The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(69)

When the Dragons weren’t flitting around the guild hall—their forays grew less frequent by the day—she would invent stories about the people who had lived in the apartment she now occupied. When her stories lost their luster, she would wonder how she and Arianna would have redecorated to make things more comfortable. When thinking of Arianna was too painful, or frustrating, she had Shannra to smooth away the rough edges of annoyance.

Shannra was in her arms now. Florence loved the way the light painted the woman’s dark skin in graphite hues, like a page from a Rivet’s sketchbook. These schematics drew what could be argued as the perfect female proportions.

A soft rapping at the door jarred Florence back to reality. No matter how nice it was to daydream, this was not her home and she was not spending a lazy afternoon with the woman who had somehow become her unorthodox lover. Florence tugged the blankets around them as Shannra began to stir. She loathed disturbing the woman, but the second set of knocks did just that anyway, and Florence worked to preserve their modesty.

“Come in.” Florence didn’t have to speak loudly to be heard. They were as quiet as possible due to the Dragons’ keen hearing.

The door cracked and another Revolver poked her head in. She seemed unsurprised to find Florence and Shannra together.

“I was told to fetch you.”

“Fetch me to where?”

“There was a letter for you on the last train from Ter.3. Vicar Gregory wishes to see you regarding it.”

“I’ll be there in a moment.” Florence dismissed the other Revolver with a small nod.

“A letter?” Shannra repeated.

“I know no more than you do.” Florence began to button up her clothing once more from naval to neck.

“From Arianna, I’d bet.” Shannra straightened and leaned against a window frame. The wind ruffled her hair slightly as Shannra stared at the few Dragons in the sky.

Florence could sense the tension whenever Shannra spoke of Arianna, though they’d never spoken of it, not outright. Florence didn’t even know what she’d say if Shannra pressed for clarity. What had she and Arianna been to one another? What were they now? Some questions were best left unanswered or better, unasked.

“Perhaps.” Florence leaned forward and kissed Shannra’s cheek lightly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep an eye on things for me.”

Shannra merely nodded as Florence moved for the door. But before she could reach it, Shannra spoke. “Flor, when all this is over, how about we get a nice little flat in New Dortam, right by the guild hall?”

Florence’s mind immediately went to the home she’d shared with Ari in Old Dortam and a melancholy ache filled her chest. “There is no guild hall,” she murmured.

“They’ll rebuild it.” Shannra finally turned her head, her eyes searching, begging. “What do you think of that idea?”

“I think I love sharing my days with you.”

Florence left before she could soak in Shannra’s reaction and affirm her suspicion that the response was not the one her lover was looking for. Right now, the only thing Florence could let herself think about was seeing Loom survive another day.

Through a back door into a narrow alley, Florence slipped from above ground to under in a mere moment, dropping down through what looked like an open sewage grate. It led her into a tunnel, straight to one of the still-open passages for what had become Loom’s unofficial capitol.

She found all the vicars gathered in Ethel’s makeshift receiving room, just outside the Vicar Alchemist’s sleeping chamber.

“Ah, Florence, thank you for coming.” Powell was the first to notice her.

“A Revolver always heeds their vicar’s call.” Florence wasn’t quite sure if Gregory was speaking to her or Powell.

“I heard there was a letter?” She cut right to the chase.

“Yes, here.” Powell shifted, passing a carefully sealed envelope. Its thickness was more like a folio than a letter, and Florence looked at the curious marking on its front.

To Florence

From Arianna

“Vicar Gregory suggested that we open it, but since it was addressed to you specifically, I wanted to make sure it found its way into your hands foremost.”

“Thank you, Vicar Powell.” Florence could feel the curiosity burning off Gregory to the point that the temperature in the room might have been rising.

Wasting no time, she broke the seal and slid out the papers.

Every leaf was marked over in many places. Layers of text betrayed years of work from different hands. Some, Florence recognized as Arianna’s scribbles. Others were foreign to her.

“Don’t hold us in such suspense,” Vicar Dove practically yawned.

Florence read over the notecard twice. She knew what she was looking at without Arianna’s hasty explanation.

“It’s schematics for a gun . . . that could fire through a corona.”

“Does Arianna now fancy herself a weaponsmith?” Gregory seemed amused, dismissive.

Florence didn’t even bother to combat her scowl. “Given what she’s accomplished to date, I wouldn’t put it past her. Furthermore, it looks like the work wasn’t started by her, but the late Master Oliver and the Vicar Revolver I believe you replaced.”

Gregory clearly was not pleased with her tone. “Let me see those,” he demanded.