The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(113)

“I have done everything for the good of our house, for the good of your rule.” All reminders were proving futile. Her Dono, her life mate, the man she had worked to see to power and then worked alongside to keep it, suddenly saw her as having no more utility than a set of Fenthri tools.

“I will go to Ruana.” Yveun started for the door.

“With more time and just some Xin captives, we will have an army of Perfect Dragons. They will not see it coming. We will blindside them.”

“Or we will lose our chance entirely.” Yveun’s head whipped back to her. “Waiting has given us nothing and the tides are ever shifting against us.”

Coletta had one more request of him. One final attempt to save her Dono’s life and salvage all they had worked for.

“At least become Perfect first,” she implored, knowing the matter futile. “Give yourself the strongest chance.”

He stared at her with abject horror, a look that was the final breaking of any love or kindness or even rapport between them. “How dare you suggest your Dono is anything less than perfection. I will not accept Xin organs—not now, or ever. I will not have them in me unless I am sinking my fangs into the hearts of the fallen. And as long as I breathe, I will not stand to see our house sullied by them either.”

He strode past her, starting for the door. Coletta merely stood, looking at the lone throne. A seat she knew would never have a master again.

“Yveun—”

“No half measures, Coletta.” He paused, briefly, but she refused to look at him. She gave him all the disrespect of her back. “When I return, I will deal with you in the same manner.”

Coletta did not cry. She did not scream or shout or rake her claws over the room. She breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth, three times to regain her composure.

Then, Coletta’Ryu started back for her garden, to prepare for the end of the world.





Arianna


It was night when they finally had a reprieve.

The reprieve was short-lived, as a frustrated Cain stomped in and disrupted their peace with an endless string of scolding for their recklessness. Cvareh impressed and pleased her in equal measure when he finally stood up for himself, telling off the man.

The break was short-lived, however, as with the dawn came a new swarm of Riders, and a new host of bloodshed.

More fell on both sides, and at long last Arianna was forced to recover her magic. It was like a seemingly never-ending source now. Seemingly. For when she hit her limit, it came fast and hard.

“How do you feel?” Cvareh was the only Dragon who would go out of his way to talk to her. No matter how much the Fenthri bled for their cause, the Dragons regarded them with wary eyes. The inverse was also true. Perfect Chimera huddled in groups, avoiding all contact with the Dragons.

“I’m fine.” Arianna continued her inspection of the gun in her hands. “This, however . . .”

“Is it broken?” Cvareh sat next to her heavily.

“No, but it’s reaching its limit. I thought Flor and I had reached a solution, but it seems not.” There were hairline fractures along the barrel that promised years more of testing and dozens of iterations down the line.

“Florence . . .” Cvareh repeated thoughtfully. “How is she?”

“She’s found her place.” Not unlike you, Arianna added for herself alone.

“I suppose we all have.”

“Get out of my mind, Dragon.”

Cvareh laughed, and Arianna let the sound smooth away her mock ire. She would miss the man, when it was all over. The place he had ultimately found had no room for her. His world, Florence’s—neither was Arianna’s. As Florence had seen it, so would he, when the time came.

They sat on his balcony at the manor. The glider barely fit and his boco swooped back every now and again, cawing in angry protest at having to share its post. They were away from prying eyes and combat.

Arianna listed to one side, her temple meeting his shoulder.

She closed her eyes the moment his cheek pressed against her head. How she, of all people, had come to enjoy the company of this Dragon, Arianna would never know. But with Florence starting her new life, and Eva and Oliver dead, he was the only one who knew her. He was the only one who’d seen her in her entirety.

“Cvareh,” she began, softly. “When you’re King—”

“If,” Cvareh emphasized.

“When,” she shot right back. Arianna would not tolerate dismissive language now. They’d come too far for it. “Do not forget the promises you made to Loom.”

“I would never.”

“Because I will hunt you and kill you if you do.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She wondered if it was true—if he was sincere in appreciating that some part of their relationship—whatever it was—was strung together with vengeance and inter-world power struggles. It was certainly odd, but she’d lived an odd life. It was only fitting that the only companion she’d found at the end of the road would be the most inconceivable of them all.

“Cvareh—”

Arianna never finished her thought, which was likely a good thing, as she’d suddenly begun to feel dangerously sentimental. Cain bounded onto the balcony, and the expression on his face told them everything. Even still, nothing could’ve prepared her for his words.