The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(64)

“Yes, to Florence—only Florence,” she affirmed without hesitation.

“When will you be back?” He glanced nervously at the line.

“When I can,” she said. “You’re fine. You understand the box.”

“The code to the hangar is red, thirty-two, five, orange.”

“Heard.” Arianna quickly stepped away, betraying the urgency of the situation.

He caught her elbow. “And be careful.”

“I—”

“Truly, Arianna, be careful.” Charles gripped her arm tightly a moment before letting go. “The world needs you alive right now.”

The words “right now” stuck in her mind as she ran up through the halls, back to Master Oliver’s room. They echoed like a quiet promise as she grabbed the gun prototype and laid out the schematics for Charles to find later. They continued to replay as she sought out one of the gliders in the far hangar with as much speed as she could manage.

Right now, the world needed her as Arianna the inventor and crafter of the Philosopher’s Box. But when the fighting was over, when the rebellion succeeded, she could retire back to obscurity. She could be whomever she wanted and answer to no one, as she’d done all her life in the years leading up to this rebellion.

But before she could slip back between the cracks of time and memory, she needed to see Loom’s victory secured. And that meant going back to Nova.





Cvareh


He had been waiting for an hour that felt like eternity when Cain arrived.

His friend and a female Rider unknown to Cvareh landed, dismounted, and started down the path toward the temple. Cvareh stood, emerging from the late hour shadow into the remaining sunlight.

“Send away your boco,” he called to them.

“What?”

“Send away your boco,” Cvareh repeated, softer now that they were near.

“Why?” Cain asked skeptically. “Aren’t we moving flowers?”

“Not yet.” Cvareh looked over the horizon for anyone approaching. “We’re going to wait to find out who is taking them.”

“Cvareh, we should try to save some first.”

It was sound advice, but the idea of leaving the island and possibly missing the perpetrators behind the flowers’ disappearance was unthinkable.

“We will wait,” Cvareh said, weighting the last word with a note of finality. To really drive the point home, he looked to the woman who had been otherwise silent, and changed the topic. “Who are you?”

“Dawyn Xin’Anh Bek,” the sapphire-skinned woman answered. She had long golden hair that cascaded in waves, not unlike Petra’s curls, but just different enough that it didn’t hurt to look on her.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Cain told me it’s to preserve some of the Flowers of Agendi before they all go missing.” She kept her eyes down out of respect, but her voice was strong.

“Look at me.” Dawyn obliged. Her irises were the color of honey poured into water—yellow on the edge and blue around the iris. “How long have you been in the service of the Xin Manor?”

“All my life.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.” She was quite young, but not a child.

“If you are involved in these affairs, I cannot promise your safety.”

“Can you promise my safety at the manor?” Cvareh didn’t have an answer for her so he remained silent and she continued, instead. “No, you can’t really, not anymore.” Dawyn looked to Cain, then back to him. “I don’t know everything, but I know that Rok killed our Oji and is poisoning our halls as they poisoned our wine. I am not afraid to die, Cvareh’Oji.”

There was that title again, chasing him like a beast he didn’t want to admit was gaining ground behind him. This time, he didn’t outright refute the notion.

“Come, let’s talk while we sit.” Cvareh wanted to get them out of view. He didn’t want the thieves to know that anyone was waiting for them until they landed, until it was too late. The two followed him in, sitting along the back wall. “Why you?”

“Why did I ask for Dawyn’s help?” Cain sought clarification and Cvareh nodded. “Because she’s as loyal to Xin as anyone could ask, and her family owns a winery on the west coast of Ruana.”

Her mention of the poisoned wine made a lot more sense. Cvareh met the woman’s unusually colored eyes. This was loyalty to her house, and it was also personal. He didn’t need to ask if her family’s vintage was some of the wine that had been tampered with.

“There are plots of land at the vineyard where the flowers will thrive,” Dawyn explained. “My family will see to them personally with the utmost discretion.”

Cvareh hoped she was right.

The conversation kept on with relative ease until it naturally died out. Both the tension and impatience of waiting consumed their focus. Cvareh could hear and feel Cain beginning to stir. But he kept himself still. He would wait days if he had to, and they would wait with him.

When the moon was high in the sky, and wispy clouds cast the world in on-and-off twilight, boco cries cut through the stillness. Cvareh crouched forward, ready to spring into action. Cain and Dawyn did the same.