The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(25)

“Have they presented any problem?” Petra asked.

“Quite the opposite.” She gave him a look that demanded elaboration. “They tell me we treat them much better than House Rok.”

“So even Fen have sense.” Wicked satisfaction pulled on Petra’s cheeks, drawing her lips taut in a satisfied smirk.

“More than we give them credit for, on the whole,” Poiris affirmed.

“Don’t go too far.” Petra couldn’t help but think of the woman Cvareh had brought home. She fashioned herself as clever, but all Petra had seen was a child. She had been too easy to break, sitting quietly in her room, only walking the courses that Petra had designed for her to be led along. She had expected more from New Dortam’s infamous White Wraith. “Show me your product.”

Poiris led her inward to a great room of whirring mechanisms and molten metal. Petra surveyed it like some fire god. She didn’t understand the first thing about how it worked, but she commanded it nonetheless. Chimera stood in the corners, sweat dripping off their faces, as they spoke to Dragons who walked unfazed through the overbearing heat. Giant buckets poured liquid iron into other containers.

“We have the air lance situated to remove impurities in the iron.” Poiris pointed overhead to a long tube. “But we are yet working on the reagent lance.” He shifted her attention down to the bottom floor far below, where a similar golden tube was being fashioned by a number of laborers.

“You are slowed by gold,” Petra observed.

“We believe with what we can attain, we should have it finished within the next six months.”

Slower than she wanted, but nothing could be done. A solution was offered and her men were hard at work. She could demand nothing more from them. When a boco was flapping its wings with all its might, it served little to push it harder. That was how riders got thrown from their saddles.

I have time, she reminded herself. There were decades of history behind her. She would not sacrifice all her work in haste. At the least, she delighted in the knowledge that she was quietly siphoning off gold and resources for the refineries she claimed to be assisting Rok in building.

“Show me.”

Poiris led her back into the hall from the observation deck and they wound down through the refinery’s innards. It was simple, rough, and raw compared to the luxury of the Xin manor. But there was no time to fit it with things of beauty. She allowed those living here to bring their own artistic sensibilities to bear, and fashion furniture as they could without raising suspicion, but could do no more for them. It was a pitiable existence, but it had to do. Somehow, the Chimera didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

They had almost reached the ground when a Dragon, unknown to her, came bounding down the stairs behind them. Petra turned with fluid grace, her claws tensing on instinct but not unsheathing.

“Oji, the Ryu has arrived,” the man reported.

Petra glanced between the messenger and Poiris.

“You may use my office,” the Kin offered.

“See him there,” Petra ordered the other Dragon. “Lead on, Poiris’Kin.”

They traversed upward on a secondary set of stairs to a homely office. Poiris was notorious for favoring practicality over fashion, but nothing betrayed him more than his working space. It was humble for a Kin and reminded Petra that she had risen him from an Anh. After his work at the refinery was finished, she’d see him situated in a lavish room in the Xin manor. No more rough fur carpets, no more worn desks; Poiris would have the trimmings yielded by the gold he helped create.

“Thank you.” Petra gave Poiris a pointed nod as Cvareh was ushered in, and the two were promptly left in peace. Petra placed her hands on her hips expectantly.

“Arianna has some demands.” Uncertainty dulled the scent of Cvareh’s magic.

Petra did not ease her expectations for Cvareh. Out of everyone, he, as her Ryu, needed to be fearless before her. “Tell me.”

“She is restless.”

Petra snorted. “I am not made to amuse her.”

“She wants to return to Loom.”

“Unacceptable.” Petra wouldn’t even entertain the thought. She had the crafter of the Philosopher’s Box. She would do whatever she must to gain the information of its machinations.

“I had a feeling you would say that.” Cvareh sighed heavily, running his hand through his blood orange hair. Petra watched it fall over his face time and again as he repeated the motion.

“So you have an alternate solution?” He wouldn’t have come to her if he didn’t.

“She wants to return to Loom… Or have hands.”

Petra considered this for a long moment. “She wants to make her own illusions.”

Cvareh nodded.

“Can she sustain the additional magic without becoming forsaken?” Petra knew of the plagues that would set in on Fenthri bodies pushed too far with Dragon magic. She would not be responsible for the woman’s death. At least not prematurely.

“I don’t think she would’ve asked if she couldn’t.” Cvareh was certain in Arianna’s self-awareness, Petra noted with amusement. “She wants a shade similar to her skin, light blue, steel blue…”

“A shame you cannot make illusions,” Petra stole his thoughts and gave them sound. Another note was made when she realized that Cvareh was truly disappointed. Her brother would’ve given the woman his hands. Cvareh was loyal to their House above all else, of that Petra had no doubt, but no Dragon savored the notion of cutting off their body parts for Fenthri gain. They should loathe it. The fact that Cvareh not only seemed willing, but gleaned some sort of delight at the idea of pleasing her was worthy of note in the slowly evolving dynamic of their relationship.