The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(100)

“You will not sway me.” She straightened, gathering her height, nearly as tall as he. “My power is far stronger than yours.”

“But still falls shy of mine.” The Dragon King reminded her of his presence and Arianna turned abruptly, readying some whip of a response.

It was never said.

The moment her eyes met his she felt the icy grip of magic smothering her. She wanted to blink, she wanted to look away, but she was frozen in his stare. It started from her fingertips and swirled into her chest. It trickled up her neck, pressed behind her eyes, whispered through her ears, before it sought entry into her mind.

“Tell me of the Philosopher’s Box, Arianna.”

He was trying to penetrate her thoughts, to own the recesses of her brain. He wanted to crack it like an egg, scramble its contents, and pour them out to pick the information he needed from the plasma. Though neither moved, she felt him pressing on every part of her. He was smothering her, drowning her. It was like his hands were on her throat and his body weighted her down. The only way out would be to give him what he wanted.

Let me in, the magic whispered. Give it to me.

“No.” Her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. Her lips formed a series of unintelligible sounds that followed, but she did not allow words to come. There was nothing she would say other than “No.”

“How many have you made?” He pressed harder, straightening away from the wall.

Arianna wanted to blink. She tried so hard to break that stare, though her body refused all commands. She was trapped and wanted to scream for relief. But she would not give in. She would not stop her struggle. Her magic pushed back harder. She focused on her lips, making them hers. He would violate the rest of her with his presence, but he would not gain her words. “No.”

“What do you need to make it?”

She could no longer speak; she no longer trusted herself to. Every ounce of magic in her screamed at once in her mind to give him anything he asked for. His magic poisoned her more than the other Dragon’s dagger had. Her stomach turned to sickness. Her forehead grew hot with fever. Her body rebelled against the presence of the foreign power and slowly began to turn septic.

But she would not give in. She would not forfeit to this man. She would die before she did. She would spit up blood from her stomach decaying. She would bruise across her skin from her magic depleting. She would go deaf and blind and have all her fingers snap.

Her hatred was more than all the pain combined. And her desire to sow malice across his land was stronger than his magic would ever be. She would fight against the Dragon King until her last breath because she was Arianna, the White Wraith.

“Tell me how you make the Philosopher’s Box!” Golden tears streamed from the man’s eyes.

“No!” she screamed in reply.

Yveun shut his eyes, tearing away his magic. Arianna collapsed to her knees. She inhaled long, gasping breaths, gulping for air, for the taste of freedom. Her body shuddered and felt like a room ransacked. Everything was there, but nothing in its place, and all bearing the mark of a stranger’s touch. It was merely the pain of bruises from her blood exhausting, but they created phantom impressions in her arms and shoulders and back as if she had just been beaten for hours. As if his hands had actually been upon her.

She was the first to look at him, throwing the gauntlet silently. She gave him her eyes again to try if he so dared. She kept her muscles tense, ready to fight, warding off the trembling that rumbled across her with the aftershocks of being so violated.

The King snarled down at her. “I will gain what I seek.”

“You will not.”

“I will return and I will try again.” He stepped forward.

“You are welcome to.” Arianna watched his movements carefully on the edges of her vision.

“You can die peacefully, or screaming like your dear guilds below as they all burned on my command.” He squatted down, his knees bending forward. “But either way—”

Arianna pushed off the ground. Her shoulders popped and every last bit of slack the chains had was consumed. One finger on the hand he’d placed on his knee was in range. Just one.

She bit it off in a single bite, spitting it at his feet.

“You Fen trash!” The Dragon King stood with a snarl. He pounced on her, pushing her off-balance.

Arianna tried to bring up her hands or feet to defend herself. But she couldn’t find enough movement in the chains in the way he had her pinned. He gouged at her throat with his claws.

She felt as tendon and muscle were shredded. The vibration of the skin ripping was sound in her ears. She coughed, sputtered, and choked on her own blood.

Even still, she smiled. She smiled at the frightened King. She smiled as he retreated. She smiled at his yet-recovering eyes. She smiled as the door slammed shut and her throat began to heal. She smiled until her jaw popped.

Because smiling held in the screams.





45. Yveun


This was the danger of what the Fenthri sought. This was what he needed to fight against—how their science disrupted the natural order of the worlds the gods themselves designed. The woman was not a Fenthri, not a Chimera, not a Dragon; she was wholly monster and entirely dangerous.

Yveun flexed his still-healing finger, a soft pink from newly mended flesh and still re-growing. The tiniest of claws was begin to form next to the bone, magic strengthening it steadily. He had given the woman half a breath’s distance too close and she had taken it.