The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(44)
19. Cvareh
His enigma slept.
Nova was different when Arianna was upon it. Familiar societal norms were suddenly cause for concern as potential interactions that could expose her for what she was. For what she was.
The thought turned over in his head again and again as he remained poised in such a way that he could watch her sleep. He didn’t move out of fear of disturbing her, his arm prickling and then going numb from the strange position. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her sleep, but something felt different without Florence snuggled against the woman’s chest.
She was still dressed in Dragon clothing, and her body was on display to him for the first time. The Arianna on Loom had always been buttoned up tightly, reserved and withdrawn. Here his eyes could draw lines up her thighs, trace the hard muscles that cut across her abdomen, the swell of her biceps draped across her covered breasts. They rested on dark marks etched into her skin. Tattoos, but not like the one that should be emblazoned on her cheek. Script-like numbers scrolled across her right wrist, just off to the side of her modest cleavage, upon her left shoulder.
He wanted nothing more than to delicately trace his claw over them. To learn their locations with his eyes, his hand, his mouth…
This woman should be his mortal enemy, and here he was admiring her. Cvareh finally eased onto his back, staring at his reflection in the ceiling. He certainly looked the same, but something had changed on Loom.
The reflection blurred a moment, clouded by the memory of Finnyr’s face when Cvareh had told him he needed to remove his hands. He had harvested his brother. Conflict clouded his chest. Sure, Petra had blessed it, even ordered it expressly as the Oji—and there was no questioning nor going back when such an outright decree had been made. Furthermore, him and Finnyr had never been particularly close. After Finnyr had lost to Petra for the Ryu position and was shipped off to Lysip, it was hard to foster a particularly deep bond with his brother. Cvareh had tried, but when Petra had chosen him as her Ryu, rather than Finnyr, it had only exacerbated the problem.
Still, Finnyr was his brother. He was the direct blood of House Xin. And Cvareh felt more conflict over his lack of feeling conflict than he did actual turmoil over harvesting him.
Cvareh smiled to himself. Petra would be proud.
The moment Arianna stirred, she donned the contraption she’d designed for her fingers. It was brilliant, really. And with that alone her illusion settled atop her, weaving like a thousand strands of light to form a perfect facade. It was all a testament to her ingenuity and strength, and Cvareh discredited her with his internal disappointment at seeing her as a Dragon rather than in her natural state.
When they left, he made it a point to put his hand on her hip once more. The proximity marked her as his. It affirmed to all Dragons that she was claimed by the Xin’Ryu himself. However small the measure of protection was, he would give it to her gladly.
“How long do you intend to touch me?” she muttered, clearly not sharing his sentiments about the contact.
“Would you trust me if I say it’s for your best interest?”
“Hardly.” Her head turned as her eyes remained glued on a stall selling wind chimes. Cvareh briefly debated if the word meant she thought he was doing so because it delighted him. “What are those?”
“They make sound as the wind blows.”
“I can see that.” She peeled her attention away long enough to roll her eyes at him. “Is it for wind storms of some variety? A warning?”
“No, just because they sound nice.”
All her questions were in the same vein. Arianna asked why some walkways were suspended and why some were on the ground. He remembered the Raven city, and how each level served a separate purpose. But there were no such motives on Nova. Things were as they were because someone was compelled to make them that way.
Her displeasure mounted throughout the day. Cvareh tried to take her everywhere that made him happy. He took her to his favorite sundries shop, his tailor, to see the best performers in all of Ruana. But Arianna merely continued to withdraw.
He was exhausted, and he wasn’t even cultivating an illusion.
They ducked into one of his favorite tea parlors in a quieter area of town. Usually he haunted more fashionable places to see and be seen. But Cvareh avoided them today. He didn’t think he or Arianna could handle the expectations of a highly public appearance. And besides, his tailor had yet to cut him anything befitting of the current season. He would certainly not be seen wearing clothes from a year ago—though the fact had likely already reached the ears of the gossips.
The parlor’s patrons bowed their heads as he entered. Herbs hung from thick beams that drew lines across a plaster ceiling. They perfumed the air and clouded the nose with promises of brews that would be even more delightful than their aromas. The tea master from behind the bar gave a nod of recognition as Cvareh led Arianna back to an iron gate that served as the parlor’s back door.
It opened into the shop’s private garden. A delightful nook of Napole with wafting lavender, sunny chamomile, leafy tea plants, and—Cvareh stilled. His favorite scent hovered above them all in a carved arbor that framed the lone table nestled among the greenery. Vining honeysuckle was heavy in the air, the sweet floral notes at once an invitation and a comfort.
He looked suddenly at the woman next to him.
“What?” Arianna was expectedly oblivious.