The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(4)

“Cryptic.” Florence put her hands in her pockets in an effort to seem less intimidating. It was a meaningless gesture; even with palms stuffed against her thighs, she could still outdraw almost anyone. Of that she was confident. She had to be, or she would hesitate when the moment mattered most.

Shannra laughed, a sound like the crescendo of a chorus. “Fair, fair . . . Then I’m here to help give you what you need.”

“And what is that?”

“The Philosopher’s Box.”

Her heart stilled. The magic in her blood pushed inward, as if to guard her immediate, instinctive response of hope. Hope was dangerous. And yet, Florence had positioned herself as the harbinger of it, because it made the people around her so much more effective. Hope was indeed a danger—but it was also excellent leverage.

“What do you know of Arianna?” Florence asked finally. Her hands were still conveniently close to her guns and, depending on what this beautiful Revolver said to her, she could easily reach for them.

Shannra twirled a strand of hair around her fingers with a coy smile, knowing exactly where Florence’s mind had gone. One look told Florence that she knew too much. More than anyone should.

“King Louie sends his regards.”

Florence reached for her pistol without a second thought.





Arianna

Damn the man for having the foresight to tie her down, because if he hadn’t, she would’ve spent her dying breath savoring the feeling of his skull disintegrating against her fingers as she clawed out his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, wishing she hadn’t taken so long to voice her denial. Arianna curled and uncurled her fingers, moving something, anything, trying to get blood pumping to her brain at any cost. Louie made almost the same motion before he spoke.

“Oh, White Wraith, don’t you think we have a better rapport than that? Since when have you known me to seek something I cannot easily attain?”

“I don’t think you ever actually attain anything. As I recall, I did most—all—of the work on every heist.” Arianna added a scoff in an attempt to get a rise out of the man. If she could throw him off his emotional center, she could regain some vantage.

“All the more poetic, then. As it seems this time will be no different.” Louie shifted stiffly, folding his skeletal hands together, seeming utterly unbothered.

“I can’t give you something I don’t know how to create.” If changing the topic didn’t work, she’d try denial next. She’d try everything until something stuck, until her mind was solid enough again to think clearly.

“There was a time when I might have believed you.” Louie stood slowly. Arianna narrowed her eyes at his deliberate, yet unsteady, motions. She expected the King of Mercury Town to have a little more . . . grace?

He reached for a holster on his hip and drew a tiny one-shot pistol barely larger than his hand. It was the sort of gun Arianna imagined Florence laughing at, if she ever saw it. The man pointed the weapon at her shoulder.

Arianna narrowed her eyes down at him. “You sure you can handle that? Seems like you’re having trouble.”

“Point blank shot at a tied-down target? I’ll take my chances.” Louie tightened his grip on his gun. “Question is, do you want to? I don’t have any interest in shooting you, really. We had such a good stretch as business partners, and I’d much rather not poison the waters with a gunshot to prove a point.”

Her scowl was so deep it hurt. She knew exactly what he was doing. Proof of her being the Perfect Chimera pumped through her veins. One shot wouldn’t kill her. Bloody cogs, against all the other pain, it likely wouldn’t even register. But there would be no denying after that.

“How did you find out?” Arianna asked. She instantly loathed the smug look on his face.

“You have your Florence to thank for that.” Louie made a show of re-holstering his gun, as if he was doing her some grand favor. “After all, she was the one who let the world know that you, Arianna, the Master Rivet, pupil to the renowned Oliver, and the woman who supposedly perished alongside the Council of Five in the last rebellion, can make the Philosopher’s Box.”

“You know your history.” Her voice had gone soft. But unlike the delicacy forced on her when she first awoke, this was a deadly sort of quiet that she found suited her much better.

“When I found you, bleeding gold, dressed in white . . . it was all too much of a coincidence to write away.”

“And I confirmed my identity when I woke.”

“Now, don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Placate me again, old man, and—”

“No need for name-calling.” Louie’s chuckle devolved into a wheeze. “It makes things much more efficient like this. You know the situation; no need for us to play coy. So, which option—”

“You said Mercury Town was a hole.” Her brain was beginning to work again, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with spewing nonsense. The twitch of Louie’s lips was the only thing that betrayed his annoyance at her interruption, but it was more than enough to satisfy her.

“The Revolvers saw to that.” He settled back into his chair. “How much does Nova really know?”

“Assume I know nothing.”