The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(20)

“Sounds boring.” Helen yawned. “All I want is maps and speed.”

Arianna huffed in amusement. The girl was such a little crow. “Why did you run away from the guild, if you are so akin to it?”

Helen shrugged. “Freedom. Isn’t that what all Ravens want? Freedom to explore, go where you want, when and how. Take your life back from the world and hold it in your hands?”

“Who knew it was possible?”

“What?” Helen asked.

“We can agree on something.”

Helen looked just as surprised as Ari felt.

At the center of Ter.0 was the old meeting hall of the Vicar Tribunal. Where the dormitories and labs occupied the surrounding area, the five-towered hall stretched up and casted its long shadows like hands on a clock. Louie had been correct: work had begun to stabilize the Towers and reinforce them as residences.

Shannra drove the trike around the main entrance to a flat area on the side that had been allocated for parking.

“This is it!” she announced, quieting the engine and hopping down onto the dusty ground.

“This isn’t going to fall on us . . . is it?” Will asked skeptically, stepping out of the cart.

Arianna couldn’t fault the boy for his skepticism. The towers above them tilted uneasily and the winds that blew plumes of dust around them created an illusion of a drunken sway. Arianna adjusted her goggles over her eyes, squinting upward against the filtered sunlight from the clouds above Loom.

“They took a beating at the end of the One Year War. But structurally, they’re still intact.” She saw the straight lines of load-bearing pillars and walls running up like arteries underneath the crumbling cosmetics. “Foundation’s holding. Just the aesthetics—” what little aesthetics Loom ever indulged in “—that seem to be falling off.”

“Wonderful. So I won’t die from the whole thing collapsing, but from a bit of debris dropping on my head.” Helen rolled her eyes and folded her hands on top of her head.

“And if you don’t die from either of those, I’m certain the Dragons will see to it,” Louie noted as he disembarked.

Arianna grimaced at the notion. Ter.0 hadn’t survived the last Dragons’ attack. What did they hope to accomplish by holing up here for the next one?

What was Florence thinking?

“This way to Florence.” Shannra started for an archway, as if reading Arianna’s mind. “It’s a bit mad if we go through the main hall.”

They ascended a steep flight of stairs. Old piping clung to the smooth, industrially plain wall, cracking the stone where it protruded. On the first landing, Arianna heard voices, but it wasn’t until the second landing area that she managed to see their source.

Below them, in the center of the five-towered hall, was the central meeting area. She remembered it from her classes as a child. But her most vivid memory was standing with Oliver, masters from each of the four other guilds, and a handful of others who were ready to die for Loom.

Now, where they had stood, where the Council of Five had made their pact to stand against the Dragons, to stand for Loom, wayward and homeless Fenthri roamed in a sort of controlled chaos.

Men and women poured in through the main entrance, funneled from the airfield and no doubt the few water ports still viable for docking. Some carried luggage, some had their hands laden with books. Others had empty palms and tattered clothing.

Barefoot and booted, the masses of Loom were ushered into the one place that had always stood against the Dragons: Ter.0. It was the home of the Vicar Tribunal and testament to the old ways. It had been the Territory people didn’t dare speak of, for fear of being accused of inciting rebellion. And now it was where Loom would begin anew.

Arianna no longer had trouble understanding Florence’s logic.

When Loom was all but destroyed, one place would always be home to every Fenthri, regardless of one’s guild. The wayward Raven Arianna had taken in years ago had the wisdom to bring them back there.

A smile snuck up on her as Arianna looked through the arcade of windows, at the flow of people below. It was a smile that quickly faded at the sound of a lone voice.

“Arianna?”

Arianna turned to meet two dark eyes, black as the outlined Raven on the girl’s cheek. The filtered light seemed to shine brighter, and the crumbling world built itself anew, simply because she was in one beautiful piece.

“Florence,” Arianna whispered.





Florence


“Arianna . . .” The name flowed from her like a familiar creed. It echoed old sentiments and resonated off the new corners of her personality that had been built in the white-haired woman’s absence.

There she was, Florence’s teacher and guardian, just as she remembered her. They’d been separated for months, and Florence had traveled half the world, across three territories, since they’d parted. She had seen guilds fall and good men die. She had the scars to speak of the battles she’d won, and lost.

In contrast, Arianna was the same as ever. Her white coat was far more tattered and soiled than Florence had ever allowed it to get previously, and she had to combat the urge to demand Arianna remove the article of clothing so that it could have a proper wash. But Florence had plenty of her own dirty laundry to attend to; she didn’t have time for Arianna’s any more.