The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(84)
She didn’t remember anything in her designs that would allow her to love again.
37. Petra
Her people, her family, were dying in the streets.
By the time word arrived to Petra of the mysterious circumstances under which they were suffering, it was far too late to even attempt to save the majority of them. The organs from a slave squished under her feet as she paced the room. Killing the messenger solved nothing, but the scent of blood made her mind sharp and her senses keen. Killing directed her rage at someone worthless, so it didn’t escape through her at the people she needed to depend on.
The doors at the far end of the hall opened. Claws out, fangs bared, Petra wheeled in place to look at who had traversed into her space at such a time. There were only about five people she wouldn’t kill on sight, and lucky for Cain, he was one of them.
“Cain, tell me news. Tell me something worthwhile.” She felt utterly useless, and it was a feeling Petra both loathed and feared. She was the Xin’Oji, the young warrior, the champion of blue. She knew how to fight her way out of any corner.
“Petra’Oji.” Cain’s bare chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. “I just arrived from overseeing healers from Napole to Easwin. They began to try to help the living, but their medicines are failing, so they looked to the dead. They suspect poison.”
“Poison?” Petra repeated out of pure shock. A shameful death, poison was only reserved for killing animals without marring their pelt or flesh, or for the ill whose hearts could not be safely consumed seeking relief. Petra tried to think of even one poison, but could not name any. “It was not a rash of sour elk? Or an unhealthy growth upon the yeast?”
Cain shook his head grimly. “When they opened the cores of the fallen, half their innards had been completely dissolved.”
“Are any surviving?” Petra walked over to one of the tall windows in the hall that faced east. All that was before her were the spires of her manor.
“Only those with strong magic in their stomachs.”
Petra hung her head. Her claws dug so far into the stone that they nearly snapped. This was an enemy in the shadows. It was not one she could hunt down. It was not someone she could summon into the pits and make an example of several times over.
She had dealt with a coward. She had dealt with someone who was willing to sacrifice all their ideals for the ends they wanted to achieve. Petra snarled despite herself; the irony was not lost on her. Whoever had done this knew it was a very dark way to twist the Xin motto.
“Cain, I have an important task for you.” Petra thought through her next move as carefully as she could manage. But blood clouded her mind and engulfed her nose. She wanted to roar the song of vengeance.
“Oji.” Cain brought his heels together, standing taller.
“Find Finnyr, and bring him to me.” Petra straightened, looking at Cain’s reflection in the blackness of the windowpane. “I only need him alive and able to speak, Cain. His condition otherwise matters not.”
“Do you think Finnyr’Kin has anything to do with this?”
Petra was smart enough to tell the difference between true insubordination and inquiry; this was by far the latter. Cain’s face was overcome with horror at the very thought. It was heartening, but Petra did not have time for it.
“No…” Petra tapped her fingers along the windowsill. “Finnyr is a Xin, even if he lives under a Rok roof. Furthermore, even if he wanted to betray us, this is beyond him. At worst, he’s a worthless little slime, not cunning or devious.
“However, the man whose roof he sleeps under is both.” Petra growled the Dono’s name. “Yveun has much to gain from Xin fighters mysteriously dying in the night, especially after our showing today.”
“I will find Finnyr’Kin.”
“See you do so with discretion,” Petra cautioned. “We must act carefully until we know what picture is being painted.” Accusing a Dragon of engaging in dishonest battles was a high offense if it proved to be unfounded. Even if Finnyr confirmed it was Yveun, Petra still wasn’t certain she would be able to outright accuse the Dono of treason.
Dawn had barely kissed the sky when Petra knew Cain had returned. She smelled the man’s magic and the sharp tang of her brother’s. She had done nothing but pace the room for hours and bark orders at any who entered.
The doors opened and Cain shoved Finnyr through them. Her brother tripped, nearly falling on his face. He was like a skittish field mouse trying to squeak a mountain lion into submission.
“I am a Kin of this House. I will not tolerate this treatment!”
Cain looked to her. It was a delicious feeling—another person deferring to her above Finnyr, the first born, the fallen child of Xin. Petra’s claws felt ten times sharper.
“We shall see what you are soon enough,” Petra said silkily.
Finnyr turned slowly to look at her. All boldness he had tried to throw around with Cain washed away beneath the shower of her judgment. She poured her suspicions silently atop him and watched as they eroded his resolve.
“Petra, what is the meaning of this?” Finnyr demanded.
“Cain, I wish to be alone with my brother.” Petra didn’t want an audience for what she was about to do to Finnyr. She didn’t want anyone in the manor to know what she could do with her claws. The speculation over what prompted each delightful scream would be a far stronger message to warn others against disappointing her.