Ari rattled off a string of guttural sounds that echoed up from the back of her throat. Florence knew that Ari could understand Royuk, but she’d never actually heard her teacher speak it. The sounds were perfect, nearly identical to the accents the Riders used.
It was perhaps too similar; Cvareh’s talons were unsheathed in a second. He lunged for her and Ari released him to grasp for her dagger. The sharp points of each of their weapons pressed into the other’s throat, their noses almost touching.
“I don’t give a damn about your House,” Arianna growled. “When you are traveling with me you put it aside, and you do as I command.”
“You ground-born, soot coloredFen,” Cvareh snarled in kind, his lips curling back to expose his elongated canines.
Florence placed a hand on both their shoulders, trying to ease tensions. She had worked so hard to make her hands conjure explosions that it was odd to use them to diffuse. “Both of you, stop. What’s done is done. This isn’t helping.” Eventually, Florence had no doubt that appealing to their mutual sense of reason would fail. But for now it seemed she had yet to reach that point. “Ari, you are clearly working on a new plan.”
“I am.” The taller woman stood. Florence noticed a small slash in her coat, but miraculously, no black blood stained the white. Now that Florence thought about it, she’d never seen Arianna bleeding at all… But perhaps that was a given since the woman healed as fast as a Dragon. Arianna distracted Florence from her thoughts as she continued, “But you’re not going to like it.”
“Why?” Creeping dread crawled up Florence’s spine at Arianna’s tone. If the woman said Florence wouldn’t like it then Florence had no doubt whatever it was, she’d absolutely hate it.
“I’ll tell you when I decide it must be done.” Arianna glared back at Cvareh, still heaping mountains of blame on his shoulders for what had happened with just her eyes.
Florence looked hopelessly at the Dragon and stood as well. He was clearly no more pleased with himself than Ari was. Dragon or Fenthri, the look of guilt seemed to be the same. Still, he pulled himself to his feet with them and stood on his own. He didn’t do the one thing Arianna would find even more intolerable: give up.
Ter.5.2 was the primary port for the Revolvers’ territory. It served both air and sea, a relatively short distance from the land terminal the three of them had entered in on. High above, at the tops of skeleton frameworks and spiraling iron staircases, were the airship platforms.
Large cruising vessels boasted over-sized balloons strapped atop tiny but luxurious passenger cars. Men and women dressed in bright jewel tones that matched the few Dragons they walked alongside. There were smaller, more practical airships parked alongside the opulent dirigibles. They had wings shaped like fish, finned rudders and arcing bodies. Gold glinted on them, magic enabling journeys by air.
The Dragons had brought the sky to Loom.
Below were seafaring vessels. Giant freight cruisers stacked with crates fought against their roped tethers. Ore overflowed from cartons as men and women bearing Rivet tattoos argued with those bearing symbols of the Revolvers. Once in a while, Florence caught sight of a circled master, but the majority were journeymen with filled marks.
But the most common mark was what set Florence’s blood to churning beneath her granite colored skin.Ravens. For every one Dragon there were three Fenthri in the port, and for every one Fenthri with any other mark there were three Ravens. Florence blended in perfectly; no one looked at her mark twice, and no one questioned the trio. She looked like she belonged. And that was the worst part of it all.
“Flor,” Arianna spoke gently but Florence still spooked, pulled from her thoughts. “In here.”
Arianna had quite the taste in lodging. The bar stunk of stale vomit and sea scum. There wasn’t a single patron and Florence had no doubt it had as much to do with the overall atmosphere as it did the fact that they had just opened.
“You have rooms?” Arianna asked the barman.
“For a price.” The man targeted his eyes right on Florence’s mark. “Traveling?”
“I’m their escort.” She felt as awkward as she sounded trying to play the part.
“Right.” The man believed her as much as if she had said she was a Dragon. “Forty dunca, one room, eight hours starting now?”
“Why eight?” Florence couldn’t help herself.
“I’m not used to people wanting to stay around for all that long.” The man grinned. Half his teeth had rotted out.
“Eight will be plenty.” Arianna fished trough her bag. Thankfully, the satchel was designed for being turned up-side-down in all of Arianna’s various scuffles and the dunca hadn’t been lost in the station. “Eighty dunca.”
“Two rooms, or sixteen hours?” the man asked, running the bills through his fingers.
“One room, eight hours, and forty dunca for you to forget we were ever here,” Arianna clarified.
“Mum’s the word.” The man snickered and waved them toward a back hall.
Arianna picked a room, seemingly at random from the doors that were slightly ajar. She locked it behind them with a begrudging pause. Florence knew her teacher was mentally taking apart the lock several times over, scowling at its simplicity.
“You know he’ll sell us out to the highest bidder.” Cvareh pulled off his goggles as if he needed unhindered sight to stare disapprovingly at the room.
“I know.” Arianna leaned against the door like a guard, leaving Florence to take the small stool. None of them was brave enough to try the palette intended to be a bed. The floor was likely cleaner. “But it’ll spare him from running his mouth at the very first opportunity that there was a Dragon traveling with two Fenthri staying in his back room.”
“How would he know I was—”
