Arianna opened her mouth to speak, when the airship lurched violently. Florence stumbled, off-balance and too hopelessly weak to correct herself. Arianna grabbed her, supporting her as a primal cry rose from outside. They heard the sound at the same time and it washed the gray from both their faces—the magicalzipof a Dragon Rider’s glider.
“Bloody cogs.” Arianna was tearing off her clothing, throwing it about the room in a sprint for her harness and coat. “They weren’t supposed to have any idea where we were headed. Do you see now, Flor? The man lies! He’s in cahoots with them.”
“Then why are they hunting him?”
“It’s all a ruse!”
The ship jostled again. Florence gripped the table for support. “This is a pretty deathly ruse.”
“You just stay here.” Ari tightened her harness, feeling for her daggers, running some line through her winch box. “Stay here for now, and don’t be anywhere I can’t find you. I have a feeling we’ll be needing to make an exit before we reach port.”
Florence nodded, looking about the room, already making a list of what she needed to pack. “But find Cvareh too.”
“Oh, I will.” Arianna left with murder in her eyes.
She sighed heavily, leaning against the table. If she could go her entire life without ever seeing another King’s Rider, that would be ideal. Florence leaned back, wondering for a brief moment how she would make that come to pass. Her hand rested on the paper and Florence brought it up for inspection with a sigh.
Such a tiny thing had caused so much drama in what had been going so smoothly.
It was then that she noticed a small area that Arianna’s fingers had covered the first time she’d shown the page to Florence. Her eyes looked over it once, twice, three times. A few notes were scribbled on the paper, ripped off in the corner where the drawing had been taken from a larger schematic.
Florence didn’t even read what they said. She was too obsessed with the way the ‘h’ curved in the script, the weight of the ‘a’, the overall slant and clarity of the letters. The penmanship was unmistakable.
It answered the question of why Arianna had been so upset—how she had known so much about the paper—at least enough that Florence could now make educated guesses. But those only created deeper questions. Questions she had sworn never to ask. Questions about Arianna’s history.
Why was the woman’s handwriting on a schematic she claimed Cvareh had acquired with malicious intent? Why was her penmanship onanythingthat could even closely resemble the Philosopher’s Box?
32.LEONA
They had been zipping across Loom for weeks now. By all measure Leona should be exhausted. But the moment the airship had emerged from the starless sky, like a shining beacon heralding her triumph, there was nothing but power under the wings of her glider. There was nowhere for them to run. No sea to mask their scent, no Underground to crawl into like rats.
She had been expecting to face them in Keel. After all the Wraith’s precision and care in their travels, Leona expected them to think of some other way to cross the last of the distance to the Alchemists’ Guild. Some way that wouldn’t trail their scent through the air in all directions.
She didn’t rule out the possibility that it was some kind of trap or attack. After all, the Wraith could make seemingly any situation work to her advantage. If she could turn a prison break into a victory against three of the King’s Riders, she could somehow turn an airship into a floating fortress.
So Leona wasn’t taking any chances. She wasn’t interested in being elegant or tactful in her approach. She wasn’t going to imagine herself above the Wraith. She was going to fight in the most underhanded ways she knew how. And she was going to finally bring victory for Yveun Dono.
Strapped over her back was a large weapon. It was cumbersome to wield and awkward to feel, but the Revolvers had assured her it was capable of an explosion like no other. Leona stabilized her glider and planted her feet. She looked over to Camile who did the same without needing to be told.
“Let’s clip its wings.” Leona reached for the weapon.
“Leona’Kin, therearemembers of House Rok on that vessel.” Leona smelled them, too. Not many, but a few mixed among the bland stench of Fenthri and haze of other Dragons.
“No half measures, Camile.” She tracked her weapon over the wing. “If they are strong enough, they will survive.”
It wasn’t too tall of an expectation. Dragons were hearty and House Rok was the strongest of them all. If any emerged, Leona would see them to whatever business they had on Loom personally.
Camile did the same with her gun. Leona had to hold in laughter at the sight. Her companion looked ridiculous with a weapon in hand. Though the same could be said of her. It had been Sybil and her pack that ran with guns. Leona and her acolytes always preferred the Dragons’ traditional means of destruction: claws.
Still, when on Loom she would fight as the Fenthri did if it served her means. The thinking was a very Xin approach. But to kill a Xin, she conceded, one needed to think like a Xin. Terrifying as that might be.
Leona leveled her weapon and gripped the trigger. The Revos had given them only one canister each, insisting they wouldn’t need more. When Leona pushed back, delicately and not so delicately, they still did not come up with more canisters, saying that the chemicals and powders required simply weren’t kept in stock.
Leona forced her magic into the long gun. The second she did, runes lit up along the handle and barrel. Once activated, she had no choice but to keep feeding it. They leeched magic from her hungrily, siphoning it out through both hands. The runes glowed in the darkness so brightly they drew their shapes with beams of light in the hazy night air around her. The last rune on the barrel sparked, joining the rest.
Leona wasted no time and pulled the trigger.
A bolt of magic shot forward in a straight line and missed the wing by a small margin. Leona screamed in annoyance. She was sure it was her sister’s heart that lingered somewhere in the depths of her magic that cackled hellishly, scolding her for all the times she’d skipped shooting practice.
