The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(101)
He wanted to admire her for it, but this was even too much for Yveun. Even he—obsessed with power as he was, and struck by the lack of half measures a Perfect Chimera represented—could not stand for this. If she became even the slightest bit stronger, if she imbibed, if she gained an organ she didn’t already have...
There was no way even he would be able to stand up against her.
“Dono, I do not think any more of the boxes have been created.” Finnyr scampered along at his side like the worthless rat he was. “She seems to be the only one.”
Yveun gritted his teeth. He needed something that could stand against other creatures like that monster. To assume that no more boxes had been made was to welcome the death of everything he stood for. It would be the end of Nova.
“I think we should merely kill her,” Finnyr suggested. “If she’s only made one box and used it on herself—”
“And who is to say it couldn’t be used on others?” Yveun stopped, rounding on Finnyr. “Who is to say that it isn’t in the hands of those disgusting Fen rebels as we speak, slowly turning them into something that can challenge even me?”
Yveun held up his hand, showing his finger for emphasis.
“Dono, no one can challenge you,” Finnyr sputtered.
The King roared with bitter laughter. Finnyr was still playing a game, a child holding onto an ideal. No matter how many times Yveun drove the point home, it seemed the weak little man never understood. So few could fathom his shame from the mistakes he’d made. He’d only revealed his regrets to Coletta, Leona, and men like Finnyr, who were close enough to his movements that they needed to understand the full gravity of all his risks. For the risks Yveun took rarely ever held consequences only for him.
“Finnyr, I assure you, I am very much a mortal man. While it suits me for the masses both on Loom and Nova to think otherwise, it does not change the fact.” Yveun stepped forward, impressing on Finnyr’s personal space, trying to make him feel as insignificant as he actually was. “And if I die, Finnyr, so do you. You live only by my grace. You exist only because I protect you and permit you to. Do you think Xin will ever show you love again without my support at your back? The only way you will ever leave here is as the Xin’Oji, and that cannot happen if I perish. Your life is mine.”
The man cowered for a satisfying moment. Yveun watched him struggle to steady his voice, but appreciated the struggle all the same. Finnyr would never be a great Dragon, but Yveun needed something from him more important than greatness: obedience.
“Yes, Dono.” The man lowered his eyes. “It is an honor that my life is owned by one such as you.”
“See that you do not forget it.” Yveun straightened away from the smaller Dragon, starting off in the opposite direction. “Now, if I were you, I would find somewhere to hide for the next while until you are needed again. Your use has been exhausted for now, and you will only risk earning my ire if you linger.”
He paused at the end of the hall. “Furthermore, your sister is out for your heart. If you think being on Lysip will keep her from hunting you down, you underestimate her.”
Finnyr glowered at the mention of Petra, but he didn’t object. Yevun continued away, trusting in Finnyr’s cowardice more than anything else about the man. He would continue on for the sake of his self-preservation above all else. Yveun had more important things to worry about.
Dragons would not be enough to stand against the threat of the Perfect Chimera. To fight a beast, Yveun needed a more fearsome creature of his own. He needed Dragons that would have no shame in stooping to any level for power and strength. Even if that meant imbibing.
But something even further than consuming the flesh of other Dragons was working through the back of his mind. Fenthri could have the flesh of Dragons cut into them. They had no taboos and no fear of exploring such things. If he found Dragons who would cast aside those inhibitions as well, could they receive the organs of other Dragons? Could he sew together his own Dragon warriors from the strongest parts there were to pick from?
Yveun licked his lips with a morbid sort of hunger.
“Coletta.” The heady scents of earth and foliage assaulted his nose the moment he crossed into her domain.
Coletta’s world was enclosed by a tall wall, cleverly designed right into the aesthetic of the estate. Large sun shades allowed in light for her plants, but helped conceal the true nature of her gardens from the casual observer on the back of a boco. For any who looked too close would see the ominous crimson spikes that scaled up some of her flowering plants, or the unsettling aroma that lingered beneath the heavy perfumes of unnatural sweetness.
“Yveun,” she stood from amid the plants down the path from him. The woman wore nothing, allowing the poisons to brush directly against her skin. Yveun had thought her a fool for it in the beginning. She was sick constantly, frail, always afflicted with horrible boils and rashes. But with time, her body had developed immunities. Now, he would dare argue that she had become the strongest of them all, and no one but him ever saw it.
“Leona. You knew of her well before she lived in our halls.”
“And how to pull her strings to tie her to us as something useful.” The woman knelt back down, returning to her plants as though they spoke of little more than their preference of meat for dinner that night.
“Your little flowers budding everywhere, they were the ones who gave you such knowledge, no?”