The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(122)

Florence stood slowly. She pushed in her chair, and leaned against the desk with Shannra, facing the window, at just one small scrap of the world that was now theirs.

“Let’s see . . . A flat in Dortam, right by the Guild hall, I think it was.” Shannra hung on her every word. “I’m not sure if, as the Vicar Revolver, I can live outside the hall proper.”

“I could be coerced into being flexible on the location.”

“Could you?” Florence rounded the woman—her lover, in all her scarred and battle-weary glory. She reached a hand, cupping Shannra’s cheek, weaving her fingers in the tangled mess of hair. “What must I do to coerce you?”

“I think you will come up with something creative.” Shannra’s voice had fallen to a hush, her lids heavy. She leaned forward, ever so slightly, and Florence felt herself moving to meet her.

“I will certainly try, Moonbeam.”

Shannra halted, brows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes alert. “Moonbeam?”

“You asked me to be creative.” Florence smirked. “I can be dangerous when I’m creative.”

“Spoken like a true Vicar Revolver.” Shannra was back to whispering. “I like you dangerous, Gunpowder.”

Florence smirked at the equally heinous petname. She needed a partner who could roll with the punches and dish it out as well as she took it.

Before either of them could conceive something worse, Florence claimed the woman’s mouth with her own. Shannra’s tongue was sweeter than any cookie Florence had ever eaten.

“What about all your work?” Shannra asked after several long minutes, gasping for air.

“It will keep.”

Florence pushed aside her papers, scattering them to the floor. Yes, there was work to be done, decisions to be made, and things to be settled. But first, she had a woman to hoist onto the desk and more hard-earned flavors of freedom to relish.





Cvareh


She never told him outright that she loved him.

She had fought at his side. They had made love countless times. He had invited her to stay on Nova and be his queen, his paragon for the new bond between Loom and Nova.

In reply? She couldn’t even say that she loved him, even though he knew it was more than true with every beat of his heart.

He wanted to point it out to her. He wanted to demand it from her. But it would mean nothing if he did . . . So, the words were left unsaid in her wake, where he lapped along the shores of all they could’ve been.

Cvareh stared at where Arianna had just stood. He had done everything Petra had ever dreamed. He had accomplished the dream of hers he had adopted—a Xin’Oji now wore the title of Dono. He, Cvareh, of all Dragons, was now the Dono.

It should have been a cause for celebration. His chest should have swelled with pride so great that his ribs would shatter and be rebuilt with magic now bolstered with the knowledge that he held all of Nova in his palms. But it wasn’t.

There was no pride and no fullness. He had achieved everything, but he didn’t have the one thing he’d come to want more than anything else. He’d lost the one woman who made everything in his world worthwhile.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense.” Cain reminded him of his presence.

Startled, Cvareh half-jumped, as if pulling his feet from the tar of his own thoughts. “What does?”

“You had a boon with her this whole time.” Disapproval ran rampant between Cain’s words, though his friend didn’t pursue it. There wasn’t much to be done now about it and the fact that Cvareh had forged such had just saved his life. “Explains your obsession with the woman.”

“It’s more than that,” Cvareh mumbled.

“Is it?” Cain asked, though Cvareh knew he was already aware of the answer so he didn’t dignify the question with a response. “Call her back, then. Make her stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re the Dono.”

“You heard her.” Cvareh motioned to where the woman had been standing. “She can’t be contained here and I couldn’t make her.”

“You’re the Dono,” Cain repeated, as though those three words should explain away everything.

“It means nothing if she doesn’t stay of her own will. I can’t order her presence just as I can’t order her love.”

Cain was given pause at the word “love.” Surely, his friend must have seen it already. The man’s brow knitted, furrowed lines digging over his eyebrows. “And that means something to you?”

It meant more than Cvareh could ever put into words. But all he said was, “It does.”

“Then, if you will not command her to stay or order her affections, you must stop giving her your own.”

As if it were that simple. As if it had ever been that simple.

He hadn’t chosen to love her. He simply did. It had become as undeniable to him as winter’s chill and as warming to his soul as summer’s sun. Trying to do anything but love her would be like trying to halt the seasons: pointless and impossible.

“I can’t do that either,” he confessed in a whisper. Cvareh continued to stare after Arianna, the vacant spot where she’d once stood now filling with a new regret that he had not properly imprinted her image on his memory. With her as the Wraith on Loom, and he as the Dono in Nova, their paths were likely to never cross again.