Well, Petra certainly believes her words, Arianna thought silently. She was shaping up to be exactly what Arianna had feared. The Dragon would be another ruler that saw herself seated above the world, who paid little attention to the plights of Loom and cared even less.
Which meant Arianna might need to course-correct. If she wouldn’t get anywhere with Petra, she would need to secure a way on her own to get the materials needed for the Philosopher’s Box. To give Loom a fighting chance in the power struggle to come. Let the Dragons fight among themselves, kill each other off. If they turned their eyes to Loom, Loom would be ready. There were options before her, still, and she would consider them all for Florence’s sake.
“We don’t have Oji—” Arianna tried to form the word so carefully it bordered on mocking, “—on Loom. So it means nothing to me, Petra.”
The claws shot out from the woman’s fingers so fast that Arianna was surprised they didn’t launch from her hands. Dragons were predictable. If one didn’t give in to their excessive system of titles and decorum, they lost all patience. Arianna would push until she exposed the truth of this woman’s nature.
Cvareh was an anomaly among Dragons. As was the fact that Arianna found him tolerable. The fact that, in some impossible way, she truly believed he harbored no ill will toward Loom. But it ended with him. All other Dragons thus far had proved just as she’d expected.
“I must remind you that you are not on Loom any longer, Arianna.” The woman continued to smile with murderous intent. She stood, unfurling like a sail, her ego ballooning on her magic to a size that was greater than her physical frame. “You are in my House. You are under my protection. Your presence is a liability to the wellbeing of my family, should you be discovered by the Dragon King. You are alive because I permit it. And for all this, you will call me Petra’Oji.”
Arianna shrugged. “I’ll call you as I please.”
The woman stepped forward. Cvareh rose as well, but made no attempt to impede his sister’s progress. Certainly, Petra had told him to stay out of their squabble, and Arianna echoed the sentiment. But the fact that he didn’t struggle to resist even the slightest urge to rise to her defense told Arianna everything.
He stood behind his sister, at home on Nova. She stood as a foreigner in a strange land on behalf of a Fenthri girl. No matter how close they’d become on their journey, an impenetrable line was still drawn between them. It had been foolish to think the chasm could ever be crossed.
Arianna drew her dagger. Her other hand hovered over the clip dangling from her winch box. Petra stopped in the middle of the room, the glass floor illuminating her from below as though she stood in the sky itself.
“Sheathe your blade. I have no interest in spilling blood here.”
“Certainly fooled me.” Arianna didn’t oblige the command.
“Cvareh told me of your ferocity. He told me you killed the King’s Bitch, which tells me two things, Arianna the Rivet.” She held up two clawed fingers. “One, that we are not enemies. Two, that killing you would be a waste. If you are not my enemy and you are a fierce fighter, then it would be a shame to see you die needlessly.”
Anger flashed like gunpowder in the priming pan of her emotional arsenal, but it was short lived. For, as frustrating as it was to see, Cvareh’s suspicions echoed true. She and Petra seemed to hold something in common, for Arianna had used much the same logic when it came to deeming who was worthy to kill.
“You have yet to prove that you are not my enemy. And you are doing a poor job of endearing yourself to me if you wish an ally.” Arianna sheathed her dagger.
Petra smiled. It was an arrogant look, but not sinister. Arianna couldn’t shake the condescending feeling of it, however. The Dragon began to walk again, making her way toward a different door.
“My family has been fighting the Dragon King for centuries. A few more days, weeks, months, years, will not hurt me. Time to wait for you to come around is something I have.” Petra paused in the open door frame across the room, staring Arianna down for one last long moment. “The real question is, do you?”
Arianna wanted to gouge out the knowing gaze from her eye sockets. The Dragon would live more than six lifetimes of the average Fenthri. Arianna could threaten with the Philosopher’s Box all she wanted. But the woman could stall until long after Florence was dead.
Petra hummed softly at Arianna’s silence, a purr of victory. “Cvareh, escort our guest back to her chambers before she makes a scene.”
Arianna watched the Dragon leave, walking as though she already owned the world.
8.Florence
“I’m telling you I need more.” Florence balked at the Revolver who was in charge of the Alchemists’ armory.
“I’m telling you, you’re not getting any.” The man was old; Florence guessed he was nearly thirty-eight. His black hair had begun to twist in weird directions, haloing thinly around the crown of his head. It was salted with gray almost the same color as his skin. The dark symbol of the Revolvers tattooed on his cheek sagged. She’d never met a Revo as old as him before. It wasn’t usually a profession that boasted particularly long lifespans. Perhaps being assigned far from the guild hall in Dortam had helped spare him from the Revolver’s suicidal groupthink.
“Not a day ago I counted that you had at least two barrels of sulfur. I know charcoal isn’t hard to come by, and you don’t need much graphite…” He was back to ignoring her as she spoke, counting and checking off quantities behind the gated shelves. “Why are you being so stingy with the gunpowder?”
“Because you’re wasting it.” He didn’t even turn.
“I am not wasting it. I’m trying to help you.”
The man shot a look over his shoulder that told Florence exactly what he thought ofthatclaim. Florence put her hands on her hips, trying not to deflate. Certainly she’d had some failures… a lot of failures. But she was making progress. It was just difficult to explain that progress to anyone who hadn’t seen the implosion beam she was trying to recreate based on what the Riders had used to attack the airship she’d ridden on weeks ago.
“You fashion yourself a Revo.” He punctuated the statement with a sigh, finally giving her his attention. “But it shows that you have not had proper training.”
“I had ample tr—”
“I looked through your notes.”
