The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(97)

Arianna was certain that the man who had betrayed her had been Xin, not Rok. The woman wouldn’t have said anything if she was unsure, and she knew enough about Dragon culture now to be confident in such a claim. He didn’t think the Dragon she had dealt with was marked, not after Arianna’s surprised and curious reactions to the House tattoos. Even if she didn’t know the meaning years ago, she did now.

He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the smooth porcelain of the soaking tub.

Her eyes stared back at him. Tam purple amid a stormy sea of ashen skin. They looked through him, seeing right to his core, as though he was nothing more than a child’s riddle. But they hid her truths just as deftly.

Cvareh mapped the curves of her face. He tracked the soft line of her jaw, the surprisingly feminine arc of her cheek. Her hair, the color of pure snow. Had she ever worn it long? Had she always kept it cut just below her shoulder as it was? These were questions he may never know the answer to and the fact shouldn’t have stung him so.

Yes, he was enamored with her. Her differences. All her contrasting pieces that made up a whole that could be none other than Arianna. Even the pieces that weren’t hers: the eyes, the hands, the ears—

Cvareh’s eyes snapped open.

The hands. The ears. He repeated it again and again in his mind.

He stood from the tub, his heart racing. The ears she had possessed as long as he had known her. They were an older part, from when she had first become a Chimera—a Perfect Chimera—more than three years ago. She had never detailed how she had acquired them, and Cvareh had never asked. He’d assumed it to be some horrible harvesting ring that chained his people and turned them into meat factories. He hadn’t wanted to think on it.

But what if they were given willingly, by a Dragon who had been seeking to earn her trust? Cvareh remembered Arianna’s accusations when they first met. The fragile stitches he had ripped off the gaping wound within her heart at the fact that he carried her schematics.

He hadn’t really listened to what she had said then. He thought her anger had stemmed from the fact that they had been stolen, and her general distrust of Dragons. But no, the woman had mentioned he was merely trying again to earn her trust. To betray her again.

Cvareh barely had time to towel dry before he was moving out the door, still dripping from his hair, still naked.

If her ears were given to her by the Dragon who betrayed her, that meant he may have given her other things, like her stomach or blood. That meant he had been the Dragon she thought was Xin. Her betrayer, her organ provider—the man was from his House.

“No,” Cvareh breathed, and began to run.

Arianna had nearly attacked him when he delivered the hands. Hands that matched her ears nearly perfectly, when he actually stopped and considered it. Hands that smelled of cedar, a scent she had enough organs and perhaps blood to also possess, alongside the much more favored and potent sweetness of honeysuckle.

Finnyr smelled of cedar.

Finnyr, a man of House Xin who lived under the Rok’Oji—loyal to House Rok.

Rafansi, a failed creation of life that lived under the pity of Lord Rok. A name Yveun Dono would not doubt delight in using at every turn, at forcing upon a once-Xin’Oji.

He arrived at her door, panting. He wanted to find her in the room. He wanted to tell her that he had put together everything she had been telling him—and not telling him—all along. That he knew who had betrayed her and, even better, that she could be the one to give the man death.

It would’ve been perfect. Petra wouldn’t have to kill their brother. They could make up another claim for Ari to make in the Court. Yveun wouldn’t stand for Finnyr, not when Petra could then stand for Ari and they would be forced to face each other in the ring. No one else would dare step forward in a seemingly Xin-on-Xin duel. It would’ve been a neat solution to all their problems.

But Cvareh knew, the moment he saw her ajar door, there would be no neat solutions.

He entered the room silently, as if by doing so he could sneak up on the truth and tear it apart with his claws to craft a new reality. He looked hopefully to the bed, though it showed no signs of being slept in. Her Dragon clothes were strewn about the floor. Some tears in them had been made by Cvareh’s hands earlier, but new ones tore his hopes asunder. Ones that told him they had been discarded in haste. That their wearer didn’t care if they could ever be put on again.

His eyes fell on an open drawer. It was empty. Cvareh’s heart may well rip through his chest trying to drown out the ringing of horror in his ears. He pulled out the next drawer, throwing clothes onto the floor, clothes Arianna may have never worn.

He darted to the bed. Feathers filled the room as he threw aside the pillows, his claws unsheathed. He was out of control. Anger, heartbreak, denial, frustration, exhaustion—it all had worn him down. He trashed the room, at first in his search, but then just out of anger when he realized he wouldn’t find what he was looking for.

Her daggers and coat were gone.

That meant the White Wraith was now on Ruana. Arianna was at work. And he did not think it chance that this disappearance followed the one night Finnyr himself had returned to the manor.

Cvareh collapsed into the chair, the weight of inevitable truth compressing him into a small, weak being. She had never trusted his family. He had barely begun to earn that fragile gift. And now… Cvareh groaned, burying his face in his palms.