The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(72)

“I am a wise man, to leave such important acts in capable hands.”

Coletta could not stop the swell of pride that came at his words. “Trust me, Yveun, and I will see us through to a bright future where Rok reigns the worlds above and below unquestioned.”

“If anyone can, it is you.”

“It is us,” Coletta reminded him. They would either live together in victory, or perish in failure. No half measures.





Arianna


“Nevertheless, I don’t know how you stomach them,” Arianna muttered, having the oddest conversation she’d ever conceived.

“They treat us better than House Rok did.” The man across from her, a Fenthri with the Alchemist symbol on his cheek, continued to fiddle with the tubular object they’d been passing between them for the better part of the afternoon.

“So you’ve said . . .” Arianna mumbled, though she just couldn’t imagine it. Fenthri on Nova—not just Nova, but Ruana—the whole time she was there. There had been a taste of home hidden right under her nose while she was isolated in the Xin Manor, and Petra never told her. It was almost enough to make Arianna resent the deceased Dragon. “Didn’t you want to come home?”

“Of course, but it wasn’t an option.”

Arianna chewed on her lips and flipped one of her daggers in her free hand. She felt restless, uneasy. Was Xin any better than House Rok if they kept Fenthri? Surely, if conditions were so good, Petra would’ve mentioned it. Had she been conspiring to put another Yveun in power?

The idea quickly evaporated. Petra was dead and whatever kind of king Cvareh would be, he wouldn’t be anything like Yveun.

“Did you try to escape?” She wanted to find a way to make herself feel better about the whole situation.

“To what end? Escape would, at best, require a sympathetic Dragon. I’ve met Dragons I’d dare call kind, but sympathetic enough to just let me go? Certainly not.” The Alchemist, Luther, sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been here thirteen years.” She believed him, judging by the white streaks in the slate hair running back from his temples. “I don’t have that much longer left.”

“Hush.”

“It’s true and you know it.” Arianna kept her mouth shut, rather than argue against a fact. The man smiled tiredly at her silence. “I wouldn’t know what to do if I returned to Loom. From what you tell me, I doubt I’d recognize it.”

“Or maybe you’d know it better. It’s moving back to what it was before the Dragons.”

He held out the tube and Arianna took it, popping off the bottom and inspecting his work, making her own modifications. “I can’t believe you’re happy here . . . you want to be here.”

“I want to be here more than I wanted to be at Rok. I’ve had my own room, proper food, the ability to work. What more does a Fenthri really want?”

She withheld the word “freedom” for his sake.

“I’m not crammed in a single room like livestock,” he continued. “None of us are. None of us are beaten or debased. The ones Petra got out were the lucky ones.”

Arianna felt anger rise in her. Anger at herself, at the world she lived in, at the people she’d made into Loom’s allies. No matter what happened Arianna was beginning to wonder if Loom was trapped in an endless cycle of subjugation at the hands of Dragons.

It was a dark moment—perhaps one of her darkest—and the least ideal for her to see a Dragon, any Dragon. Naturally, Cvareh rounded the corner of the laboratory at that very instant.

“Ah, I see you’ve made a friend.” He beamed.

Arianna didn’t know what expression her face had, but it was enough for Luther to stand from the seat he’d been comfortably occupying for hours and make a swift retreat.

“Xin watch over you, Cvareh’Ryu,” the other Fenthri muttered as he passed. Arianna wondered if it had been drilled into him by force or if a Fenthri could actually believe such superstitious nonsense.

Cvareh didn’t even motion at the display of respect. His eyes stayed locked with hers, searching. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arianna had already decided she would not give him the liberty of having the first word.

“Were you going to tell me?” She carefully set down the tube she and Luther had been working on to transport the Flowers of Agendi past the clouds without damage.

“Tell you what?” Cvareh frowned.

“Tell me your sister was no better than Yveun.”

“What?” Cvareh hissed. “You know well and true Petra was not Yveun. Not by any stretch.”

“Then what of you?” She practically leapt from the chair. “What of you, Cvareh?” She rammed a finger into his chest, though she couldn’t recall crossing the room to get to him. “Are you any better than Yveun?”

“Arianna, what happened?” Cvareh clasped her hand with his. There was no reason why she couldn’t wrench herself away; she had the strength. But every part of her suddenly felt weak. Arianna couldn’t place why until she felt her eyes burning at their corners.

“Petra, you . . .you kept Fenthri as slaves.”

Cvareh’s head whipped from her to the door Luther had just exited through. Emotions swept across his face, beckoned by the winds of a truth undeniable to either of them.