The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(85)

“As you wish, Oji.” He closed the doors behind him. Petra’s ears twitched as she listened for footsteps. There were none, meaning Cain had assumed responsibility as guard.

They would not be disturbed.

“Petra, there—”

“Petra’Oji,” she corrected venomously. “You will refer to me by my title, Finnyr.”

“There are things I must tell you.”

“Oh, I imagine so.” She began to advance on him. “Our House, your family, are dying, Finnyr…”

“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with it.” Finnyr retreated, shuffle step after shuffle step.

“No, I know better. You’re far too inept for that,” she chastised. “You’re weak. You think small. You require a guiding hand.” Claws shot from her fingers at every flaw she named. “You likely aren’t even aware of what happened.”

“No, I am aware.”

“Oh?” She wanted to hear him say it. She wanted him to be so worked up and afraid that he would do anything to prove himself to her. And, in doing so, he would show her his true colors.

“I hadn’t come home because I was searching for answers on my end, just like you commanded.” Finnyr stood straighter, like a performer in the spotlight. “I overheard a conversation that I think will be of use to you.”

He couldn’t overhear anything when she needed him to, but suddenly managed without a problem when it was far too late. His inconsistency was beginning to rub Petra wrong. “For your sake, you’d best hope it is.”

“It was in the wine,” Finnyr said hastily. “The poison was in the wine.”

Petra stopped just within arms reach. She stared at her brother for a long moment before raising her hand in a quick motion, bringing its back across his face. Her claws dug long, golden lines in his cheek.

Finnyr reeled. “What, why?”

“Tell me true. Where was the poison put?”

“I told you—”

She grabbed the chain that sat around his neck, the collar the Dono made all his beasts wear, and yanked him by it. Petra placed a hand on his shoulder, tensing her fingers and dragging her claws down his bicep. Finnyr howled in pain.

“Tell me how my people were poisoned!”

“I am telling you!” he snarled. “It was in the wine.”

Petra slapped him again, this time with her palm. She ripped a chunk from his ear in the process. “Where did they put it?”

“In the wine!” Finnyr hissed in pain. “Petra, the poison was in the wine.”

“Where?” She hit him again.

“The wine!”

“Where was it?” Petra threw him backward. Finnyr stumbled, giving her an easy opening to straddle his feet and hold him against the wall by his neck. Rivulets of gold pooled in his collarbones as her claws dug into the soft muscle of his throat.

“The wine!” Finnyr was nearly at the point of tears. The shameful, pathetic man came undone under her fingers, the truth pouring from him like the blood from his neck. Petra could confidently ascertain that he was not trying to deceive her in any fashion.

She dropped him into a heap on the floor in disgust.

In a display of how low she regarded him, she stalked away, her back to him. Let him lunge, Petra seethed mentally. If he dared attack her when her back was turned, she really would kill him. Right now, his death was merely a high probability.

“Cain.” Petra pulled open the door. The man was at attention. Cain was not perfect, but Petra was truly grateful to have him in that moment. “Go and have the word spread that all wine on the isle of Ruana is to be cast into the God’s Line. Every last bottle, cask, and vat.”

“As you command, Oji.” Cain made haste away.

Petra slammed the door shut and turned with a sigh. It wasn’t even sport to tear her brother into pieces. He had already healed, but he remained on the floor in a puddle of pale blue flesh. She should be done with it and send him to the refinery to function as Ruana’s personal reagent farm.

She squatted before him, assessing her broken prey. Petra reached out a hand and he flinched. She slowly began to stroke his hair, as if she were soothing a skittish animal.

“Now, Finnyr, tell me whose poison it was, and don’t lie to me.”

“Coletta’Ryu’s.” Finnyr swallowed, trying to wash away his weakness. It didn’t work. “It was Coletta’Ryu’s poison.”

“What?” Petra tried to make sense of this. The Rok’Ryu? Coletta was nothing, worthless, weak and small.

And that would be just the sort of person who would resort to such devious and underhanded means. The person who could not stand in the pit. The person who would attach herself to one of the fiercest Dragon fighters while still offering something of her own to match the bloodthirstiness of her mate.

“I know it was her,” Finnyr insisted. “She is known for staying in her gardens, but allows no one else in there. Most assume it’s for her privacy, to hide her frailty. But I began to suspect something else when a servant went in and wound up dead.”

Petra glanced at the servant she had killed hours ago, the body now cold. She could entirely understand killing someone for being in the wrong space at the wrong time. Especially when that someone was worthless.