The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(5)
Cvareh’s blood-colored eyes finally drifted to her. They shone like two golden disks in the sunlight. She had whispered the plan to him as she organized it on her way to the Rok Estate. He had known she would be there, but a tangible joy pulled at his expression, tugging it into the realm of inappropriate given their current venue.
“Forgive me for pulling you from your meditation, brother.” She pushed through the moment. There was still work to be done. “Our divine King has demanded to speak with you.”
Cvareh played his part just as she’d instructed. Her brother was the perfect soldier. He never questioned and he was always attentive when she spoke.
“Yveun Dono—” Cvareh cleared his throat, as though he had not used it in months and it troubled him to speak. “It is an honor to be sought by you.”
“Cvareh Xin.” The Dono could not keep a growl from his voice. He stalked across the space with restrained and measured steps. “Where have you been these past months?”
Confusion furrowed Cvareh’s brow. “Forgive me, Dono, but I fear I don’t understand your question.” He lowered his eyes demurely, radiating nothing but subservience to the King looming over him.
Yveun leaned forward and Petra reminded herself to breathe. She’d instructed Cvareh carefully on what he needed to do. A scrub of perfumed salts until he bled, a wash of boiling water; when his skin had knitted he was to cut it again and smear his blood atop himself. And, by all the gods, he was to do it nowhere near the Chimera or anything else of Loom.
The King inhaled deeply. Petra knew she had won from that single sniff. His mouth pressed into a line and he breathed again in quick succession.
“Do not play dumb with me, child,” Yveun growled. “I know you have not been in this temple.”
“Has it been weeks?” Cvareh’s face paled on command. He turned to Petra and then looked back at the Dono in false confusion. “My King, I’ve been seeking the words of my Lord. Time has escaped me… If you called on me and I did not answer then—”
“Do not lie to me, you thief.” Yveun’s claws shot out from his fingers. They gleamed in the light, sharpened by grating on bones from years of duels.
Petra stood slowly. Her own claws itched for release. If she could goad Yveun into a mistake now, she could claim the throne.
“Yveun Dono… We are in the Temple of Lord Xin, Patron of my House. As his mortal hand and protector of all Xin, it is my duty to defend my kin.” She drew her height. Petra was three fingers shorter than the King but she felt evenly matched as she threw her magic against him without fear of repercussion. Cvareh could handle two fresh Riders if he could slay Leona. The King would be hers. “I have tolerated your affronts against my brother and have violated my Lord’s sacred code to bring you here. But if you maintain these slanderous claims before man and god, I will evoke the Deathbringer and demand your atonement for them.”
Her claws finally unsheathed to punctuate her words in a sweet release. It was the first time she had bared them before Yveun and doing so was a thrill unto itself.
Yveun’s lips curled in a snarl, exposing his canines. But he didn’t attack, and he didn’t speak further. While preserving all the dominance he could, he stepped away.
His retreating magic left a bittersweet aftertaste, a surge of power that Petra craved. It was delicious to feel it shrink before her and she wanted to feel the sensation again and again. At the same time, she wished it had been the first and only time she’d feel such a thing. For if such were the case, then the title of Dono would be attached to her name.
“Caution, Petra.” The King dropped her title, slapping her across the face with words. Petra remained mentally fettered. “If you continue down this path you shall evoke the Deathbringer indeed. But it shall not be my atonement he seeks. Do not let your ambition blind you to your ideals.”
Yveun Dono stepped away, knowing he’d been beat. With Cvareh in the place she claimed, acting so perfectly, not a scent of Loom on him, the King had no proof—for now. To challenge them would require the King to own up to his shames—Cvareh having bested both him in stealing the schematics from under his nose, and his Riders on Loom. She would see the sun and moon rise together before she expected Yveun to imbibe on his own humility. Petra watched as he departed back down the bleak descent of the Temple of Death, knowing it would not be the last time their tensions would rise to a near boil only to be iced again.
She relaxed her hands, claws retreating for now. “You are mistaken, Yveun,” she breathed. “Ends before ideals.”
3. Cvareh
Cvareh would trade his soul for a well-tailored pair of trousers and tastefully matching shoulder adornments. It was ice cold atop the mountain and he fought shivers as the air nipped at his bare skin. It was still tender from healing after the abuse he’d put it through at Petra’s request.
Petra.
He followed his elder sister down the long staircase he’d sprinted up only an hour before. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could feel her. She was bright and sharp. Her magic smelled crisply of pine. Her steps were measured and even, the lithe, sinewy muscles in her legs betraying strength hidden from the casual eye. Her breathing was even, unlabored, unfaltering. She’d met the Dragon King and walked away as though it was a matter that caused her no more concern than choosing what to wear in the morning.