“You know nothing about me,” she cautioned.
“I know more than you think.”
Arianna wanted to refuse him. She wanted to shut him out violently and without remorse. But the door had been opened too wide between them. His mouth on hers ghosted upon her lips, reminding her of the un-crossable lines they’d traversed together. Lines that she might dare walk again if she had the chance. Arianna focused on the curve of his mouth for too long a moment.
She wouldn’t let herself give into frivolous distractions. “Here are your options: Tell Petra that I seek passage home without hindrance.”
“Or?”
“Or, I demand a pair of hands.”
Cvareh’s brows knitted in confusion only to untangle with shock when he realized what she was asking. He sputtered, trying to build momentum behind his words. “That’s something that isn’t done. I can’t just—”
“Those are the options, Cvareh. Either would give me my freedom, and therefore her trust in my future actions.” Arianna stood and turned her back to him. “If Petra seeks my acquiescence, she must treat me like an equal. Or at the very least, a worthy opponent.”
10.Petra
“There has been another contact from Finnyr’Kin, Oji.” A weathered, ancient woman reported from the side of the room where Petra dressed in her riding leathers.
“And does my brother have anything worthwhile for me?”
“He seeks to return home.” The whisperer had the sense to pass no judgment on the message she’d received, merely report the facts.
Petra waved the slaves away and busied her hands with buttoning up her knee-length riding trousers with a heavy sigh. Finnyr had gotten it in his mind that he needed to return. She had no doubt it was in some way Yveun’s influence; her brother wasn’t known for having his own thoughts. Either the Dragon King had made Finnyr’s life torturous as a result of Petra’s actions against him, or he had ordered Finnyr to seek information on the truth of Cvareh’s supposed prayers to Lord Xin.
Either way, it made no sense for Petra to let her brother back into her home. Finnyr would be put in a harder position to feed lies to the Dragon King if he were here. At the Rok estate he could continue to collect information for her on the King’s scheming, even if it was an intolerable place for him to be.
“Tell Finnyr he has more to offer House Xin by continuing to express his loyalty to our Dono.” The words were sickly false. But the whisperer wouldn’t betray that to anyone. It was one of the sacred rites of becoming a House whisperer: no secrets were repeated and all messages were verbatim. All Dragons respected this as much as they respected the other innate laws of their world.
“As you command, Oji.” The whisperer gave her a low bow.
“And, Shawin,” Petra stopped the woman in the door frame. “Also tell Finnyr that when I do see him again, I am looking forward to tales of all his time at House Rok.”
“Of course.” The woman departed.
When it came to matters of House, Petra felt as though she were trapped on a stationary wheel that spun and spun without progress, no matter how hard she pushed ahead. Finnyr was as useless as he’d always been, offering little more to her than his position as a pawn in the Rok estate that freed up Cvareh to remain at her side. Cvareh had returned, but his help was relegated to the shadows as it had always been. He was worth too much to her to risk parading his strengths before any member of the Crimson Court.
And then there was the Chimera.
Cvareh had reminded Petra time and again that threatening the woman would be of little use. But every moment lost due to her stubbornness was another that scraped away at Petra’s patience—and she wasn’t known for an excess of that to begin with. Petra kept enough of her head to recognize that losing it over the woman’s antics would be akin to defeat. She chose to focus on the things she had direct control over, instead, and today those matters were hidden on the far side of Ruana.
She fastened a tight circle of leather around her bosom, draping emerald strips of fabric over her shoulders and fastening them to cuffs at her wrists. The cuffs appeared to be leather on the outside, but their inners were gold, enough to support a corona should she need it. She’d had to leverage the defense four times in her life, and she was not afraid to welcome a fifth if the world so designed.
Men and women stepped aside as she strode through her manor in the waking dawn. Servants, slaves, Anh, and nameless—those for whom Petra didn’t even need to spare a sideways glance. On occasion, a Da was about, and Petra would give their bow a small nod of her head. Otherwise, she gave them no heed.
She loved her house like a wolf loved its pups. But she did them no favors by coddling them or tempering her demands. The world would burn under her heels if her designs saw the light of day. Only a strong House would able to rise from its ashes. If she failed to set the example, they were all destined for death.
Raku milled about in a high courtyard. He cooed the moment his giant eyes caught sight of her and Petra smiled in reply to her trusty steed. He was saddled at her request, her favorite oxblood colored seat. Petra wasted no time, mounted, and took to the skies.
Ruana shrunk beneath her, smaller and smaller with each flap of Raku’s wide wings. The Temple of Lord Xin rose from the mountainside, shading the farmlands below. The cities and towns speckled the countryside like gemstones in a mine only to cluster together in determination against nature to create cities and centers of art and culture. They were children of earth and sky, birthed from sunlight fractured into a thousand shining colors.
From this vantage, Petra could see all that she fought for. Her home, her father’s home, her father’s father’s home, and all the way back hundreds of years to the great fall of House Xin to House Rok. This was the land where the Dono was meant to sit. And she would see the mantle returned.
Banking across cliff faces and weaving over treetops, Petra made her way around the mountains that curved across the back of the Isle of Ruana. Nearly opposite the Xin estate, tucked behind imposing sheer mountain peaks, was a series of work houses situated atop a slowly blossoming network of mines. From the air, it was easy to mistake as nothing more than a snowy, barren valley. The smokestacks had been carefully tunneled through the mountain itself, hiding the real work of Ruana’s first refinery.
Petra tugged on Raku’s feathers, clicking a command with her tongue and teeth. The beast curved through the sky, spiraling downward. He landed nimbly on a narrow ledge, well trained to seek the safest footing.
She swung down from the saddle, her long toes curling through the thick snow and seeking purchase against the frozen rock beneath. The wind was icy and bit with savage numbness into her skin. Every pinprick made her feel alive.
