The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(120)

“Ari—”

“Cvareh, I need you to listen to me.” Her voice was hurried, thin, frantic.

He smiled tiredly. She had to be forceful up to their very last moment together. Well, call him a romantic, or just insane, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Cvareh, listen, stay with me. It won’t work if you won’t listen.” She was talking too quickly for him to really listen, and her voice had an odd pitch he didn’t quite recognize. “Cain, help me sit him up. We need him awake—we only have one chance.”

Cvareh groaned in protest as they hoisted him upright. The groan turned into a hiss of pain. It was as if jostling his blood reinvigorated the poison, spreading it further through his veins. Their efforts were long past the point of fruitlessness. Three hearts, now cold and void of magic, littered the bed around him.

But still, Arianna clung to him. He felt her arms around him. He felt her strength. His body ached to return the same to her in kind.

“I know what I want my boon to be.” She was whispering now. It was soft and low, like a lover, like how he’d always wanted to hear her speak to him. Warmth enveloped him, warmth in the shape of a woman. “Listen closely, Cvareh, because all the magic in the world will be yours to see my boon fulfilled. You will have no choice. You must do this for me.”

He leaned against her, let her voice flow through him. This was what he had wanted. This was what he had waited for. This was what kept him clinging to life. To fulfill the contract he had made with a Wraith.

“For my boon, I want . . . I wish . . . I wish for you to heal, stronger than you were before, completely and utterly. Cvareh, for my boon, I wish for you to live.”

The words echoed within him, and with them, magic exploded anew.





Arianna


She felt him return to her.

Magic that normally smelled of woodsmoke took on a new depth. The rich aroma cleared, like a window being opened to some greater beyond, and a crisp smell like rain flooded the room. Arianna continued to cling to him, tighter than she’d ever admit in the future to any who dared recount this moment.

She doubted doing so helped the magic. If anything, it likely hindered him, as she was giving Cvareh new bruises for his magic to heal. But she wasn’t exactly thinking logically. All she wanted was for him to return to her. Until that moment her every want and wish had been death—the death of Finnyr, of Yveun, peaceful deaths for her old friends and lover when there were no other options. But now she wished for life. A long and fruitful life, for him.

It was a twitch at first. A movement in his biceps that could have been nothing more than instinct or involuntary reaction. But then it happened again.

His arms found movement, coming back to life. Rain turned back to smoke, and Cvareh breathed normally once more. The sound of his life filled her ears—the shifting of his movement, of his exhales against her cheek. He wrapped her in his embrace, responding with as much fervor as she held him.

Arianna didn’t want to open her eyes. What if she was wrong? What if somehow this was all some illusion of a desperate mind too broken to handle the loss of another love?

“Arianna . . .” he breathed, soft enough that she could lie to herself and say she hadn’t heard it.

But she did, and the sound had her choking in a sigh of relief. Emotion was raw in her neck and she wanted to scream or cry or laugh, but did none of it. She merely held on to the man she loved, and gulped down her relief. Cain was watching, after all, and there was only so much she’d allow the man to witness.

Cvareh’s muscles gained strength, his back straightened, his breathing leveled. He continued to hold her as his heartbeat steadied once more, regular and strong. It was a sound Arianna could listen to for days—years, even.

Finally, he straightened away and merely stared at her with a wonder she’d never seen on anyone before.

“You saved my life.”

“Well, it’d be really inconvenient for Loom if the man who has all the deals for our freedom just up and died.” She couldn’t say what she really felt—not even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. It was far too terrifying and grossly romantic to utter aloud. “Plus, I really, really hate that woman.” She nodded toward Coletta’s corpse, more than a little upset that was yet another death Cvareh had over her. “And I loved the idea of thwarting—”

“I love you too, Arianna,” he interrupted boldly.

Bloody cogs, he had to up and be the brave one, once again. Here he was professing his love for her in front of his right hand, as the King of the Dragons, and all Arianna could do was muster sarcasm. “That’s one way to say thank you, I suppose.”

She forced her arms to go slack.

King of the Dragons, the words repeated in her head, imprinting as fact. It had all happened so fast, and there was always one more enemy. But now that there were no more standing against them, the future was upon her.

This man was the King of the Dragons, Dono, leader of Nova. He was not just Cvareh anymore; he had a far greater role to play. One dark corner of her heart uttered in reproach for its self-preservation: you should have let him die in Dortam.

She’d been the one to save him, to deliver him to the Alchemists, to see his house succeed, to see him become King . . . only to have to let him go.

Arianna stood quickly, before she could allow herself to be trapped by him. He would draw her in and then there would be no escape. She’d damn them both with her sentimentality.