The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(99)

“You know that’s true.” She gave Powell an encouraging smile. “We’re both young vicars and need to stick together.”

“No doubt.”

The station had two platforms divided by a turnstile. Powell and Florence emerged opposite the side they’d arrived on, and found themselves on a covered stretch that descended into a cobblestone arc of road lined with small storefronts, completely void of life.

Florence’s hand was on her gun before she was even conscious of the prickle up her neck. She looked along the road that led down the sloping hill into the downtown proper, where the smokestacks of the refinery and factories stretched toward the sky.

“It’s quiet.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Powell affirmed.

“Revolvers!” Florence called over her shoulder back to the filling platform. The handful of her guild that still remained turned their heads in attention. “We move first, guns at the ready.”

There were looks of confusion, but none objected. The Revolvers naturally ordered themselves in small squadrons based on specialization and available weaponry. Bernard was at her right.

“Bernard, I want you to set up roosts with the initiates, there and there.” Florence pointed at two balconies down the road. Initiates weren’t the best shots, but Florence hoped they could at least lay cover fire.

“Emma, you and I will go with the journeymen.” Florence spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, but her eyes caught Shannra’s. Stay close to me, they said.

“Vicar, we’d like to switch.” Bernard spoke before Emma could even open her mouth, setting Florence’s eye to twitching. “The Revolvers cannot manage the loss of another Vicar.”

“The Revolvers can survive whatever comes our way,” Florence said firmly. She’d not have men uttering words that would make the initiates weak. “Furthermore, I will be in good company.”

“What are we defending ourselves from?” Emma asked the right question.

“I don’t know yet.” Florence looked back down the sloping, still road. “But something doesn’t feel right.”

They walked with guns at the ready down the center of the street. Florence felt the unease from the other Revolvers, but if there was fire to draw, she wanted to draw it. She wanted no chance of going unnoticed by lurking hostiles.

But the silence persisted and, other than its unnerving stillness, it was almost a pleasant walk. The air further south was slightly less bitingly cold and the wind was a gentle breeze. Still, Florence’s concern continued to rise like molten steel coming to temperature.

The moment they arrived at the factory’s entrance, where the Rivets had gone ahead early to begin manufacturing the corona-blasting guns, Florence knew every sickening concern was founded.

Bodies littered the ground, soaked in black and crimson. Blood formed small rivers in the grooves between the stones of the street. Fenthri and Chimera alike, most bearing Alchemist and Rivet markings, all had the distinct slash marks that came with Dragon talons. A startling few had guns on their person. It was a slaughter of noncombatants that set Florence’s mouth into a grim line.

All movement had stilled around her and every living eye was on the large factory doors, pulled shut. Upon them, written with the smear of a large palm, was a message in blood.

“To Florence, with love,” Emma read from her side. “What do we do now?”

Florence stared at the door for another long moment, as though it were the Dragon King himself. “We do what Loom is best at. We clean up the mess the Dragons have left us, and we get back to work.”





Cvareh


“She would be impressed.” Poiris folded his arms over his chest and looked out onto the refinery floor that wasn’t much of a refinery anymore.

“Do you think so?” Cvareh rested his hands on the window sill.

Below, the floor that had been mostly dark since its creation now glowed with life as men and women flitted about from one machine to the next. His eyes tracked over each of the Fenthri, and he silently practiced each of their names. It was something small, but he hoped it would be enough to show Arianna that he had begun to take seriously the idea of Fenthri as equals on Nova.

“Petra wanted to see this place come to life. It was a grand vision that now means something. Yes, I think so.”

“Thank you.” Cvareh gave his friend a tired smile. His shoulders felt like they sagged a little deeper just from expending the energy to do so. “She wanted it to make gold.”

“She couldn’t have foreseen that we needed it for a much greater purpose. More than anything, Petra wanted it to be useful.” Poiris had a working relationship with his sister that Cvareh had only glimpsed briefly. This had been Petra’s pet project; were it not for Poiris, Cvareh would’ve had a hard time assuming the mantle, going in blind.

“Useful, it is.”

“To think, we underestimated them for so long.” Poiris’s eyes were on the Fenthri. “Thinking them lesser. Thinking we had things to teach them and order to bring. We had a lot more to learn.”

“I wouldn’t say that . . .” Cvareh’s eyes fell on one woman in particular, who nearly stopped all movement on the floor with her white-haired, nearly ethereal presence.

Arianna was a force to be reckoned with. Respected among Fenthri and feared among Dragons alike for her knowledge, she commanded loyalty with an ease Cvareh didn’t think she even recognized. With him as Dono and her at his side, they could rule the world together.