“You think a title will protect you, Petra,” Coletta spoke down to her. “That has been your greatest flaw. You put so much stock into titles and rank that you forget what gives them power—fear.”
The woman squatted next to her, narrowly avoiding the blood Petra was spitting up as she gasped for air.
“You failed your House. You, who should believe in whatever means necessary to achieve your ends, never even thought that I would kill you here.”
“You drank from the same glass.” Petra tried to defend herself in what she knew were her final moments.
“And you know nothing of poison.” Coletta smiled, wide and open-mouthed. Her teeth were dull and small, eaten away beyond her young years. Her gums were worn and gray, curling and tired. Her breath smelled of death. “But I do. I know of poisons well. My body, too; it is strong with them, invulnerable to them. I also know that you do not have magic in your stomach.”
“F-F-Finnyr,” Petra growled up at her brother. She wished she had the strength to stand, just enough to kill him. If she was going to die, she would take one of them with her to the halls of Lord Xin.
But she didn’t have the strength.
Her body was in revolt. Her magic surged but couldn’t keep up with everything failing at once. If anything, the effort to heal resulted in her organs wearing out from magic depletion. She could feel herself turning septic, growing rotten with each passing moment.
“You should have taken my deal, Petra.” Coletta stroked her hair like a child. “It’s a shame to lose a woman on Nova as strong as you.” The Rok’Ryu stood with a sigh, as though the matter actually did cause her strife. “Finnyr.”
Petra rasped with laughter. Between the blood and death’s heavy veil she could still see her brother tripping over his own two feet to get to her. Even when he was handed carved meat on a platter, he couldn’t find the knife to spear it. Her mouth curled in an expression that was part snarl, part grimace.
“Y-You will ne-neh-never stand as O-Oji,” Petra forced from between chattering teeth.
“It was mine all along.” Finnyr knelt beside her. His hand wavered.
“Cvareh w-w-will kill you.” Petra bubbled up laughter through the blood in her throat. “You were never meant to stand as the ruler of House Xin. You—”
His hand plunged into her chest. She felt her brother’s fingers close around her heart. Petra closed her eyes; death was upon her, and there was no point in fighting it any longer. She would watch her House for the rest of time from the halls of Lord Xin. She would watch, gleefully, as Cvareh finished what she started decades ago with Finnyr.
She would see her younger brother kill the elder, a task she should’ve done years ago.
Petra Xin’Oji To’s last discovery in life was the sensation of what it felt like to have her heart ripped out. The act she had done to many was finally performed upon her. With her final breath, she embraced the veil of the god she so loved.
48.Cvareh
Petra was counting on him. Arianna was counting on him—even if she didn’t know it. The future of House Xin was counting on him.
It was the same sort of weight he felt the last time he had crept through the Rok Estate for the schematics. Now he felt it in triplicate, looking for the woman who created those same drawings. There was a twisted and cruel sort of parallel drawn between them that had started long before they’d ever met.
Cvareh knew the moment Petra had arrived, since every man and woman who had been milling about the halls quickly sprinted off with eager whispers. His sister was always cause for attention, and the Xin’Oji calling for the blood of one of her kin was added fuel to that particular fire. Cvareh just hoped she kept her word from back on Ruana that she would not actually kill Finnyr.
He had promised that honor to Arianna and, after all Cvareh had come to know and realize, she well and truly deserved his brother’s blood.
In the fading sunlight, the Rok Estate was undeniable in its glamour and overpowering in its lavishness. Rooms of grandiose proportions dwarfed him, glittering with gold and gemstone. He used the scale to his advantage, keeping his head down and the scarf of the drab, humble clothes he wore high around his face. Peeking out just above the fabric was the symbol of House Rok. He’d inked it shortly after sneaking into the estate, using an idea he borrowed from Arianna.
He wasn’t known on sight here. Petra had kept him from many a Court and function across the years, making his appearance only vaguely familiar to any not of Ruana. Once more, Petra’s foresight served them well when another head-bowed servant crossed paths with him and paid him little more than a glance at his cheek.
Cvareh knew his general headway to the holding pens of the Rok Estate. Most Houses had something of the variety for containing Dragons awaiting a duel—or for when the Oji couldn’t decide if a duel was even merited at all. It was where he should’ve taken Finnyr, rather than putting him anywhere remotely close to Arianna. Usually, the pens remained empty; Cvareh had yet to meet an Oji would couldn’t make a split-second decision on such matters.
He heard the shifting of beads from around the corner and stopped his progress, listening carefully to the movement. Without doubt, a Rider was stationed at the door. If he needed any further proof that Arianna was likely being held in one of the rooms in the hall beyond, that was it. They wouldn’t exhaust a Rider on something so trivial, otherwise.
Cvareh leaned against the wall, stilling his breathing, trying to slow the very beating of his heart so he had time to figure out a solution to his predicament. Did he try to draw the Rider away and then circle back to the door? If he attacked, the scent of blood would draw others. He pressed his eyes closed and uttered a quick prayer to Lord Agendi and Lord Xin. He asked the first to cast his gaze on this endeavor, and the second to do the opposite.
Cvareh rounded the corner.
The Dragon looked up from inspecting her claws. The woman had only two beads and Cvareh didn’t instantly recognize her. If she wasn’t at the Court, she might not know his face either. Cvareh adjusted his wide scarf and hoped the mark he drew on his cheek was clear enough and hadn’t smudged.
“What do you want?” the woman sneered at the very sight of him. But she didn’t attack.
“Your presence is requested upstairs.” Cvareh kept his voice level and his eyes lowered. He hated taking his sight off the woman, who could decide to lunge at any second, but he had no choice. The more suspicion he raised by acting out of character, the lower his chances of getting inside. “To deal with the Xin’Oji.”
