The woman in white paused in the tall doorframe, unclasping the harness and shrugging out of her white coat. She wore a loose cotton shirt with ruffles at the collar under a tight black vest.
“Why don’t you just stand there, Dragon?” She pulled her goggles over her forehead.
The woman’s eyes were bright purple, a dark slit that matched his own instead of the usual rounded Fenthri iris. If Cvareh had needed any further proof that she was a Chimera, there it was.
“Your magic already stinks. I don’t want you dragging sewer sludge into my home too.” The woman threw the verbal jab at him before disappearing into the side room, working on the first button of her vest as she disappeared.
Cvareh looked at the remaining Fenthri, who was failing to hide her amusement behind a dark gray palm. Rolling his eyes, he started for one of the sofas.
“I wouldn’t do that.” The woman’s black eyes focused on where Cvareh’s still-booted feet crossed onto the wood. “If you track mud into the house after she made her proclamation, I fear she really will kill you.”
“Not if she wants her boon.” Cvareh was getting tired of repeating the fact, but he couldn’t take his offer back. She’d agreed; the magical contract was formed between them. He was at the mercy of this Fenthri woman until she delivered him to the Alchemists or willingly relinquished her contract with him.
“Then I may kill you, because I’m the one who cleans the floors.”
“Are you her servant?” Cvareh didn’t think Fenthri kept households. Judging by the woman’s laugh, he was right.
“Grind my gears, of course not.” She shook her rounded face, her boxy shoulders slowing from her mirth. “I’m her initiate.”
“Initiate?” Cvareh frowned. The outline of a raven had been tattooed on her cheek in black, almost blending in with her granite-colored skin. “You’re both Ravens then?”
“No.” Her demeanor changed completely. The girl regarded him coolly when she had been almost welcoming prior. “I am a Revolver. And my master is a Rivet.”
Nowthatmade no sense. One of them was an unmarked illegal, out of place in the world, and the other was claiming to be something other than what she had been marked. “Assuming that’s true, a Rivet couldn’t teach a Revolver.”
“Indeed she can. And she is certain to get me help when her knowledge has gaps. We’re in the heart of the Revolvers’ Guild, after all.” The woman grinned. Cvareh continued to be unnerved by the image of flat teeth making a perfect line.
“It is against Dragon law to be taught outside your guild. Any marked who desert their duty could be punished by death. Going unmarked is no better.” Cvareh didn’t actually care. He was hardly about to uphold the laws when he was the one seeking out the Fenthri rebels at the Alchemists’ Guild.
“No one in Old Dortam would turn either of us in,” the girl hummed. “And people in New Dortam have more important things to worry about when the White Wraith shows up than the fact that she isn’t marked.”
The sun fell from Cvareh’s sky at three words. “The White Wraith?”
The young woman paused her ministrations at a back table. “Who did you think you were traveling with?”
Cvareh honestly hadn’t a clue. But his guess wouldn’t have been New Dortam’s most infamous criminal.
3.FLORENCE
“I’m Florence, by the way,” she introduced herself to the yet-hovering Dragon. “Take off your shoes and sit at the table. It’ll be the easiest to wipe down.”
The walking rainbow twisted off his ankle-length patent black boots and crossed over to the table in the corner of their flat by the small kitchen. At least he did as he was told. That would increase his chances of Ari not killing him before she got that boon.
Florence’s master had stormed into their home like an engine off its tracks, demanding the largest cloak they owned and rambling something about a boon. It wasn’t too long until Florence pieced together what exactly had her in such a tizzy. But by the time Ari had ranted off enough facts for her to do so, she had already left. Florence hadn’t had much time to inquire deeply about the nature of this agreement, but whatever it was, she trusted her teacher implicitly. Ari always knew what she was doing.
Florence finished hanging Ari’s harness and coat then crossed to the kitchen. She felt the Dragon’s eyes on her as she rummaged through the upper cupboard.
“Here.”
“What is it?” The Dragon inspected her peace offering skeptically.
“A cookie.” Florence shoved one in her mouth for show. And then a second one, just because the first tasted so good.
“Why are you giving it to me?”
“Who questions a cookie?” She laughed, placing the confection on the table for the Dragon to decide if he wanted it or not. “But we will no longer be friends if you waste it.”
“Are we friends?” There was genuine surprise in his inflection.
