The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(30)

If the Dragons’ notion of gods were true, Master Oliver would be in some infinite beyond, watching Willard achieve all the goals they had ever competed over. Oliver would also be looking upon her. Were her achievements enough to bring a smile to his face?

By the time the Vicar Tribunal was called to order, the room wasn’t even half-full. No guild, at any point, ever had more than about fifteen masters. The Ravens were almost at capacity; twelve lined the seats behind the vicar. The Rivets had seven, counting Arianna—all fresh faces she didn’t recognize. The Alchemists had about the same count.

The most sorrowful sections were the Revolvers, who had four, led by a new vicar who very clearly had no idea what he was doing. And the Harvesters, who had five, including Vicar Powell.

Arianna looked around the room at the tired and unwashed faces. This was the best they now had. This was all they had.

“I suppose we should begin with introductions.” Florence made her way to the center of the room when none of them did anything more than stare at each other. It seemed no one quite knew what to do at a Vicar Tribunal.

“Vicar Powell, Harvesters.” Powell stood first at Florence’s motion. The room went around clockwise after him.

“Vicar Ethel, Alchemists.”

“Vicar Gregory, Revolvers.”

“Vicar Willard, Rivets.”

“Vicar Dove, Ravens.” The woman with the long black braid put her hand on her hip, tilting it to the side. “And before any of you ask . . . Yes, the name is really Dove. Always has been. Was born before the family law. No, I didn’t choose Ravens because of it.”

Arianna leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Dove was the only one among them who had an ease about her. She was also the only vicar to survive the attack. Willard was the next-most acclimatized to his role. But even he hesitated with a too-long pause when it came to using “Vicar” in association with his name.

Loom was a candle that kept being sliced into pieces from the bottom as it burned from the top.

“Excellent. Well, then . . . Since we’re all introduced, we should begin by focusing on the issues of highest priority.” Florence grabbed a ledger she’d been carrying all morning. Arianna wondered how many hours the girl had spent preparing. “Foremost, Vicar Powell informed me of concerns with regards to feeding such a centralized population on ground that has no natural resources. I shall concede the floor—”

“The issue of highest priority is the Philosopher’s Box.” Vicar Dove stood.

All eyes were on Arianna. Unflinching, unwavering, Arianna stared down at Vicar Dove who stared back at her, trying to draw whatever height she could in intimidation.

It wouldn’t work. Vicar Dove may have every experience in functioning as the leader of the Ravens’ Guild—the most reckless and freewheeling guild of the five. But the room had turned into a battleground, and no one had the gift of combat quite like Arianna.

“The Philosopher’s Box will mean little if all of Loom starves before it can be made.” Powell remained on his feet as well.

“If it can be made,” Dove retorted.

“It certainly can be made.” Willard pushed off on his knee, bringing himself into a standing position and fighting for the floor. “I knew Arianna as a girl, and knew her teacher. If there would ever be someone who could make such a thing, it would be her.”

She just loved being spoken about as if she weren’t there. Maybe if Arianna let them continue, she could actually sneak away and no longer be on display like some prize pig. Her fingers twitched, magic curling around her pinky. It’d be easy to illusion the room in a fog. They’d be none the wiser until she was already on a trike.

“If it so easily can be made, how did none of your guild make it before?” Dove didn’t back down. “Or have you? And did you sit on the knowledge for years, locked away in your ticking halls?”

“If anyone had locked it away, it would have been an Alchemist,” a master seated behind Dove remarked dryly.

“Certainly not a technology we have had in our possession.” Vicar Ethel didn’t rise to refute the notion.

“If it exists at all.” Dove gave a look back to Arianna.

She knew when she was being goaded. The question was, should she let herself be? Arianna looked to Florence, who was allowing the volley of words from the center of the floor. Florence stared up at her with what Arianna hoped she read correctly as an expectant look.

Arianna rose to her feet.

“When I was seven, I left Ter.0 under the tutelage of Master Oliver. We travelled together around the world and ultimately back to the Rivets’ Guild.”

“I didn’t ask for your life’s history.” Dove folded her arms over her chest.

“Let her speak.” Powell, unnecessarily, came to Arianna’s defense.

“Master Oliver, as some of you may or may not know, was the one who occupied the seat of knowledge for the Rivets on the Council of Five for the last rebellion,” Arianna continued, as though Dove nor Powell had said anything. There were some whispers at the mention of the Council of Five. “If you think talking on the Council of Five is still taboo, you should leave the room now. You’re all complicit in this new rebellion, and that will carry a far greater punishment than speaking on the last.”

No one moved, but the room was thoroughly silenced.