The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(105)

“Arianna will never go for this. She wants the Dragons dead.”

“Do you really know what she wants?” Sophie challenged. “After all, she’s been on Nova for some time doing who knows what.”

“It has something to do with the Philosopher’s Box.” Florence prayed that everything she knew about Arianna remained true. She was betting not only everything that she had, but Loom itself, on the fact. “Ari will come back, and she will go to the Vicar Tribunal.”

“Vicar Tribunal?” It was Sophie’s turn to be incredulous.

“There is a Tribunal happening on Ter.0 in two months. The Vicar Harvester is spreading the word to the other guilds. They expect a demonstration of the box, and the Vicar Alchemist in attendance.”

If Florence could pack the look Sophie was giving her into a canister, it would be the most deadly shot she’d ever made. After several long breaths, the Vicar slowly dropped her hands to the desk, standing slowly. She rose to her full height, a head taller than Florence.

“Florence, a word of advice,” Sophie spoke as soft as a knife point dragging across flesh. “Be wary of who you speak for. Because you have made promises that you were not permitted to give on behalf of two very, very powerful women.”

It was the nicest thing Florence had ever heard Sophie say about Arianna. And it was being used as a pointed threat. She wanted to rebuke the notion. But the fact was, Arianna was just as likely to be angry with Florence for her decision as she was to be obliging.

“It’s the only way.”

“There are lots of ways.” Sophie rounded the desk, running her hand along its edge. “You are young, and you see the only solution as outright warfare.”

“What else is there? Your plan to lure the Dragons into some false sense of triumph?”

“That, and many more strategic approaches that wouldn’t result in hundreds, thousands, of Fenthri deaths.”

“The strategic approach hasn’t worked.”

“Neither has outright warfare.” Sophie referred to the quick failure that was Loom’s last war. “Perhaps when you are older, when you have lost more, you will understand this.”

“Do not say I have not lost.” Florence took a step forward, barely stopping herself from outright attacking the woman. “You know nothing of me.”

“I know you are still a girl, quick to ire and stumbling in the pitfalls of pride.” Sophie remained poised. “I know you have yet to see the merit of strategic sacrifice to attain one’s goals.”

“You must go to the Tribunal.”

“You may not tell me what I must do.” The Vicar Alchemist shook her head. “Derek, you will be on the first train back to Ter.1.2 in the morning. You will tell the Vicar Harvester to call off the Tribunal. You will inform him that the Alchemists will not be working with the rest of Loom, and encourage him to call off this ridiculous notion of a demonstration against the Dragons. Denounce all knowledge of a working Philosopher’s Box as the misinformed whims of a child.”

Derek looked between Florence and the Vicar of his guild helplessly. But Florence knew what his decision would be. She knew it as clearly as the two interlocking triangles on his cheek.

“Understood, Vicar.”

“Good.” Sophie returned to her chair, waving them away. “Now, the three of you… get out of my sight.”

Nora stepped away and Derek followed, linking arms with her. Florence hesitated one moment. Venom poured from the glands in her mouth instead of saliva, and the brief, challenging look Sophie gave her was almost enough to made her spit it all out on the woman’s desk.

But Florence made for the door. She would heed Sophie’s words and apply them that very moment. She would make a strategic sacrifice of her pride in the form of a tactical retreat. The Vicar had won the battle, but Florence would not give her victory in the war between them.





47. Petra


Petra clenched the reins of her boco so tightly that she had to consciously remind herself to ease her fingers so she didn’t accidentally snap Raku’s neck. In the span of a day, the world had been given and taken from her. She had been ready to kill Finnyr, she had the box, she had the loyalty of Loom. And now, Finnyr was out of reach, the woman—the only woman—who held the knowledge of the Philosopher’s Box was in Yveun’s hands, and that fact threw the loyalty of Loom into question.

Petra bared her teeth into the wind. She was going to get it all back, and then some. She hadn’t devoted most her life to a dream the world had told her was futile since she was a child to see it taken from her now. She was born to be the Dono of Nova and there was nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice to see that come to pass.

Cvareh rode stiffly at her side. Worry fogged his magic and made the air around him so thick, Petra wondered how he even saw where he was going. He focused ahead, past the late afternoon sun, to Lysip. The islands of Nova floated below them, guiding their track. Eventually, they would deviate and fly around the back of the island, regrouping before launching their plan into action.

The future weighed on Petra’s shoulders. They had one shot. Failure meant House Xin would lose everything.

The watercolors of the sky were turning into strong pastel by the time they landed their bocos behind a far hill on the back end of Lysip. Wildflowers and grasses were their only greeting party. Cvareh dismounted, confused when she did the same.