The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(119)

Yveun’s heart had helped exponentially, but even that surge of power wore off. Every inch of his frame had sustained enough wounds and expended enough energy that all he wanted was quiet. All he wanted was sleep.

So, he allowed the attendants to look after him long enough to make minimal treatments to his wounds and then dress him for bed. But it was the silence after they left that he’d truly relished. Silence that now was his only companion in the wake of his ascension to Dono.

Cvareh closed his eyes. His thoughts did not drift to leadership. Nor was he visited by some prophetic vision of Lord Xin blessing him with divine right to rule. Behind his eyelids, he found the face of one woman—Arianna. And with no one to know, or judge him for his daydreams, he indulged the thought.

He saw them sitting together, thrones to match. They would be a beacon for Loom and Nova, a symbol of what their worlds could be, of the partnership that was required for all of them to seek the freedom they had long desired. And, as Dono, he would see that she never wanted for anything.

Dreaming numbed the pain, and soothed him enough that sleep could take its hold.

Movement stirred him. His mind was sluggish, but his body was already feeling much stronger from however much rest he’d gotten. Cvareh groaned softly, trying to dismiss whatever unnecessary helper had disturbed his sleep.

His eyelids fluttered, and he caught a glimpse of red.

Red.

Cvareh’s eyes shot wide open as he felt a blade plunging between his ribs, straight into his heart. They took in the face of a woman he’d only seen in passing before. Her eyes were dead and emotionless. She could have been sipping tea, rather than killing the Dono in cold blood.

The blade burned as she removed it. The hole closed, magic knitting over the small incision quickly, but the fire remained.

“Coletta,” he snarled.

“A gift, for the new Dono.” She smiled, exposing teeth that looked more like worn-down knives. Her gums were gnarled and recessed. “I used the same poison on your sister.” Coletta’s hand cupped his cheek, almost lovingly. “I thought you would want to die as she did.”

With a primal scream, Cvareh summoned energy he did not think he possessed, bolting upright. One hand gripped the woman’s frail shoulder, feeling bone snap under the force of his fingers as the other hand plunged into her chest. Coletta coughed blood onto his chest, leaning against his cheek. She reeked of death and strawberries.

“Rok will forever seek to regain the throne that is rightfully theirs,” she swore darkly.

Cvareh ripped out her heart with ease and pushed her away. Coletta posed no struggle; her triumphant eyes remained wide open even in death. She collapsed onto the floor, and Cvareh discarded her heart across the room, not daring to sink his teeth into the flesh of the poison mistress. Just her blood on his shoulder seemed to burn his skin.

The excitement and exertion quickened his heart. Cvareh collapsed back onto the bed, trying to slow the flow of poison throughout his body. It seared his muscles and sapped his strength.

He stared up at the ceiling above his bed, and wondered what Petra had seen as she lay in an agony that mirrored his.

The door opened and three Xin rushed in, responding to the commotion. Cvareh didn’t know their names, but these would likely be the last faces he saw before he died, so he took them in as though he’d known them all his life.

“I have been poisoned,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly would cause his blood to pump and his body to give out faster. He wanted to slow the take of poison for as long as he could. He wanted to stall the inevitable. He would say only what needed to be said and preserve all remaining words for the one woman he wanted to lay eyes on before the God of Death cast his shroud over Cvareh’s form at last.

“Who?” They looked at Coletta’s corpse. No doubt, they had never seen the woman before. Coletta avoided public appearances at all costs, since they only sparked rumors of her frailty.

“Coletta Rok’Ryu,” he answered. “When—” the word got caught. He thought of Petra again. His sister had endured the same pain as he, likely worse. He would not break down, would not let the pain get the better of him. “When I am gone, Cain is the Xin’Oji, and the Dono.”

Cvareh closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Stasis. Stillness. He had to persevere, had to hang on.

“When Cain’Ryu and Ari’Kin return, send them to me…”

“Dono, what can we do?” one of the men asked hopelessly.

Had he not heard a word Cvareh had said? Death was inevitable.

“Imbibing will sustain me… but not save me.” It was the only thing he knew to say.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when they returned with a heart in hand a short time later. Cvareh wanted to refuse. It had no doubt been cut from some under-island dweller, someone under the shade of House Xin that he was supposed to protect. But his mind was delirious and focused on only one thing—seeing Arianna again. He had to see her again. It was a drive beyond anything else. A drive that could push a man to madness.

He brought the heart to his lips and ate, and when he could no longer eat it himself, it was fed to him. Every bite was smaller than the last, his chewing slower.

But still, he held on.

He held on until he saw white against a colorful world, a peaceful break for eyes overwhelmed by the all-too-bright kaleidoscope he found himself in. He held on until Cain’s booming voice summoned his consciousness back toward the surface of the inky darkness he was drowning in. He held on until he felt her hands on him again.