The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(34)

“Typical Cvareh,” Finnyr snarled quietly, looking up from his meal like a dog protecting a bone. “Always so worried about loyalty for House Xin.” Finnyr slowly put down his utensils, punctuating the movement by folding his fingers. “I am House Xin now. Do well to remember it.”

“I am merely trying to give you counsel, as your brother, if nothing else.”

“My brother?” Finnyr scoffed. “We are no more brothers than I am Tam.”

The words blindsided Cvareh, hitting him so hard he nearly staggered. Not brothers? No Ryu? No Petra? His world was collapsing one cornerstone after another.

“Were we brothers, you would have sent for me years ago.”

“I could take you from the Dragon King no more than Petra could.” Cvareh glanced at Fae, who wore the smallest of smiles. She looked like a sea sponge on the beach’s shore, lapping up every wave of words, absorbing them into her memory until it filled to capacity.

“Petra, she was an even worse example.”

“Stop.” Cvareh wouldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear it. It was a load too heavy to bear so soon after her death.

“She spoke of family and usurped our father—”

“Stop.”

“—sent me away—”

“Finnyr . . .”

“—used you like a tool—”

“I said stop!” Cvareh punched a fist into the doorframe. Anger escaped through heavy exhales and his heaving chest. Wood splintered into his knuckles and the smell of woodsmoke filled the room from his wounds. Cvareh didn’t notice; his eyes were only on Finnyr.

There was the fear he expected to see from his coward of a brother. It was all talk. There was no greatness. It wasn’t until the shadow of the giant green woman pulled herself off the bed with a sigh that any resolve returned to Finnyr’s stare. He was only brave as long as he sat under the protection of Yveun.

Cvareh slowly pulled his fist from the doorframe, regarding the woman and her claws warily. He raised his hands, showing that his claws had yet to be exposed.

“Forgive me, Oji.” He spoke to Finnyr, but looked at the Rider. It was apparent who the true Xin’Oji was. “I am merely emotional given the present trials. I shall work on composing myself.”

Fae looked to Finnyr, and Cvareh’s gaze followed. Finnyr continued to look at him with that same detached, cold stare.

“See that you do, Cvareh,” he cautioned. “If you want any hope of keeping any sort of title to your name.”

Cvareh gave a small nod. The meeting had been a failure from the moment the door opened and at the rate things were going, it wasn’t impossible for him to wind up dead. It made complete sense to turn his back and leave, and yet, something compelled him to hover a moment longer.

“Remember, brother . . . For however much you hated Petra, and hate me, you are still Xin, and we are Dragons. Your blood flows from Lord Xin. Build your own legacy as you see fit, but at least make it truly yours.”

Finnyr’s mouth was shut so tightly, his lips weren’t even visible. “Get out of my sight.”

With pleasure, Cvareh barely kept himself from saying as he departed down the hall and away from that miserable room.

Cvareh strode through the Xin Manor with the look of a man on a mission, but it was all a carefully crafted illusion. He had no direction to go in, and what seemed like fewer options available to him by the second. His mind and heart both were heavy with a frustrating, infuriating ache.

He found himself walking up a long staircase. It was a narrow offshoot from one of Petra’s lower halls, and wound upward into the heights of the manor. When he was lost, there was one place he’d always gone to for answers.

The viewing chamber was empty and that, for some inexplicable reason, surprised him. Cvareh stared at the far edge of the dais, where his sister had sat facing the large windows that looked out across the Ruana mountains toward the temple of Xin. He sat heavily in that same spot, looking for answers he didn’t think he’d find.

It wasn’t long before footsteps broke the silence, and Cvareh knew who stopped at the top of the stair without having to turn. He knew it by the smell of the man and the sound of his gait, and because there was only one other Xin Dragon who would dare venture up to one of Petra’s most personal and private spaces.

“Sit with me?” Cvareh spoke without turning.

Cain didn’t speak. He did as he was told, but in the wrong way. He walked around to the far edge where Cvareh sat, sitting next to him.

Cvareh didn’t have it in his heart to correct the man. “How did you know I was here?”

“Dawyn told me,” Cain answered softly. There was something about the space that made lowering one’s voice in reverence natural. “She saw you headed this way.”

Cvareh vaguely recognized the name. “One of my sister’s attendants?”

Cain shook his head. “She actually helped see to the Fe— to Ari while she was here.” He stopped himself mid-word with a glare from Cvareh at the slur for the people down on Loom.

“What is she doing in Petra’s wing?” Cvareh felt protective of the space. He wasn’t ready to see it turned over to Finnyr, to anyone.

“Paying her respects . . . looking for answers . . .”

Cvareh heard his friend’s meaning without needing it spelled out for him. “I don’t have the answers.”