The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(24)
“Of course.” The woman departed.
When it came to matters of House, Petra felt as though she were trapped on a stationary wheel that spun and spun without progress, no matter how hard she pushed ahead. Finnyr was as useless as he’d always been, offering little more to her than his position as a pawn in the Rok estate that freed up Cvareh to remain at her side. Cvareh had returned, but his help was relegated to the shadows as it had always been. He was worth too much to her to risk parading his strengths before any member of the Crimson Court.
And then there was the Chimera.
Cvareh had reminded Petra time and again that threatening the woman would be of little use. But every moment lost due to her stubbornness was another that scraped away at Petra’s patience—and she wasn’t known for an excess of that to begin with. Petra kept enough of her head to recognize that losing it over the woman’s antics would be akin to defeat. She chose to focus on the things she had direct control over, instead, and today those matters were hidden on the far side of Ruana.
She fastened a tight circle of leather around her bosom, draping emerald strips of fabric over her shoulders and fastening them to cuffs at her wrists. The cuffs appeared to be leather on the outside, but their inners were gold, enough to support a corona should she need it. She’d had to leverage the defense four times in her life, and she was not afraid to welcome a fifth if the world so designed.
Men and women stepped aside as she strode through her manor in the waking dawn. Servants, slaves, Anh, and nameless—those for whom Petra didn’t even need to spare a sideways glance. On occasion, a Da was about, and Petra would give their bow a small nod of her head. Otherwise, she gave them no heed.
She loved her house like a wolf loved its pups. But she did them no favors by coddling them or tempering her demands. The world would burn under her heels if her designs saw the light of day. Only a strong House would able to rise from its ashes. If she failed to set the example, they were all destined for death.
Raku milled about in a high courtyard. He cooed the moment his giant eyes caught sight of her and Petra smiled in reply to her trusty steed. He was saddled at her request, her favorite oxblood colored seat. Petra wasted no time, mounted, and took to the skies.
Ruana shrunk beneath her, smaller and smaller with each flap of Raku’s wide wings. The Temple of Lord Xin rose from the mountainside, shading the farmlands below. The cities and towns speckled the countryside like gemstones in a mine only to cluster together in determination against nature to create cities and centers of art and culture. They were children of earth and sky, birthed from sunlight fractured into a thousand shining colors.
From this vantage, Petra could see all that she fought for. Her home, her father’s home, her father’s father’s home, and all the way back hundreds of years to the great fall of House Xin to House Rok. This was the land where the Dono was meant to sit. And she would see the mantle returned.
Banking across cliff faces and weaving over treetops, Petra made her way around the mountains that curved across the back of the Isle of Ruana. Nearly opposite the Xin estate, tucked behind imposing sheer mountain peaks, was a series of work houses situated atop a slowly blossoming network of mines. From the air, it was easy to mistake as nothing more than a snowy, barren valley. The smokestacks had been carefully tunneled through the mountain itself, hiding the real work of Ruana’s first refinery.
Petra tugged on Raku’s feathers, clicking a command with her tongue and teeth. The beast curved through the sky, spiraling downward. He landed nimbly on a narrow ledge, well trained to seek the safest footing.
She swung down from the saddle, her long toes curling through the thick snow and seeking purchase against the frozen rock beneath. The wind was icy and bit with savage numbness into her skin. Every pinprick made her feel alive.
She waved her hand at Raku, and the boco took to the skies. He would hunt, or roost, or mate—whatever satisfied his wild nature that morning. Petra allowed the beast to indulge his whims as long as he always responded to the shrill whistle that demanded his presence once more. He was one of the few beasts in the wide world who had yet to fail her.
“Oji,” a man greeted her from the shade of a sheltered window. “It is a pleasure to have you in our presence.”
“You flatter me, Poiris’Kin.” Petra jumped down into the hall where he stood. Despite having no glass or shutters, it was so warm that the snow melted on the windowsill.
“Never flattery, merely truth.” The Kin walked forward, knowing why she was there without an explanation. “We are making good progress. Spinning iron to steel is becoming a simpler task by the day.”
“The help you demanded?”
“Has been invaluable.”
Poiris was a smart man, enough so that Petra had placed him in charge of one of the most important tasks involved in laying the foundation of her new world order. He was leading the charge in assembling the refineries she needed to produce House Xin’s own gold. Doing so would free the House from under Rok’s thumb. He who controlled the gold, controlled Nova. Once House Xin had their own refineries working, they would no longer need to depend on small allotments or what limited back-winds trading could be done with Loom.
Of course, it wouldn’t be enough. Not even close. Petra still needed Loom and the depths of their mines, the extensive capacity of their refineries, the efficiency with which the Fenthri operated. But even small steps were progress. Change did not happen overnight, birthed from plots of wishes. It grew from the grit of sacrifice and blood.