Yveun first went to the whisperer who had a link with the Harvesters’ guild, explaining the message that was to be delivered down to Loom. He repeated the process for every guild but the Alchemists. Yveun had been hoping that by throttling their resources, he would finally force the guild’s hand into accepting his advisement and oversight, but they remained as persistent as ever. They would not relish the alternative methods he would employ if forced.
He was halfway back to his quarters when a slave of House Rok stopped him with all the etiquette that could be mustered for one so lowly.
“Dono, Fennyr Xin’Kin To has returned,” the prostrating man reported.
Yveun’s triumph spread across his face. Finally, Fennyr had returned and he would have some answers. The slave held his reverence the entire time Yveun was visible. If he hadn’t, Yveun may well have killed him in a fit of delight.
The wildflowers of Lysip were in their second bloom. Their potent scent masked all others, effectively clouding magic and blood alike. It was one of the many reasons why the old Donos of House Rok had chosen this spot on which to build the estate. All manner of horror could be hidden behind the lovely petals of dragon snaps, lavender, honeysuckle, and the magical properties of Lord Agandi’s Flowers.
He entered Finnyr’s home without so much as a knock. The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of the Dono. Finnyr was pale, almost Fen-like in his overall pallor. Even his muted gold hair seemed to lack some of its luster. More disconcerting were the bruises that dotted his skin.
Yveun closed the door slowly behind him, assessing the frightened man-creature. He wasn’t concerned for the man’s well-being out of any friendly obligation. Finnyr was a tool in a greater game, a useful pawn and a powerful player when deployed properly, which meant Yveun cared about the picture all the signs added up to make. Some kind of trauma had clearly occurred, and Yveun wasn’t about to let any more of his chips be taken from him by unknown sources.
“Does Petra know?” Yveun asked foremost. If the rival Oji had ascertained Finnyr’s true loyalties, much would change.
“K-know?” Finnyr shook his head, pacing. “No, but her continued belief in my loyalty despite sleeping under your care has come at a new price.”
Yveun didn’t care what Petra charged her kin for their loyalty. “Did you find out the truth of Cvareh’s trip to Loom?”
“Not quite.” Finnyr spoke hastily as Yveun began to vivisect him with his eyes. It would be mere minutes before he was doing it with his claws. Given Finnyr’s generally depleted state, Yveun wasn’t sure how long the other man would survive. “She is suspicious of me, of my loyalty still. Shetestsme still. She doesn’t want me to return home often because she says I am more valuable to her here. But she does not give me any information on what is happening in the Xin manor.”
“Finnyr, I am not a man who has time for excuses,” Yveun snarled.
Finnyr wrung his hands, over and over and over again. “I know one thing.”
The fact the Yveun had yet to gnaw on his sinew and bone was encouragement enough for Finnyr to continue.
“She demanded my hands.”
“Your hands?” Yveun narrowed his eyes.
“Mine, specifically. She said she needed them, for the glory of the house.”
“You mean…?”
“To harvest,” Finnyr clarified weakly.
Once more, Petra affirmed what Yveun knew to be a fundamental truth about women: they did not hesitate. They waited for none to spoon them their desires. They took what they deemed theirs gratefully, forcefully, unapologetically, gracefully, or viciously. It didn’t matter so long as it rested with them when the day was done.
He admired them for it. Not a dawn rose that he didn’t envision how he could be more like his wife in that respect.
“Why?” Yveun asked himself as much as he asked the Dragon before him. Finnyr had magic in his hands, but so did many other Dragons. Many, no doubt, under Petra’s direct supervision. She didn’t need to call back her brother simply to harvest a pair of hands.
“Because it’s Petra and she delights in my displeasure?”
Yveun was loath to admit that he and the Xin’Oji had anything in common, so he let the remark fade. “That’s not enough for Petra. She called you from under my care… She wantedyourhands.”
“Cvareh told me nothing else quite matched their specific ends.” Finnyr scowled at the mere mention of Cvareh’s name.
Yveun had no doubt the careful phrasing was chosen by Petra herself, so he turned it over again and again in his mind, trying to make sense of it.Matched. That was the odd word out. “Did you smell a Chimera on him?”
“On Cvareh?” Finnyr clearly couldn’t fathom why Yveun would even ask. “I doubt my younger brother knows even the first thing about Chimera.”
They were getting nowhere. While Yveun wasted time trying to turn Finnyr into something he wasn’t, Petra was clearly unfurling more banners to lay claim upon the edges of Yveun’s control. He had stalled enough.
“No more half measures,” Yveun muttered to himself.
“Dono?”
