The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(96)
“I will be there to see the Vicar Alchemist and her Philosopher’s Box,” Powell affirmed. “And I will personally see that the other guilds come with me.”
“Thank you, Vicar Powell,” Florence said sincerely.
“The best thanks you can give us is holding up your end of the deal,” he cautioned.
Florence nodded. “We will return to the Alchemists’ Guild with haste, on the fastest train out.”
They didn’t have anything to pack, so the three of them made their way toward Ter.1.2’s main terminal directly from the hall. Florence knew Derek would have something to say about what they had just done, but it took him longer than she expected. When at last he spoke, the words he found were also unforeseeable.
“Florence, Sophie will stand for the Tribunal, but the box…”
“I don’t think she’ll want to share it with the other guilds,” Nora finished.
“That’s lunacy.” Florence shook her head with a small laugh at the comical notion. “How would she see the box built en masse without the Rivet’s tools and factories? Or get the supplies without the Harvesters and Ravens?”
The two exchanged a look. Florence waited for their nonverbal dialogue to end. When it did, Nora linked one arm with Florence’s and Derek linked the other. They walked together as one tight-knit group toward the station.
“Whatever happens, Florence, we’re with you,” Derek spoke for the both of them.
“You may be the worst navigator we’ve ever seen.” Nora gave her a toothy grin. It slipped when their eyes met and Florence desperately wished she could see what Nora saw in that moment. “But so far, you seem to always get the people who stick by your side where they need to be.”
It was a compliment that rang fundamentally Raven, but not. Either way, for the first time, Florence looked beyond the guild affiliation associated with the words and really distilled their meaning. For the first time, she didn’t try to correct any link between herself and the transportation guild of Loom.
43. Cvareh
As the first light of dawn winked into existence, Cvareh realized he hadn’t slept a wink in what amounted to nearly a full day. Even as a Dragon, he was beginning to tap into his magic to find energy. And another day at the Court awaited him, a day that was sure to be awash in blood. The only relief he found was in the thought that the Court would not possibly sustain a full three days, as was the average. After all that had happened, he’d be surprised if it ran a full two.
He dragged his feet toward his room. Even if there wasn’t time to sleep, there would be time to wash and dress in something clean. Cvareh never underestimated the power of a pair of well-stitched trousers or a fashionable vest. He would feel far more like himself if he wasn’t coated in the blood of his sibling.
His room was intentionally far from Petra’s. They could reach different sections of the manor faster and could easily meet in the middle in instances of emergency. As such, it also meant that most of the aesthetic had been catered to his tastes. Thousands of gemstones were inlaid in a dark ceiling, shining like the light from Lord Agendi’s flowers. How he had loved them and their magic, only to have his sentiment surrounding them forever clouded by the events of the past day.
There was irony in nearly everything that encompassed him. The woman who was sharp as a dagger and more abrasive than pumice was his lady of flowers. She smelled potently of honeysuckle, a scent he had delighted in long before they met. Her skin was the color of Lord Xin’s veil, her hair the shade of Lord Agendi’s path. She had been the first woman to so consume him that he had taken her before his patron to mate.
And yet, it had been those same well-loved flowers that had changed her life as well. Had the Dragon who betrayed her never brought them to the rebellion, she may have never found the solution to the Philosopher’s Box. Her lover may well still be alive, or maybe they would have perished together.
Cvareh certainly would’ve never met her, and that would have spared them much confusion at the very least.
Yes, it all seemed to come down to that Dragon’s singular act, a man she had named as Rafansi. Cvareh knew he should loathe him in a stand of solidarity with Arianna. But, guiltily, he appreciated the man’s dark hand in her life. For it had so clearly driven Cvareh and his Fenthri lover together.
He ran his hands through his clothes, trying to carefully select his ensemble for Court. He did not want to run the risk of re-wearing anything too similar, resulting in a fashion crime he would hear about for years to come. It was a therapeutic process that freed his mind, allowing it to wander.
Arianna had claimed this “Rafansi” was a Xin. Perhaps a nameless from below? Cvareh mused. He had neglected to ask Arianna how she’d known his House—if it had been the man’s skin shade or if he’d had a tattoo on his cheek. The Dragon could’ve been someone loyal to Rok originally.
Now, that would make more sense. By the time Petra had even heard of the rebellion from Finnyr, the Dono had already begun putting an end to it. The traitor must surely be Rok, or someone with ties into that House.
Cvareh crossed into the bathing room attached to his dressing area. The water was hot on his skin and the steam cleared his head. He perfumed it with rose and hickory, trying to overwhelm his senses with heat and scents so foreign that they would inspire no further thoughts on anything. But it was a futile effort.