Somehow, Cvareh managed silence. He followed her through the rank passage for what seemed like forever until the sewer vomited its sludge into a slime-covered river. The woman paused, glancing outside and back at his hands.
“Dragon, can you make illusions?”
“Not a skill I possess.” Though he was glad she asked. The look of consideration she gave his clawed fingers let Cvareh know she was well aware of what Dragon parts held what magic. It further confirmed that, whoever she was, she truly knew about Dragons beyond the value of a heart.
“Of course you can’t. That would be far too easy.” She let out a sigh of utter disappointment. The woman thought for another long moment. “Very well, stay here.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“If you walk around Old Dortam looking like—” Her head moved up and down as her eyes raked over him. “You, you’re going to cause a scene. Or someone else will harvest you. And then I’m out a Dragon heart as well as a boon.”
Cvareh would appreciate it if she’d stop discussing cutting out his heart, but he knew better than to say so. He also knew she was right. Cvareh adjusted the wide sash around his waist, heavy with the beads and embellishments of his station. His shirt was done in a dark navy that highlighted the color of his powder blue skin just so. Its capped sleeves showed the strength in his arms—his physical ability to assert dominance. Dragons took note of the feature, which had helped ward off challenges for years.
He looked back at the woman in her heavy leather coat and worker’s trousers. She was unfashionable and plain, a continued source of vexation for him. Certainly, she was poor and couldn’t afford more than basic clothing. But why would anyone choose to wear white in this industrial wasteland?
“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted.
“Of course I am,” she agreed confidently. “Now stay here like a good little Dragon and don’t move.”
Cvareh did as he was told.
Time was hard for him to tell on Loom and the seconds smeared into tedious minutes. The thick layer of clouds above hid the progression of the sun, filtering it into a bleak and neutral light. Cvareh cursed himself for forgetting his timepiece back on Nova. He hadn’t really had time to pack anything.
He opened a small pouch at his waist and pulled the folded papers from it. They were old, or had been through a lot to find their way up to Nova. He expected the latter was more likely. The parchment was weathered and already delicate, the leaves beginning to tear at the folds. He didn’t dare spend longer than a moment making sure all were accounted for.
The delicate lines made up schematics that meant little to Cvareh, but they would mean something to a Rivet. However, he wasn’t headed for the Rivets’ Guildhall. The engineers of Loom had long been under the close eye of the Dragon King and, seeing as how Cvareh had stolen the documents from under said King’s nose, he didn’t think heading toward anyone or anything that was notorious for being under his thumb was a good idea.
The woman reappeared.
“You actually made a line in the slime.” She appraised where he’d been pacing. “That bored?”
“Well—” Cvareh didn’t know why he tried to answer. She interrupted him by tossing the cloak she’d had folded over her arm at his face, leaving Cvareh scrambling to catch it before it fell onto the grime-coated path.
“Put that on, pull the hood, and keep your head down.”
Cvareh did as instructed and followed her without needing to be told.
She led him up the hard dirt of the river’s embankment and into soot-covered streets. Welders worked in a nearby factory, their torches lighting up the cobblestones under his feet. He heard the occasional crackle of magic, but the world on Loom was quiet compared to the splendor of Nova. Mostly normal, un-augmented Fenthri surrounded him.
It made the woman in front of him stand out all the more. She seared his senses as wildly as the strongest Dragon Rider he’d ever met. Why would someone who hated Dragons so much choose to become a Chimera?
He dared a glance up at her back. She didn’t turn or slow, ignorant of his study. She may have been a Chimera, but she looked very much Fenthri. Her shoulder-length white hair, gray skin, broad shoulders, and dingy clothes fit in with the iron, brass, and sepia tones of the world around her. It was as though Loom itself had given birth to the woman.
He followed her down a side street and up a flight of stairs to a shut down, boarded up shop. She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, wedging her body between him and the intricate door lock. Metal slid on metal and the door swung open.
“Welcome back.” Another Fenthri woman—barely more than a girl, really—jumped over a sofa in a haste to meet them. She skidded to a halt as the Fenthri in white closed the door behind Cvareh. “Is this the one?”
“Would I be around a Dragon if it wasn’t?” The woman who held his boon and still hadn’t told him her name unclipped her high boots and dropped them on the entryway tile.
Cvareh took in the room and was surprised to find it well styled, given his earlier assessments of the person he was now keeping company with. The floors were smoothed from being walked on for years—uneven in a way that seemed perfectly imperfect. Dark leather furniture was accented with heavy knit blankets around a crackling iron stove. Steam and water piping ran through the barren beams overhead, keeping the room warm and glinting in the midday sunlight let in by two tall, iron-framed windows.
“Did you draw the bath?” His boon-holder started for a side door.
“I did,” the younger Fenthri replied.
“Lovely.”
“Wait, what am I to do?” Cvareh asked, hovering uncertainly. “I’m filthy.”
