The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(61)
Well, made sense if a child was the one calling the shots.
Yveun’s face appeared in the forefront of her thoughts, and Arianna shook her head to relieve herself of the memory. The Dragon King may be formidable, and may even have had smart insights for Loom—at least regarding the Harvesters—but it seemed he would have driven the true value of the Rivets into dust if he had remained in control much longer. So, a child in only some ways, perhaps.
A giant dais protruding from the ceiling of the cafeteria turned with an audible click that silenced the entire room. Everyone looked up at the transformed signal, interpreting it at the same time. Down the tracks not far from Garre, an engine had triggered the pressure switch. Just as Vicar Willard had promised, more Rivets were on their way.
“Well, I suppose lunch is going to be cut short for us.” Charles stood, taking note of how little Arianna had eaten. “Have you had enough? I can always greet the newcomers with Vicar Willard alone. You are not required.”
“I don’t need that much food.” Arianna stood as well. “There are a few benefits to being the Perfect Chimera, after all.”
“A few? I think I could name several, and I have only known you for two weeks.”
The train station for Garre was slightly north of the main guild hall. Steam engines were quite particular about the ground they ran on, and the soft, marshy earth beneath Garre did not do for a train station. The Rivets and Ravens compromised to create a station just beyond the guild hall proper. It was accessible via a short light rail that gently sloped downward to the station. On the way out, the small ferrying rail was powered mostly by gravity and momentum. On the way back in, when it was mostly uphill, the trains were powered by steam—or magic.
Arianna looked with interest toward the large engine that bellowed down the winding track leading from the northern Territory. On it would be extra manpower to set up her manufacturing line, and hopefully new ways to communicate with the rebellion locked beneath the ground of Ter.4. And, in particular, one Raven-tattooed Revolver.
They arrived just before the train did, and the three present leaders of the Rivets’ Guild stood alone on the long platform as the engine slowed to a stop. Amid the steam billowing over the platform, the shadows of men and women emerged. They all immediately headed for the light rail without hesitation. All of them were Rivets—knew where to go, what to do. Arianna scanned their cheeks for some sign of any other guilds. But there were none.
“We may want to address our own protection sometime soon with the other vicars,” Arianna said to Willard.
“Weaponry is quite tight right now,” the old man replied.
As if she didn’t already know that. “Yes, and I realize that the majority of it must be used to fortify the Underground and the majority of Loom. But there will be no Loom, should we fail to produce the Philosopher’s Box. I doubt it will take long for the Dragon King to check all the other guilds when he returns to Ter.0 and finds no one.”
Willard stroked his chin in thought. “You do raise a fair point. I will whisper to the Vicar Raven this night; perhaps we can see some Revolvers on the next train.”
Arianna sincerely hoped they would see a next train, period.
A young man jumped from the engine, a filled Raven on his cheek. He looked utterly exhausted, but still determined. “Vicar Rivet.” His eyes scanned the three of them, waiting to see who responded, as though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was looking for. “I have a message.”
“Let me see it.” Willard held out his hand.
“It came by whisper a few days after we left Holx.” The man produced a hastily scribbled letter, depositing it in Willard’s palm. “That’s all there was.”
“Thank you.”
Most of the platform had cleared and, when it was apparent that the train held no more, Charles started to make his way toward the rail as well.
“What does it say?” Arianna wasn’t sure if she wanted to know, but when the vicar’s face fell, she knew she had to ask.
“What is it, Vicar?” Charles pressed gently, stopping.
Willard looked up from the letter, his attention darting between his companions. Arianna knew she would not like the outcome when his eyes settled on her.
“The Dragons have attacked Ter.4.”
Cvareh
His knees ached, and his feet had gone numb.
Cvareh knelt before the statue of Lord Agendi in the Temple of Xin. The statue was a spitting image of the mischievous, happy lord; he held his silver box, outstretched, cracked halfway, but his crown of flowers was hidden under a stone veil, the edges of the petals barely protruding from beneath the sculpted fabric.
The temple was the only quiet place he could retreat to now. The only place he could sit and think without his family’s questioning eyes, Fae’s unyielding presence, or Finnyr in general. But Cvareh’s peace was abruptly interrupted when another worshiper knelt beside him.
“Cvareh’Ryu,” the man said with a bow of his head. Judging from the man’s sky-colored skin and lack of tattoo, he was Xin—though Cvareh didn’t recognize him. “I thought that was you. What an honor to kneel before my patron with the Xin’Ryu.”
Cvareh did not have the heart to correct the man.
“Simply terrible, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Cvareh asked cautiously.