The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(25)

“Then we should go to the arrival platform,” Cvareh said, and strode past the woman to lead the way.

The morning’s light had lost its luster. It shone through the windows as gray, bland, like the light filtered down to Loom. Cvareh adjusted his shoulder adornments, the beaded silver that dangled from them clinking softly, then dropped his arms limp at his sides. There was a danger to this dark ocean that House Rok had poured into the pit of his soul; it drowned his heart and overflowed into his mind. He didn’t hold anger in balled fists. He kept it coiled in the tense muscles of his wrists, ready to unsheathe his claws in a breath.

More people followed as he ascended the stairs and halls of the Xin Manor toward the wide platform that was used to receive people of importance. Sculptures laden with rare gemstones and lined with gold rimmed the platform where the other half of the manor waited with Cain.

They formed a wide arc, leaving the open end of the platform barren to the air and bocos off in the distance. Was this a receiving party, or a dueling ring?

Cvareh, himself, did not know.

“What will you do?” Cain asked. The man always seemed to know just where and how to push. There was never a question of Cvareh’s insecurities, uncertainties, or weaknesses when Cain was around. That made the man a strong ally. Invaluable.

“Do you trust me, Cain?” Cvareh asked, loud enough for the house to hear. Cain had been a favorite of his sister, and it was not by chance that half the family had chosen to stand behind him.

Cain studied him a long moment. Cvareh knew the man understood what he was asking, what he was saying. If they fractured and broke now, Rok could stab a fatal wedge into the foundation of House Xin.

“I trust you, Cvareh’Ryu,” Cain affirmed. He didn’t hesitate, but the words betrayed his uncertainty. The truth was clear: Cain trusted him, but questioned his methods.

“Good.” The bocos were close enough for him to make out their colors. His claws itched for release. “I will only do what I feel is best for House Xin. It is all Petra ever demanded of me.”

Cain said nothing more on the matter, settling instead for a small nod. He looked forward again and couldn’t contain a growl. “He means to make war with his mere arrival.”

The other man had no doubt seen the detail of Finnyr’s boco as well. “He seems to be having trouble doing it.” Raku, Petra’s trusted mount, was very clearly begrudging the notion of having Finnyr ride him. The bird squawked in protest, ruffling its feathers with every few flaps of its mighty wings.

Cvareh was more focused on Finnyr’s companions. Two Riders, with only a handful of beads each, flew both sides, and the hulking form of a Tam woman flew closest to Finnyr. Cvareh recognized one of the Riders as the man who had delivered the news yesterday, and the other he’d seen in the king’s entourage . . . but the woman was new.

She had but one bead. It should mean she was as green to combat as the color of her skin.

But Cvareh didn’t believe the symbolism for a moment, and every look he took at her as she approached reaffirmed the fact. Yveun was playing one of his games with this one. He wanted them to assume the woman was no one of importance.

Cvareh instinctively knew better.

The party of four landed. Raku immediately bucked, trying to take to the skies again. Finnyr pulled hard on the reigns, only managing to upset the bird more.

The rest of House Xin watched, saying nothing. Not one servant moved to help the Oji as he dismounted.

Raku promptly flew away the first second he was able. Cvareh sympathized with the creature. He too wished to ruffle his feathers, cry indignantly, and take off for the horizon. Eventually, the bird would return; Raku was too loyal not to, and those hard-formed habits had long since turned into instinct.

“Is this all the welcome the mighty House Xin can muster for their Oji’s arrival?” It was fitting the large Tam—no, she bore a Rok symbol on her cheek—was the first to speak. Finnyr couldn’t even muster the strength to look any of them in the eye for longer than a moment.

“Welcome back to Ruana, Finnyr’Oji.” Cvareh wouldn’t allow himself to be a coward. He was better than his brother. But that didn’t mean that he could bring himself to say “home” to the man who had seen their sister, the best among them, die at the hand of Rok.

The moment Finnyr’s eyes met his was the moment Cvareh knew that he was, indeed, capable of killing his brother.

“It—” Finnyr coughed, trying to clear his throat. He continued, stronger, “It is good to return home to the land of my forefathers as your Oji.”

At the word “Oji,” an unspoken tension coursed through House Xin. Every man and woman felt it. Even Cvareh’s chest tightened around the sound.

It was a pull to the title, a desire to recognize the rank and file that every element of Dragon society had told them from birth was the only thing separating them from destruction and discord. But it didn’t feel right when directed at Finnyr, of all people.

From the corner of his eye, Cvareh saw Cain looking to him.

Cvareh’s legs itched to move, but his feet stayed. Something about this still wasn’t right.

“I have seen your chambers prepared in advance of your arrival.”

“At least someone on this dreary rock has sense.” The woman at Finnyr’s side sneered at the statues that surrounded them, at the men and woman assembled.