The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(33)

“Y-yes, thank you, Florence.” Powell cleared his throat, and launched into a lengthy discussion on their current resources.

Everyone else seemed engrossed, but Arianna’s focus was entirely on Florence. She was avoiding Arianna’s stare, even though she must have felt the weight of it.

Arianna hadn’t questioned the idea of throwing her loyalty entirely behind Florence.

But for the first time, she wondered just what, and whom, she was supporting. For the first time, she didn’t feel like the most dangerous person in the room.





Cvareh


He’d somehow managed to avoid Finnyr for the rest of the evening following his brother’s arrival. Cvareh didn’t make himself too scarce, at least not obviously so, but the gods looked after him and put his brother elsewhere at all times. When dawn came, he soaked in his bath until the water was cold, changed his clothes several times, and took the longest breakfast he could out on his terrace.

But just as Lord Xin came for all men in time, he eventually had to make his way to his brother.

Cvareh wasn’t sure if he was surprised that Finnyr had yet to send for him. Surely, they had much to speak on. Petra had been the brave one of the three of them, the one who tackled problems head on—no situation too uncomfortable or frightening. Now, it was Cvareh’s turn to be brave.

So, adorned with bronze pauldrons and a swooping blue cape that covered his left arm as he walked, Cvareh made his way to his brother’s quarters.

Servants eyed him cautiously along the way, clearly not sure what to make of the youngest Xin sibling heading for the Oji. He could tell by the wariness in their eyes that they wanted him to challenge, while the hurt and betrayal there revealed that none of them expected him to do so.

Cvareh kept silent, his strides brisk and long. What had become Finnyr’s domain was the third wing on the lower floor, comprised of only a handful of interconnecting rooms. By far the nicest of what Petra had designed to be guest and Kin chambers. It was good enough, Cvareh appraised as he took in the decor and careful woodwork.

It’s too good for Finnyr, a treacherous little voice crept up.

His ears picked up voices several paces before the door. Cvareh stilled, trying to catch the words when the door was suddenly opened from within.

“See, I thought I smelled your brother,” Fae said to Finnyr, but kept her eyes on Cvareh.

“Forgive me, brother.” It was already hard to speak. His jaw was aching from the anger that kept it clamped shut. “I didn’t realize by not taking breakfast with you that you would be forced to break the morning’s bread with Rok.”

Finnyr looked over dully from the table. It was a very different look than at the one he’d worn at his arrival the day prior. Now, he held the advantage. So he looked on Cvareh only apathy and ambivalence, as though he was appraising his own brother to be worth little and less.

“I have had many a meal with Rok. You would do well to find their company enjoyable also, brother.” Finnyr looked back to his plate, ripping through a small, seeded loaf and smearing butter on it liberally.

“I had not meant to imply otherwise.” Cvareh looked back to the woman who was still eyeing him with a gleeful grin. “I know better.”

The woman strolled back into the room, leaving the door open. With all the hip swaying of a brothel madam, she paraded over to the bed, lounging back on it as though it were hers.

Could he have read this wrong? Was Finnyr merely bringing back a lover? It would make sense for him to find someone to confide in throughout the years he had spent on Lysip. A displaced Tam made as much sense as anything else . . .

Finnyr barely regarded the woman, instead watching Cvareh warily as he entered the room. “What do you want?”

“I wish to speak with you.” Cvareh cut right to the chase. Finnyr’s tone made it clear that they were not going to find themselves on friendly or casual footing.

“Speak, then.” Finnyr shoved a wedge of melon into his mouth, chewing like an animal. Juice dribbled down his chin as his teeth chomped into the pale yellow flesh.

“May we have privacy?” Cvareh glanced over at the woman who was inspecting her claws. Cvareh understood the message clearly: She was ready to strike at any moment.

“Anything you say to me can be said before Master Rider Fae.”

It was as though his brother had begun speaking Fennish. No, it was something more confounding than the whispering tones of the gray peoples below the God’s Line. He was going to allow a Rok Rider to sit in on House Xin conversations?

“Finnyr, I would—”

“That is Finnyr’Oji, Cvareh.” Finnyr demanded Cvareh use his title, yet still kept stripping Cvareh of his. It was equal parts confusing and alarming, and Cvareh had no intention of letting it go for a moment longer.

“Finnyr’Oji, I would like to know if I am nameless now?” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say originally. But this was the path Finnyr was choosing—one of difficulty.

“I have yet to decide.” Finnyr returned to his meal.

“What? Who is the Xin’Ryu then?”

“Presently, no one.”

“Who do you intend to ask to be the Xin’Ryu?”

“I have yet to decide.”

“Finnyr’Oji—” Spitting out the title of Oji in conjunction with Finnyr’s name was like spitting up glass. “—I must encourage you to pick a Ryu. If not me, then someone. I could even put forward some names of those who are in the House who have proven their loyalty.”