The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(43)
“How long will you be in Napole?” the woman asked.
“The night.” Cvareh guided Arianna inside, earning himself a questioning glare. He didn’t change his demeanor. “I trust you have lodging?”
“For you? Always.” The woman smiled, thinner, subservient to Cvareh.
They were led down a long hall. A swirling ribbon carved into the wood on either side of them created a dizzying pattern from one end to the next, breaking away from the wall to become the banister for a wide stairway. Arianna stretched her fingers against their binding. Her fifth finger had gone completely unresponsive, the bone likely shattered to dust from magical exhaustion.
“Will this be suitable?” The innkeeper opened a wide door that had the motif of a bird painted across its surface.
The room itself shone like freshly oiled clockwork. Wooden floors were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting light off the many portals that had been bored into the far wall. Silver lined them, curling like tiny serpents that seemed to wriggle in the sunlight, connecting every window to a grand mirror on the ceiling—of all places. A perfectly square bed jutted against the unnecessary curves of the room, its linens softening the hard lines of its wooden base. Arianna narrowed her eyes at the furniture.
“It will do.” Cvareh hardly seemed impressed.
“Do let me know if you need anything.” The woman bowed, her breasts hanging erotically.
Arianna kept her eyes anywhere else. The woman had a nice figure, certainly. But such a sight should be earned. If given to everyone, it held no excitement and therefore lacked interest.
“I will, Xillia.” Cvareh dismissed the woman, shutting the door in haste. He turned to Arianna, and they shared a long look. “I thought you might need to relax your illusion and rest a moment.”
Her whole body tensed instantly at the notion. He had preempted her status. Arianna placed her wine down on a nearby table, grabbed for the splint, pulled it off, and let the illusion fall away with the same gritty feeling as a rain of sand. “Could you smell it in my magic?”
“Smell what?” He seemed confused.
“The illusion beginning to turn.” Arianna held up her hand. Her fifth finger was completely limp, almost like gelatin encased in flesh; bruising turned the blue of the hand dark. Her fourth finger hung at a painful angle. She snapped it back into place with a small grimace.
“No, your magic didn’t smell any different than it normally does.”
“Then how did you know?” Arianna needed to dissect the weaknesses in her illusion. While she was confident in her ability to take on most Dragons, especially now with claws at her disposal, she didn’t want to be put in a position where she had to.
“Call it intuition.” He shrugged.
Arianna scowled at him.
“And what have I done to offend you now?” Cvareh chuckled lightly.
That only served to sour her mood more. “‘Intuition’ makes no sense. Intuition is merely a collection of past evidence compiled in your subconscious. There’s a reason you thought that. Just like there’s a reason for, for this.” She motioned to the windows.
“For what?”
“For why they’re spaced oddly, and circular—do you have any idea how much effort it is to make a circle that perfect architecturally?”
He appeared to be really considering it, as if for the first time. “They’re prettier that way.”
She was going to literally tear out her hair. Arianna spun on her heel and stalked toward the bed. Her magic was exhausted and recovering slowly while her fingers finished knitting. She grabbed a fist full of pillow and threw it over her shoulder.
“Now what?” Cvareh leaned against the door, an amused pull at the corner of his lips. She was going to carve that look off his face if he kept it up.
“I’m told there’s a bed under here.” She continued to cast aside the offending cushions. “I intend to make use of it so my magic recovers faster.”
“It’s more comfortable if you actually sleep on the pillows, you know.”
Arianna paused with a dramatic sigh. “Cvareh, no Dragon, Fenthri, Chimera, or creature on Loom or Nova or anywhere else needs this many plush objects to sleep upon. A glass doll would call it excessive.”
“However you like it.” He held his hands out in a motion of forfeit, but his magic still sparked with amusement.
She turned her eyes away from him, not wanting to see the shine that seemed to almost visibly spark around him. Magic held no light, unless channeled through gold. She really was losing her mind in this backwards land if she began to believe otherwise.
“Yes, remember that.” She fell on the bed with purpose. “For I am going to sleep just long enough to recover my magic, and then you shall show me this Napole in earnest.”
“If it pleases you, Ari.” His voice was nearer. The mattress, in all its softness, betrayed his weight as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Arianna wanted to tell the Dragon that his encroaching presence was unwelcome. That despite whatever kindness he showed her, whatever familiarity his magic held, whatever warmth she could find in the tones of his voice, she simply did not want him there. She had not given him express permission to share her bed. But she couldn’t see to bring herself to deny him either.
She wanted to lash out at him ferociously. But her magic was more exhausted than she gave it credit for. Her eyelids felt heavy and the bed—even the remaining pillows—were more comfortable than she’d anticipated. She heard Cvareh settle among his cloud of cushions, the plush articles creating a barrier between their bodies. Arianna closed her eyes and did nothing to remove his familiar presence from her side.