“I want to know how Cvareh survived the Riders. I want to know what happened to my schematics.” Yveun’s claws unsheathed at the mere mention of the drawings that held the most substantial progress made on the Philosopher’s box to date. “I want to know what Petra is keeping from me.”
“My lord, my sister, she—”
“No excuses and no half measures, Finnyr. You were born in the month of Lord Rok. Show me where your true heart lies.” Yveun rested his hands on the desk, his claws raking long lines across its surface as he stepped away. He’d have Finnyr flayed for an hour if he buffed them out of the resin. Yveun wanted them to last as a threat to the man until the whole catastrophe that had been the past three months was behind them. The Dono paused at the door. “Succeed, and I will forgive your prior lapse in judgment in evenmentioningthe schematics to your sister. Fail, and I will not let you live long enough to try again.”
Yveun sneered widely, showing off his wicked sharp fangs. He left the man fighting trembles, but felt immensely better himself. There was more to be done, but it was progress for now.
As loathe as he was to see powder blue skin, it had paid off to have the loyalty of Finnyr Xin’Kin To, eldest son of House Xin.
7.Arianna
It didn’t take long for Arianna to grow bored.
The room she’d been thrown into was uselessly lovely. She circled it a few times, staring out the tall windows to try to get her bearings. It was somewhere in the center of the castle’s x-axis, on western side, judging by the increasing brightness that streamed through one wall. She guessed she was somewhere in the middle of the y-axis as well.
Through both windows, she could see the curve of the carved stone, other colored glass portals dotting its surface. Those out the west-most facing window were far and the wall was sheer and smoothed. However, her other window was within an alcove of sorts. Relief carvings of sweeping birds across the face of the castle would make easy hand and foot holds, and it was sheltered from the gusts that regularly rattled the other window.
Why there were carvings on theoutsideof a castle, where only a select few with windows could see, escaped her. But seemingly everything about this place served to confound and enrage her, from the decor choices to the very Dragons living among them.
The bed had no less than ten pillows.Ten. As in, the number she would have to use two hands to count to. The fireplace burned cheerfully for a race of people who had skin as strong and thick as leather. Shelves were cluttered with all manner of paintings, bobbles, and strange devices that Arianna could not fathom a purpose for.
Cain had first had the audacity to refuse her winch box and daggers, claiming she was now under the protection of House Xin and such things were no longer needed. Arianna had cut a chunk from Dawyn’s throat with a straight razor in an effort to get to her effects before Cvareh’s “friend” did.
That had been the man’s first mistake. His second was when he threatened to burn her clothes due to the “stench of Loom” on them. Arianna had nearly painted the floor of the bath gold with Dragon blood before she finally submitted. She was outnumbered and it was a battle she’d never had a chance of winning, especially naked and needing to avoid every nick or scratch from the Dragons’ sharp talons. But her viciousness had forced them into a compromise—her clothing would be washed and boxed and hidden until it was decided what they were “doing with her.”
The satisfaction of backing them into a compromise was short-lived as they, in turn, forced her into the most offensive articles of clothing she’d ever worn. They were trying to make a fool of her with the garb, that much was obvious. Two-thirds of the shirt was literally missing and the skirt was utterly impractical. Arianna was a heinous seamstress, but necessity was the mother of invention and she understood the mechanics and principles behind tailoring.
It’d taken her nearly an hour of muttered curses but she’d finally modified some found garments in the room she’d been locked in into something that suited her a little better. Loose trousers belled around her knees, cinched at the waist. Over top, she wore a long tunic dress, split at the bottom much like her White Wraith coat. Just feeling the hem at her calves brought back reassurances in triplicate.
Dressed and harnessed, Arianna opened the window she’d selected, pushing it against the near-constant wind to be open flush against the outer wall. She placed her palms on the sill, leaning over. Nothing stared back up at her, the hazy clouds fogging over the world of Loom below in shifting degrees of opaque. If she didn’t know it was there, she wouldn’t imagine there could be anything solid beneath that impenetrable line.
But Loom waited. A resistance brewed. And Florence had cast in her lot with those rebels. Meaning Arianna had no choice but to align herself as well.
She stepped up onto the sill, the wind rising to meet her. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the clip of her golden line firmly, charging it with a jolt of magic. It jumped from her fingertips. The cabling spool on her hip whirred, golden line funneled through the gearbox without resistance, propelled by magic. It shot across the narrow chasm between her room and the stonework by the opposite window. The clip looped around the sculpture at Arianna’s silent command, magically fastening to itself.
She gave the line a firm tug, feeling the tension through her harness. There was a moment’s hesitation, a second where her throat tightened. Her feet shifted against the sill and then, nothing.
Her stomach shot to her throat and her harness tightened reassuringly as she dropped in free fall. Arianna had used her winch box to perform such a maneuver hundreds—thousands—of times, from heights that would mean her death if she miscalculated distance or the security of her line. But this felt different. The vast nothingness that yawned beneath her rose with alarming speed, threatening to consume her like nothing more than an irrelevant speck of sand in the hourglass of time.
She gripped the line tighter, pushing magic into her winch box with almost violent intent. Her descent slowed as she neared the arc of her jump. Ari felt herself rising upward toward the window and toward the security of established hand and foot holds.
Fear was nothing more than staring into the mirror known as death and seeing the reflection of your own transience, a visage far too intense for many to look upon. But, for Arianna, it was nothing more than an instrument in her toolbox. It had a handle worn from years of grabbing for it time and again. Fear was familiar from taking it into her own hands and using it as deftly as if she were the personification of time’s judgment upon all mortal men.
Weighted against the wall, she grabbed for one of the two daggers settled at the small of her back. The blunt, thin tip of one fit nicely into the narrow groove of the window. The locks were simple tension latches; nothing more than a twist of the wrist, and mechanical precision Ari possessed from years of practice, was needed to render it useless.
The window swung open, and she helped herself into the quiet hall before shutting the pane behind her. She hadn’t known Cain for very long, but she was already savoring the idea of the arrogant Dragon guarding an empty room. Arianna knew she’d be discovered eventually, or would choose to expose herself. But for now, she’d wander this floating castle on her own terms.
Arianna pulled her own magic in tight, winding it like a ball around her core. She silenced its pulse as much as possible, limiting its ability to radiate from her with each breath. The stillness it created was prone to disturbances from other magic, and Arianna avoided any unwanted encounters with relative ease.
For a castle of stone and glass, it was alive with the scents of earth. Notes of moss blended with fresh dirt and the sharp smells of cedar and sandalwood to create a palette that was slowly becoming definable as distinctly “Xin”. Twice, she thought she picked up the scent of woodsmoke, and edged toward corners expecting to see Cvareh on the other side. But it was never him, and she was left to label the emotion that charged through her as relief.
It would be an immense inconvenience if Cvareh discovered me now, she insisted. She certainly had no need of the Dragon.
At first, Arianna tried to make notes of the individual Dragon scents, but it quickly became impossible. Every Dragon’s aroma seemed unique on Loom purely because there weren’t many Dragons. But on Nova, the scents became repetitive and Arianna began to focus, instead, on filtering out all scents but the ones most important to her: woodsmoke and cedar.
No longer concerning herself with logging every Dragon in residence, Arianna shifted her focus to the residence itself. During her schooling in the Rivets guild, she had learned about architecture. It wasn’t her forte, but she understood the basic principle as any good Rivet would be able to. With every project, the first thing a designer was taught to look at was the function of the space, followed by allowances for land and materials. The result was a blissful logic across Loom. Everything had a purpose, and the reasoning behind that purpose was simple to see.
She could not see the purpose in half the decisions the architects made here.
