The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(7)

Cain—his childhood friend, his confidant, aspiring mate to his sister—looked at Cvareh with an unfamiliar expression. Cain opened his mouth to speak, then promptly closed it before opening it again.

“What will we do?”

Cvareh couldn’t help but grimace. No doubt, Petra had correctly anticipated or deciphered his actions of letting Ari go. “Arianna will continue to support us,” he assured. “Even on Loom, she’s returning to reunite with the rebellion and—”

Cvareh lost the final word. Cain crossed to him in a tempest. He grabbed Cvareh’s robe by the lining of the collar, the man’s claws punching holes through the silken fabric.

“Cain—”

“You think I care about your Fen pet right now?” he growled. Cvareh was instantly reminded of one of their last fateful encounters in the stables at the Crimson Court. He’d hoped the tension of that meeting had been washed away by the events of the past day.

“You’d do well not to refer to her in that way.”

“Petra is dead and all you can think about is Loom?”

Cvareh froze. He didn’t care for the ribbons that Cain was slowly cutting into his fine clothing. He didn’t even pay attention to the full depth of rage and pain in the other man’s eyes.

Petra is dead. These three words echoed so loudly in Cvareh’s mind that he went deaf. He saw Cain’s mouth moving but no sound accompanied it.

Petra is dead. Petra is dead. Petra is dead.

“What?” Cvareh blundered his way back into Cain’s speech. “What about Petra?”

“You . . . you don’t know.” Cain’s grip relaxed. His golden eyes changed from a fiery hue, alight with magic, to a smoldering ache. They glistened in a way Cvareh had never seen before. “She was with you, Cvareh. Your Oji was with you. How do you not know?”

Before Cvareh had a chance to explain his and Petra’s plan—how they had split up for effectiveness—and before he had time to ask again what Cain meant, he was interrupted again.

“Cain’Da, Cvareh’Ryu.” There was a note of genuine surprise on the quiet words of a servant who had appeared in the hall below them. “Your presence is requested back in the main hall.”

Throne room. It had been the throne room before. Cvareh wanted to correct the boy. He wanted to be like Petra and inspire fear over something as simple as the use of a proper name. But he couldn’t speak.

If he opened his mouth, he would scream. Or vomit. Or beg for answers. Or some combination thereof.

There must be some mistake, his mind protested as they descended through the fresh opulence of the Xin Manor. It stood in contrast to the Rok Estate’s antiquity, a fact underscored even more by having just sneaked through the latter’s halls. But Cvareh saw none of it. His mind barely registered that his robe was reduced to tatters. He moved on instinct and somehow found himself at his sister’s most beloved room.

The stained-glass floor was illuminated with the first light of dawn. It splashed colors on the ceiling and walls of the long hall in happy contrast to the heavy melancholy that dominated the air. Most of the staff and servants were lined in rows, looking toward the raised platform where Petra’s meticulously fashioned throne stood.

In front of that throne was a ruby-skinned man. Cvareh didn’t know him but he recognized the beads of a King’s Rider when he saw them.

“Good of you to join us, both of you,” the Rider praised brightly. “We heard you had returned, Cvareh’Ryu, from your late-night adventures.”

Cvareh didn’t believe for a moment that the Rider didn’t know exactly where he’d been. Cvareh barred his fangs in a wide grin. He was not to be tested right now. The past day was beginning to tug on his shoulders to the point of pain, contorting his muscles under the weight of something he couldn’t yet fathom.

“Don’t you mean Cvareh’Oji?” Cain corrected darkly from his side. For all their differences, and even when he dripped with anger, Cain still stood for Xin. If that fact ever changed, Cvareh’s world would truly have ended.

“Not quite.” The Rider turned back to Cvareh, smiling, fangs gleaming. “Cain Bek was gone for a while. I trust he informed you of the death of your sister.”

Petra is dead.

“I require some clarity.” It was all Cvareh could muster. Something had to begin making sense. The sad eyes of his House surrounded him, wary gazes begging for an answer he didn’t have. He didn’t even know the questions to ask.

“Ah, well, then allow me to inform you that your sister, Petra Xin’Oji To, has perished on this day.”

Cvareh could see the ghost of his sister behind the man, sitting proudly on her throne. Her golden curls cascaded over her shoulders and down to the curve of her hip. A woman among women, and warrior who could best them all.

“She was challenged to a duel in the Rok Estate,” the Rider continued.

There were whispers now, but all Cvareh could focus on was the ghost of his sister. It was a figure that already threatened to haunt him until the end of his days.

“A duel between whom?” Cain asked. “A Rok, no doubt. For if she was slain by a Rok, the title of Oji falls to Cvareh.”

“I know well how titles work,” the Rider chided with a condescending smile. “We use the same ones in House Rok. And you would do well, Cain Bek, to remember where House Rok sits.” At the top, the Rider allowed everyone to mentally fill in the words. “No, she was challenged by a Xin.”