The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(79)

“This will hurt some.” The Alchemist regarded Fae warily. She was nearly twice his size.

“Your tiny knives can’t hurt me, Fen.”

“Open your mouth, then.” It was almost as if he had accepted a challenge.

Coletta would never tolerate such boldness from a Fenthri herself, but there was something almost adorable about watching the gray people try to muster strength against their superiors.

Fae obliged and the man set to work. She didn’t flinch as he pulled out her tongue with a long pair of metal tongs, the flat paddles at the end indenting the organ he set about removing. Coletta didn’t avert her eyes from the moment the scalpel first cut into the flesh of the tongue to the last second before it was entirely severed.

The Alchemist tilted the Dragon’s head, allowing blood to pour from the corner of Fae’s mouth. Nothing more than a rough stub protruded from where her tongue had been, already beginning to ripple with magic to regrow the absent tissues. Even still, Fae’s breaths were even, unlabored, and Coletta was forced to admire her monster yet again.

She watched as the new tongue was stitched into place. Despite having searched for the best organs on Ruana, she could make none take to Yeann or Topann’s bodies. They all formed festering, agonizing wounds that her flower’s body refused to heal.

But Coletta wasn’t one to give up, not when there was so much to explore. It was the one thing she could count on the Fen agreeing with, and the man continued to carve up Dragons at her request.

The Alchemist pulled away, looking at his handiwork. Coletta could tell from his expression alone that something was different this time.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“I can’t be sure . . .”

“Out with it, or it’s your tongue that will be cut off next,” Coletta drawled, not even mustering the energy to threaten him properly.

“This was a success.”

“You can tell already?” He nodded. She knew almost instantly when a poison was right and when it was not. But the man’s mouth still formed a grim line. “What have you discovered?”

The man looked from Fae to her, as if jarred from thought. He swallowed hard. “I think I know why the other organs didn’t take.”

Given the amount of fear radiating off the Fen in that moment, Coletta was certain that she was not going to like whatever the explanation was.





Cvareh


Cain had gone ahead to distract Fae. Cvareh paced his friend’s room for what felt like forever, though he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. When he could wait no longer, he stepped into the hall.

The halls of the Xin Manor seemed alive once more. Even though Cvareh didn’t see another soul for the first half of his walk to find Finnyr, the air seemed to pulse with an energy that he hadn’t felt since before Petra’s death. It was like House Xin was waking up from the grips of mourning at last.

Finnyr wasn’t in his room, and neither was Fae. So Cvareh went to the main hall. Again, Finnyr was nowhere to be found, but Cvareh ran into a servant, her hands laden with laundry.

“Have you seen Finnyr?” Cvareh intentionally left off “Oji,” an omission that did not go unnoticed.

The woman’s eyes widened. “I have not.”

He cursed, wheeling for another wing of the manor. Perhaps Finnyr had gone to claim Petra’s quarters as his own. Killing him there would be its own kind of pleasure.

“I did, however, hear two men who work with the bocos saying that the Oji had requested a flight. They could not decide which mount to give him.”

Cvareh stopped, only sparing a second. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” the woman whispered.

If Finnyr was looking for a boco, there was a chance Fae had been called away and he was fleeing until his bodyguard could return. Perhaps he somehow had the instinct to know when death was coming for him. And it was coming.

Cvareh paused, turning. He saw the woman at the far end of the hall still, and called back to her. “Leave your task. Round up everyone you can to go to the departure platforms. I need witnesses. And I need to make sure he doesn’t escape.”

“As you command!” The woman practically threw down her basket of laundry, sprinting away so quickly that Cvareh almost felt a wind kicked up by her feet.

Cvareh thought of Finnyr, his cowardly slip of a brother. If he were Finnyr—which was rightly near impossible to imagine—where would he go? He would want to flee back to the safety of Rok’s arms until Fae was no longer indisposed. But he would do so as he did everything else—with a coward’s weakness.

So Cvareh headed down through the back passages and thoroughfares to a modest platform. Unlike the one Finnyr arrived on, this had no sculpture, no foliage or design. It was primarily used for quick trips, deliveries, and trysts that were not to be observed by the watchful eyes from the manor.

Here was where he found his brother pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. Cvareh hated that his brother’s hands, of all people’s, were attached to Arianna. Finnyr didn’t deserve the honor. Maybe it was the gods above working in some weird way to see Finnyr’s hands put to good use. His brother would have never created anything meaningful with them.

Cvareh waited in the archway leading out to the platform. He knew he didn’t have time to waste, but he hadn’t thought about what he was going to say. He had to challenge, but he felt there should be more gravity to the situation, more impact.