The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(24)

“But,” Coletta continued, “that may have been twenty years ago. He could be dead by now.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, the Fenthri and their life spans.”

“I shall go to the Fen pens and search.” Topann was unswayed. “Should I not find one, I will bring one back for my lady from Loom.” She said it as though she were bringing back a souvenir from a leisure trip, not a creature, live and resistant.

“Good. The other thing I require shall be easier to procure.” Coletta looked about the room again. Sturdy walls, thick, built to dampen sound. “Go below Lysip, and find me an organ donor.”

“Any preferences?” It was not the first time Topann had received such a request. Coletta had been using organs to bargain with powers on Loom, and Nova, for years.

“Yes. Where is your magic, Topann?”

“Mine?”

Coletta nodded.

“Hands. Eyes. Ears.”

It was a standard set of magic for a Dragon. Coletta was pleased. It would be simple to measure the effects on one such as Topann, who possessed so little magic to begin with. “Find a stomach.”

“Of course.” There was the beginning of understanding hovering beneath Topann’s words. But the woman was undeterred. Coletta had long-held Topann’s life in her claws.

“Good.” Coletta walked over to her loyal subject. She stretched out a hand and cupped the woman’s cheek in a sign of affection that was almost never seen. Topann stilled, taking a shallow breath. “You have been with me throughout the years, my flower, and I will reward your loyalty.”

“You have given me more than enough,” Topann whispered. “You showed me the sun, Coletta’Ryu.”

Coletta smiled fondly on her first test subject. “Yes. And now I shall show you what it means to be made perfect.”





Cvareh


Cvareh lay in bed, debating with the dawn. Was it too early, or not early enough? Was the sun duller than normal, or did it shine with its usual strength? He wondered if he could somehow delay time by whittling away the seconds, question by question.

Today, Finnyr would arrive.

Lord Xin’s presence was palpable in the manor. Cvareh could feel it in the stillness of his room, in the quiet that seemed to seep into the stones.

He stared at the ceiling above his bed, wanting to scream. But his mouth could no longer make sound. He breathed slow, shallow breaths, until tears fell like tiny waterfalls off his cheeks and onto the pillow.

He realized Petra would never see the Xin Manor completed. She would never see House Xin ascend the ranks of Dragon society. Though the likelihood of either coming to pass now seemed slim.

One bright spot: She wouldn’t see their family crumble away to nothingness, either.

Daylight inched its way across his ceiling, creeping in through his windows like an unwelcome guest. His attendants were not long to arrive. Cvareh wiped his face with his palms and sat upright.

He could allow himself this weakness only in private. Among Xin, he was the face of his house. Every man and woman had made that abundantly clear with their silent expectation that he would duel Finnyr.

Cvareh stood and went to his dresser. He pulled open his favorite drawer, running his hand over the silks and satins. All the beautiful colors clashed and complemented each other, a rainbow contained in a wooden box.

“Cvareh’O—Ryu.” The attendant in the doorway quickly corrected himself.

Cvareh didn’t spare the man a disapproving look. They could not call him Cvareh’Oji. “What did you have in mind for today?” the man asked, quickly moving between Cvareh and the dresser of fineries.

What did one wear to meet his sister’s murderer . . . who also happened to be his brother?

He rubbed his temples. Cain was right; he had learned a deep and profound sympathy and appreciation for Loom. For as backwards as the idea of not having a family was, at least on Loom they weren’t killing their own flesh and blood for power.

Which world, again, was the uncivilized one?

“White,” he finally decided on.

“White?”

“Yes.”

“I—Well, I’m sure there’s something in here . . .”

Cvareh honestly didn’t know if there would be. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever worn white. But today, he needed strength. He had lost one woman who he thought was invincible, and wanted to feel closer to the other woman he knew who had the same power of conquest, the same bravery, the same drive.

In the end, it was as he suspected. Nothing in the drawer was white, or black, or grey. He wore a light seafoam color that had a rough-cut lace overlay in white.

While it was a far cry from Arianna’s coat, the tight-fitting trousers that hugged his thighs and matching shoulder embellishments accentuated his physique, and seemed to give a deeper, richer hue to his skin—which he hoped also reminded Finnyr of their midnight-skinned sister. It wasn’t precisely what he’d had in mind, but as Arianna’s coat fit her for conquest, this was his own battle-ready armor.

A woman appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Cvareh’Ryu, bocos have been spotted in the western skies.”

Eyes were on him, expectant, waiting for his reaction. Cvareh waited as well, to see what rose within him. But the waters of his soul were dark and calm, concealing much in their depths, concealing his true feelings—concealing him.