She pulled her hand away for him to continue.
“People say your Dragon ran with the White Wraith through the streets here.” The man adjusted his velvet vest.
Something didn’t add up. “Why would the Wraith help a Dragon?”
“That, I cannot tell you.” The man held out his hands hopelessly. “Have I earned my harvest?”
“Keep your pilfered magic,” Leona sneered, starting for the door. Camile was silently in step, her claws still extended.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Leona paused. “You see, I happen to be the main contractor of the White Wraith. So I know a few things you may want to hear about how he conducts his business.”
Leona squinted at the hustler. She would be impressed if he wasn’t a Fen. “Name your price.”
“I want a living Dragon.”
“Too steep,” Leona scoffed. She knew what men like him would do. They would chain up the Dragon and pick them apart slowly, slow enough that the Dragon would re-grow flesh and organs to be harvested again indefinitely.
“Then another corpse—a strong one.”
“If your information is worthwhile.” Leona could think of a few members of House Xin she’d like to throw down to Loom for this scavenger to lick clean. And there were always those with no rank—they were practically born to be organ fodder.
The man sat in his chair, a tiny throne for the pitiful king of a worthless scrap of dirt. “The first thing you must remember is the name Florence.”
16.CVAREH
He had always been taught that Fenthri didn’t have magic. Dragons turned up their noses at the plain creatures of Loom, the hardened, stony residents of the rock below who lacked raw power surging through their veins.
It was the Dragons that had been the fools.
Cvareh had never seen a Fenthri work. The few Chimera that had been brought up to Nova to maintain imported golden machines were kept almost exclusively at the Rok estate; he who held the gold held the power in the sky world above. The Chimera slaves were kept out of sight, trusted to do what they must to keep the devices that had become so integral to Nova running.
On the third day into their voyage, theHolx IIIhad suffered engine troubles. Problems with the pistons set the crew to scrambling, and Arianna stepped in. The woman hoisted wrenches as large as his calf, sweat rolling lines through the soot and oil caked on her flesh. She worked tirelessly through the night, changing out lines, welding, creating tools from scratch.
Cvareh was only below decks to support with his magic as needed. Arianna had been reluctant to ask him, but Florence was insistent after the fifth hour. Cvareh knew why the second he arrived.
Arianna’s strong shoulders were beginning to sag and her posture was slacker than the normal board-straight height she usually carried herself with. Running back and forth between drafting tables in the small cabin attached to the engine room and maintaining her patches while she rambled off numbers in search of a permanent solution had taken its toll. Arianna didn’t have energy to expend on magical pursuits. So when something golden needed to be lifted, or turned just so, Cvareh was there.
Arianna stepped away from the iron, brass, and gold monster she’d been wrestling with all night. The ship’s Rivet handed her a soiled cloth, which she uselessly wiped her hands with. The woman was absolutely filthy.
“Cvareh,” she summoned him without turning. “Strike the flywheel.”
Cvareh stared at the tube of gold attached to the shaft of the mechanism. With a mental command he drove down its weight. It pushed against the shaft, turning the flywheel to life.
“All right, Pops, try the combustion pistons now!” Arianna had to practically scream to be heard over the sounds of the engine groaning to life.
The ship’s Rivet—Pops, as everyone called him—raised his thumb in the air as some symbol of affirmation. With the help of another crewmate he engaged a different set of machines. Somehow, despite all the noise, Cvareh heard Arianna’s sharp intake of breath. She held it, waiting with as much tension as a harp string.
After a few minutes, the woman put her hands on her hips triumphantly. She curled her lips in a flat-lined smile of admiration at the engine. Cvareh didn’t find it beautiful, not compared to the breathtaking aesthetics of Nova. But therewassomething…lovely, in her admiration of the thing she had created.
The flywheel spun, pistons fired, and the noise increased until Arianna finally turned. She rested an oily palm on his shoulder.Another shirt ruined.
Her lips moved, but he couldn’t make out the sound over the cacophony of the engine.
“What?” Cvareh tilted his head, shouting in her ear. His eyes focused on the patch of skin at the corner of her jaw, usually hidden by her thick hair. The white strands were clumped with sweat and clinging to her neck. A faint scar ran around the base of an ear that had been capped with steel to prevent it from re-growing pointed—an ear that was a dusty sky color.A House Xin shade of blue.
“I said let’s get above decks.” She slapped his shoulder, unaware of his revelation, and led the way.
Cvareh was a step behind, not wanting to make his sudden discomfort obvious. It was only logical that, as a Chimera, she could have some parts from a Dragon that belonged to some rung of his House. He knew she engaged in organ trafficking. So why would it suddenly bother him?
