The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(94)
“After yesterday, there need not be another day of Court,” Yveun announced. “She will not have a chance to challenge you, as we will be on Lysip within the hour. I will announce the Court ended.”
Yveun stared at the unconscious engineer, the woman who had single-handedly caused him so much trouble. There was information he needed from her. But for once, he was going to have the time to extract it. And Yveun would do so with deliciously slow, full measures.
42. Florence
The room began to clear and Florence bided her time. She would not endear herself to Powell by taking this moment from him. Plus, it was the silent observation that freed her mind time enough to think.
She had come here on behalf of the Vicar Alchemist to secure the loyalty of the Harvesters. Florence glanced at Nora and Derek. Well, she had come here as an escort to those appointed to secure the Ter.1 guild’s loyalty.
But a rift was slowly growing between her and her Alchemist friends. Not one of the heart—in that respect they were as close as ever. The rift was one of purpose. Nora and Derek were still being pulled along by the mechanisms of fate and chance. Florence had seen those gears spin too many times. There were two types of people in the world: those who loaded the gun, and those who pulled the trigger.
Florence wanted to be the latter.
She didn’t want to live another moment in a world of the Dragons’ making. Certainly, there were some Dragons, like Cvareh, who were genuine and peaceful and kind. But the more interaction Florence had with the race, the more she saw that Arianna had been right all along. The Dragons were vicious, destructive creatures that had no true regard for the world. No matter what Powell said, Florence couldn’t believe their intentions matched their actions. They were compassionate only so long as it suited them, and even then, it was the Harvesters who found the solutions to the problems Loom faced.
Florence pushed away from the wall, starting for the ever-thinning center of the room. There were only a few journeymen with fully inked sickles on their cheeks, and the Masters. It would be as good a time as any.
“Congratulations, Vicar Harvester,” Florence commended sincerely.
Powell’s coal colored eyes met hers, offset by the mess of long hair that was perpetually determined to hide his right eye. He looked haggard, they all were. But the man had aged nearly to double his life in an hour. His cheek had yet to be tattooed with a Master’s circle and he was already the Vicar.
“Tell me of the rebellion.” Powell wasted no time. He knew what they were there for.
“The Alchemists are working toward a Philosopher’s Box.” Derek stepped forward. “If we have the appropriate amount of gold and organs—”
“A Philosopher’s Box?” Max snorted in amusement. “We need solutions, and the Alchemists give us dreams.”
“It is quite real, I assure you,” Derek responded faster than Florence could.
“Your guild has been claiming such since before you were born.” Theodosia stepped forward. “But we have yet to see the product. Stitching together a Chimera with that much magic without falling is impossible.”
“We have a solid lead.” Nora joined the fray, as if to prevent Derek from being outnumbered by the Harvesters.
“Leads and lies.” Max turned to the new Vicar. “Powell, we have other more pressing matters to concern ourselves with. We have to reorganize the guild. We have to rebuild Faroe. We are responsible for what remains of the Harvesters.”
Powell’s eyes never left hers. The room buzzed around them, yet Powell remained focused, searching, silently calling out to something in Florence’s soul that he may have felt all along. What within him had made him speak to her on that train? What connected them with such faith?
“I know where you can go.” The idea came to her in that moment, thinking of the fundamental essence that joined every Fenthri at the core. It was the essence that Loom so desperately needed to recover. “I know where you all can go.”
“Where?” the elder asked.
“Ter.0.”
“From the fisher’s hook onto his spear!” Theodosia threw her hands into the air in exasperation. “We have our own wasteland here. We don’t need to go to another.”
“This is our home,” Max agreed. “We won’t abandon it.”
“I’m not saying abandon it.” They didn’t understand yet. “I’m saying go to Ter.0, and meet with the other guilds.”
“You want to hold a Vicar Tribunal.” Powell was the first to realize.
“A Vicar Tribunal? There hasn’t been one in over a decade,” one of the journeymen interjected.
“Exactly.” Florence remained focused on Powell. His decision was the only one that mattered now. He was the Vicar. “The Dragons split us apart, forced us to be silent. They bred animosity between the guilds where there was none. They separated us as children, forced us to learn apart, to compete. They fostered silence with magic. Whisperers may make it faster to converse, but there is no magic that can compare to seeing another’s face, truly hearing their plight with your own ears. Anything less is separating, impersonal, dividing. It makes us think the only way we are strong is with their help.
“But Loom was strong long before the Dragons.” She addressed the elder of the group, the man who should remember best the bygone days of another time when Loom was free. “We stood together. Links in a chain. One strong, unified, force.