The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(21)

“Florence,” Arianna echoed.

What did they do now? How could Florence hope to bridge the gap between them?

“I require a word with Arianna,” she announced decisively. It was then that Florence took in the rest of the room, those who had accompanied Ari to Ter.0. Louie opened his mouth to speak but Florence snuck in the first, and second, word. “Louie, I appreciate your assistance in helping Arianna get here.” The tone of “assistance” had the requisite bite. “I will discuss matters with you later.”

“I think—”

“I think if you would like whatever end game you’re playing toward, you will vacate this room immediately.” Her tone left no room for misinterpretation. There were many whom Florence would defer to. Louie was no longer one of them.

The man merely smirked. “You have grown, haven’t you, wayward little crow?”

“One part of that was correct, the other incorrect.” Florence pushed aside her smartly tailored jacket, resting her hand on the hilt of one of the revolvers that tugged on a thick belt around her hips.

“Of course. An easy mistake to make.” Louie tapped his cheek, referencing the Raven outline on Florence’s own.

“I wouldn’t test me.”

“Nor I, me.” The skeletal man gave her a long and piercing stare, but it didn’t even scratch the surface of her resolve, much less crack it. She had shot more frightening, powerful people than Louie point-blank. And all she had to do was remind herself of that fact whenever someone—anyone—tried to intimidate her. “We have far more to gain by working together, Florence.”

“As does all of Loom.” On that point, she could agree with the former king of Mercury Town.

Florence watched Louie and his crew depart down the stairs. They were like specters from a former life, creeping up from the shadows of her past. Eventually, she’d have to catch up with Will and Helen, but there was a sort of understanding there that came with old friends who had endured trials together.

Florence had history with everyone in the group, save Shannra. The moonlight-haired woman glanced back at her and gave Florence a hefty wink. They were still taking their time together, still evolving, and Florence couldn’t stop a grin at her newest companion’s antics.

Louie was ever unexpected. As loathe as Florence was to admit it, Shannra had been welcome company on Ter.0 while Florence had been organizing the initial structure of the resistance. Plus, the strange little man had brought Arianna back to her.

Her eyes swept back. Arianna had rested her goggles atop her forehead, at last revealing her striking, vermillion eyes—a bold splash of color in their gray world.

She didn’t know what to say, and it seemed Ari was equally at a loss.

“Walk with me.” The words strummed the tension delicately, rather than snapping it. She didn’t know where she’d take Ari just yet, but movement would help. If she could move her feet, her mind might follow.

Arianna continued beside her in silence, peering periodically through the inner windows at the hollow-structured, densely populated core of the five-towered hall.

“You orchestrated all this?” Arianna’s tone was thoughtful, almost gentle.

“I—” Florence worked to let go of modesty. “I did.” She stopped, resting her hand on the gritty cement of a window sill, looking over Ter.0. Airships never stopped their assault on the skies and the trikes tore up the dust that had settled across the whole of the wasteland. For all the Dragons had killed, there were still more Fenthri left than Florence could’ve ever imagined. Loom itself was more than Florence could’ve ever imagined.

“Flor, what do you hope to achieve with this?”

Florence turned, searching Ari’s face for some explanation. She had gone from pure admiration to admonishment in a breath.

“Drawing together Loom, the Dragon King only has only to attack one place,” Arianna continued.

It was an argument Florence had heard before, and she could diffuse it like a simple bomb. “He has no more large-scale weapons to do it with. The Revolvers saw to that.” She had never studied in the guild hall proper, but the Revolvers were her own people. The mere idea of their noble sacrifice put a lead slug in her gut. “Separate, we’re disorganized, confused. He can pick us off bit by bit, convert those that remain. We’re under his thumb. Together, there’s strength in numbers. We need all of Loom to see that we are still strong, that we can be one and stand on our own again. We need the king to see that we are not to be underestimated.”

She wished she knew what went on in Arianna’s head. But, unlike all other times when Florence had awaited her mentor’s judgment, she wasn’t jittering with nerves, waiting for a verdict. She wanted Arianna’s approval as a peer, an equal—not as a pupil or child.

“He’s ruthless, Florence. The Dragon King will—”

“You do not need to tell me of his ruthlessness,” Florence interrupted. “I was there, Arianna, when the Harvesters’ Guild fell. If it weren’t for the Vicar Harvester, I would not have made it out alive.”

Arianna moved, crossing that seemingly unbreachable gap between them, present the first moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Her arms closed around Florence’s shoulders and pulled her close. Frozen shock quickly thawed, warmed by the heat that swelled in Florence’s chest at Arianna’s closeness.