The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(95)

“We gave the Dragons technology. We gave them gold. And, yes, they have given us some insight,” she begrudgingly admitted, thinking about Harvesting practices. “But that does not make them our saviors. They did not find the solution; they merely identified the problem. We are our own saviors and we must—”

Powell held up his hand, cutting her short.

“Enough, Florence.” He sighed softly, pressing his eyes closed a moment. Florence’s heart raced, not just from her risky declaration, but from truly not knowing what Powell’s reaction to it would be. The tiniest of smiles curled his mouth when he opened his eyes again. “The Harvesters agree to a Vicar Tribunal.”

“Really?” Theodosia shifted uncertainly. “The Dragons torched the Tribunal hall and the rest of Ter.0 in the war. They said if we assemble again, they will do worse.”

“What could be worse than what we have already witnessed?” Powell asked. All were silent. “We have no more guild for them to destroy. Faroe has burned. Our mines are stalled. Our fields will go unplowed. Our fishers may be moored for who knows how long, while we attempt to recover what was lost. What more can the Dragons take from us?”

“Our pride, if we let them.” The question was rhetorical, but Florence wanted to drive the point home. It was an almost Arianna-like quip and she was instantly proud of herself for thinking of it so deftly on the spot.

“And the Alchemists will not let them,” Derek said, lending his support.

“The Vicar Alchemist will support the Tribunal?” Powell asked.

“I have no doubt,” Derek affirmed. “Vicar Sophie wants to see the rebellion to power. She wants it for Loom. I’m sure she will stand at the Tribunal.”

Powell seemed satisfied by the response. “We will get word across the narrow strait then, to the Rivets in Ter.3. They are connected by land to the Ravens, who can then get word to the Revolvers.”

“How quickly can we hold the Tribunal?” Strong words aside, the reality of their situation was becoming very apparent to Florence. Communication systems, in all forms, were down. They didn’t even know if there were Vicars left to meet with. Perhaps the Harvesters had been the only ones warned with enough time.

The idea was only kindling to the pyre of Florence’s rage. The Harvesters had been a fluke, with all the Masters in the guild at the time. The other guilds had their Masters positioned throughout the territories. They would regroup. And if word spread far enough and fast enough, they could do so at the Tribunal.

“Two months, perhaps?” Theodosia begrudgingly suggested at a silent behest from Powell. “That would give messengers enough time to get all the way to Dortam, and for the Vicars to travel.”

“Spread the word like wildfire,” Florence suggested aloud. “Invite all of Loom.”

“What if the Dragons choose to attack again?” Max was still clearly uneasy at the idea of gathering in one place.

“We have the numbers on them. Even with Chimera alone, we have the numbers.” The fact had been known since Nova was first discovered. The sky world was a much, much smaller place than Loom. “The only way they will overpower us is with our own weaponry, coronas, and gliders. And how will they get that weaponry when there is no one to build it?”

“We cannot make a real stand against them,” Max pressed.

Derek was quick to speak up again. “Not without the Philosopher’s Box.”

“You keep saying that, boy, but you have no evidence.”

“We do.” All eyes were on Florence. “We do,” she repeated without hesitation. “We have the person who made the very first Philosopher’s Box.”

“Lies.”

“Her name is Arianna, and she is my teacher,” Florence spat venom, protective at the mere round-about accusation against Ari. “She will make the box for the rebellion.”

“Arianna, Arianna the…”

“Rivet,” Florence finished for Max. “A Master Rivet, at that.”

“Who appointed her?” Max asked with squinted eyes.

“Master Oliver.” Florence had only heard the name a few times before, and prayed she had it right. Judging from Max’s reaction, she did.

“That’s impossible.” The man shook his head. “Master Oliver was part of the Counsel of Five—the fools who died in the last rebellion. His student, Arianna, she perished with him.”

“Except she didn’t,” Florence insisted. She was exhausted the moment the defense crossed her lips. Standing for someone whom everyone seemed to know more about than she did was wearying. The first thing Florence would do the moment Arianna returned would be to demand an explanation of everything. “She is alive and well, and is securing the resources to make the box,” Florence lied, perhaps. What Ari was doing was anyone’s guess.

“We will expect to see the box, then, at the Tribunal.” Powell’s tone left no room for question or interpretation—it was now a caveat. “Once the Vicars see the Philosopher’s Box working, we will stand behind the Alchemists’ Rebellion.”

“I don’t know…” Derek started uncertainly.

“Done.” There wasn’t time for hesitation. Derek shot Florence a look from the corners of his eyes. “Can we count on the Harvesters, two months from now, in Ter.0?”