“Do you think you can intimidate me?” He strolled over nonchalantly. “Do you know how many I’ve killed?”
“Forced to guess, I would estimate the number to be less than not nearly enough to make me scared.” A hand curled around the hilt of her dagger. “You’ve heard of me, so you must know what I do to Dragons.”
“And yet here you are, on Nova.” Cain motioned to the air around him. He waited for a retort she was loath not to have. He took a step forward, encroaching on her personal space. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know why you’re here,White Wraith.” More than one Dragon waiting in the wings visibly tensed. Even in Fennish, her moniker was known to them. “But you’re in my home now. And while you are here, you will be an obedient and obliging guest.”
He reached for her chin. To do what, Arianna didn’t know. But the motion felt sickly condescending following his declaration. She didn’t hesitate to draw her dagger. The golden blade was still ringing from its sheath when it sliced into his flesh. Sharp and precise, she cut off the tip of the offending finger before it could touch her.
Every Dragon around them, all five of them, had their claws out in an instant. They lunged from the shadows with snarls and growls, like dogs let off their chains. Cain held up his still bleeding hand, the fingertip already re-growing. The world seemed to hold its breath with his singular command. All except for Arianna’s heaving chest.
“I admire the ferocity. But if you turn your blade against me again, I will not stay my talons.”
“You can’t kill me.” She called his bluff. If Cvareh was to be believed, his sister—the head of House Xin—needed Arianna a lot more than she needed them.
At least, that’s what she’d let them believe.
The truth was, if Florence’s rebellion was to succeed, they needed the Dragons’ help as much as the Dragons needed theirs. The rebellion needed Dragon organs, the ability to transport things quickly, fighting power and an established base on Nova. And a certain resource for the Philosopher’s Box that Arianna was determined to find in her time on the floating islands.
“I never said anything aboutkillingyou. You’re the White Wraith, aren’t you? I’m sure you can use your imagination as to how I would occupy my time instead.” He grinned wildly, showing his teeth again. “Now, will you come with me to the baths? Or do I need to drag you there by force?”
Arianna regretted her decision to come to Nova more and more by the second. She was outnumbered tens, hundreds, to one. Individually, the Dragons might fear her, but as a pack they had her trapped like a wounded hare. With all the dignity she could muster, Arianna sheathed her dagger and straightened from a hostile crouch.
“Lead on,” she forced through gritted teeth. If she couldn’t keep a combative advantage, she’d keep her pride.
They walked into the shade of the gallery and penetrated the castle’s innards. Led through back halls and side passages, Arianna did not see another Dragon outside their group. But she could sense them, smell them, feel their magic rippling through the currents of the air. It was loud, like a hundred people speaking all at once. Her senses were constantly flaring with recognition of them, trying to understand and catalog every magical signature. Arianna could only assume that living on Nova brought the Dragons more success at filtering their senses than she was able to muster. She hoped it would prove a learned trait, otherwise the sensation would drive her mad long before she sized up this Petra she had come to meet.
The servants said nothing. They kept their eyes down and their lips pursed. For the most part, they even contained their curious glances. All except for one.
“Why does Cvareh’Ryu bring a Chimera into our home?” the woman from earlier asked Cain in Ryouk.
“The ends justify these means,” Cain replied vaguely. He clearly didn’t have much more of an explanation himself.
“She smells,” the woman whispered, but not quietly enough that Arianna couldn’t hear.
“She will be better once she’s washed.” They continued on as though Arianna was none the wiser to their discourse. She held her tongue, avoiding speaking in the Dragon’s language and giving up the game.
“All Chimera reek, rotten blood.”
“I know, Dawyn’Anh,” Cain conceded, as if heartbroken by the fact that he would have to endure her scent for another moment longer. “But our Ryu has spoken with the support of the Oji.”
That silenced the woman, though Arianna could still feel her radiant frustration. The mention of Cvareh put both the likes of Cain and this Dawyn woman into submission. Arianna failed to stifle a chuckle, earning a confused look from her companions that was abandoned when it became apparent she had no intent of elaborating on the source of her sudden amusement.
The idea of Cvareh scaring anyone into submission was laughable. She had put the Dragon in his place too many times to think of him as anything more than…than… Arianna paused, struggling to fill in the blank for an all-too-long second…than Cvareh.
They finally rounded into an airy room—yet another space constructed upon a foundation of impossibilities. Steam hung thick in the air, clouding around the aromatic scent of the wildflowers floating in the wading pool. An entire wall was made of rippled glass—or some kind of clear quartz, Arianna had yet to decipher which. She hoped it was the latter, because the former made her question what exactly the builders had been thinking using such large panes of glass to stand against such violent gusts.
One side of the pool was made up of the clear wall, giving the illusion that the water stopped mid-air. The tile surrounding it was set in a chevron pattern and glistened with moisture. A small stool sat out by a bucket full of steaming water and an array of tools that were either for washing or stripping off skin—she couldn’t tell which.
The entire group remained, two Dragons on either side of the door. Cain leaned against her only escape nonchalantly. The woman—Dawyn—approached her.
Arianna took a step away, avoiding her outstretched hands.
“I will help you.” She spoke in a rudimentary attempt at Fennish, a thick guttural accent over top.
“Help me with what?” Arianna knew exactly what she was implying. But she’d stall to underscore her sour opinion of the implication.
“Wash.”
“I think I’ve managed well enough on my own so far in life.”
