The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(6)

Finally, she withdrew her blade, wiping it on her covered leg before sheathing it and starting forward again. Cvareh followed in her steps through the winding sewer passages. The path became even narrower, and the walls changed from stone and steel to red clay bricks.

“Where are we headed now?” He decided his options were to go crazy from silence or risk her stabbing him again.

She didn’t answer.

“Have we left New Dortam?”

“We’re headed for the Alchemists’ Guild.”

Whoever this woman was, she certainly harbored a deep hatred for Dragons. Cvareh knew he’d never come across her before, so it wasn’t as though she could resent him personally. In fact, she was the first Fenthri he’d ever met in person, and what an impression she was making for her entire race.

“Yes but—”

“Dragon, how was I unclear?” she sighed.

“Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh,” he persisted. “If we’re going to be traveling together we should at least know each other’s names, don’t you think?”

“Not really.” She paused. “Cva.”

Cvareh curled and uncurled his long fingers one at a time, resisting the urge to unsheathe his claws. “Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to say the whole thing,” she drawled with an annoying little smirk. “It’s such a mouthful.”

“It’s actually quite important on Nova.” Patience, Cvareh reminded himself. The Fenthri had likely never left the ground of Loom. She didn’t know what was important above the clouds.

“Oh, I know it is.” She smiled, and he barely contained a cringe at how her flat teeth made a perfect line in her mouth. “Come now, Cva, we’re going to be late,” she chided.

“You may call me just Cvareh Soh,” he insisted.

“Mmm, Cva is easier.”

“I must insist—”

“Don’t push your luck, Dragon.” A hand curled around one of the crossed blades at the small of her back. He was getting rather tired of seeing that golden steel. “We could always go back to the heart-cutting.”

Cvareh looked her in the eyes, or, well, the goggles. She didn’t tense and didn’t shy away. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had no love for Dragons—and no fear of them either.

“I don’t think you will.” He took a step closer to her. “You want your boon.”

“Ah, yes, a boon.” Rather than shrinking away, the woman met his step with her own. She was almost as tall as he, and Cvareh was of average height for Dragon standards. He’d always been told the Fenthri were a smaller race. “They’re quite rare for Dragons to give out. What could you possibly want at the Alchemists’ Guild so badly that you’d surrender yourself to my whims?”

“You think I’ll tell you?” He took another step toward her. His blood rushed at the feeling of her magic: wild and varying, a blend of many Dragons’ powers combined into something all her own.

“I could make you.” Her chest, flat and strapped under what appeared to be a harness, touched his.

Cvareh paused. A harness. Why did his mind tell him that was important?

She clicked her tongue against her teeth then stepped away when he didn’t rise to her challenge. His failure to respond to her banter had disappointed her. So his options seemed to be allowing himself to be annoyed at her very apparent efforts, or pleasing her. Or swallowing his pride and letting her say what she wanted but not giving her the satisfaction of taking the bait.

He was growing to hate this hideous wench with every second.

Somehow, Cvareh managed silence. He followed her through the rank passage for what seemed like forever until the sewer vomited its sludge into a slime-covered river. The woman paused, glancing outside and back at his hands.

“Dragon, can you make illusions?”

“Not a skill I possess.” Though he was glad she asked. The look of consideration she gave his clawed fingers let Cvareh know she was well aware of what Dragon parts held what magic. It further confirmed that, whoever she was, she truly knew about Dragons beyond the value of a heart.

“Of course you can’t. That would be far too easy.” She let out a sigh of utter disappointment. The woman thought for another long moment. “Very well, stay here.”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“If you walk around Old Dortam looking like—” Her head moved up and down as her eyes raked over him. “You, you’re going to cause a scene. Or someone else will harvest you. And then I’m out a Dragon heart as well as a boon.”

Cvareh would appreciate it if she’d stop discussing cutting out his heart, but he knew better than to say so. He also knew she was right. Cvareh adjusted the wide sash around his waist, heavy with the beads and embellishments of his station. His shirt was done in a dark navy that highlighted the color of his powder blue skin just so. Its capped sleeves showed the strength in his arms—his physical ability to assert dominance. Dragons took note of the feature, which had helped ward off challenges for years.

He looked back at the woman in her heavy leather coat and worker’s trousers. She was unfashionable and plain, a continued source of vexation for him. Certainly, she was poor and couldn’t afford more than basic clothing. But why would anyone choose to wear white in this industrial wasteland?