrupting.” Cvareh’s mouth curled upward and his lips spread.
The expression was strange. He wasn’t baring his teeth at her. Their points remained hidden behind his bottom lip. It was…a smile. A Dragon smile. It unnerved her endlessly.
“We need to move,” Arianna announced. “First, Flor, I need the grease pencil.”
“You’re going to do it?” Florence blinked.
“I’m out of options. Our prior disguises aren’t going to work where we’re going.”
Florence was clearly curious, but she produced the grease pencil kit from her bag. Arianna sat at the stool, passing the tin to Flor to hold like a mirror. Florence stood patiently while her mentor collected herself. The mark would wash off; it was not a tattoo. But every time she put it on her cheek, it felt like forfeit.
Arianna shifted her feet, her coat draping over her thighs. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling her cheek taut with her left hand and steadying her right. Her hand was skilled from thousands of hours of schematic creation, and it moved smoothly over her ashen colored skin as she penciled in the symbol of the Rivets.
Coat and harness resumed, she was again the White Wraith: more than Fenthri, more than Chimera, more than Dragon. She cast aside ethical whims and personal grudges. She was the extension of her benefactors’ will, and she would work for them even after they were long dead.
15. Leona
Leona let out a rallying cry as her magic surged through her palms, into the golden handles of the glider, and across the golden accented wings to propel the contraption upward.
The wind bit her cheeks and whipped her braid behind her. The brisk morning air tasted like freedom, a new dawn heralding a new day—her day. She had no choice but to scream and cry and shout and snarl, because she was the Master Rider. She was a dog let off its chain. She was the untamed storm. And she had been unleashed upon Loom below.
Bending her knees and leaning forward, Leona banked her glider, casting a glittering rainbow across the Rok Estate. She wanted to give Yveun Dono one more taste of her magic. To write it across the sky like a promise that she would not fail him.
Her cries were echoed by the two Riders just behind her on either side. Their screaming vessels tore through the air in formation as they banked heavily down off the side of one of the floating islands of Nova. The Rok Estate dominated the top of Lysip, its main hall and gardens expanding out in all directions as far as the eye could see. At its edge stood smaller buildings of state, chambers provided for Rok’Kin and Rok’Da. Further still were accommodations for To and Veh in society. They all basked together in the sunlight like jeweled turtles on river rocks.
Beneath, the island extended downward. Society’s lower rungs lived in the shade of their uppers. Leona had been born in one of those suspended towers, reaching for the clouds rather than the heavens. She’d played in the honeycombed parks between them and worked her way up to the sunlight above. With Sybil dead, the only time Leona would see this shade now was when she descended to Loom.