Arianna stepped into the cosmos that floated before her, a dance of magic turned into a fog of the whole spectrum of light. They were unmistakable. Their power even more potent than the last time she’d seen them.
“Likeisn’t the right word…” Arianna trailed off into her own thoughts.
He would take her mannerisms as awe or wonder, and Arianna would let him. It was a safer assumption than the truth that now confronted her. Did she ask Cvareh for the heart of the man who had betrayed her past, at the risk of it damaging all they were, and especially when she now knew he could get her the resources she needed for the box?
Or did she give in once more and let herself dream, and perhaps even look to the possibilities of the future?
35.Florence
The door to her room slammed open, waking Florence with a start. Powell stood in the frame, his dust-colored hair seeming to fray at the ends with stress. Panting, a mess, he crossed to the bed in a long stride.
“Florence, we have to leave.”
“What? Why?” She shied away from his grip, uneasy in the man’s presence. She’d avoided and outright ignored him for two days since he had shown her the Dragon harvesting rooms. She didn’t know how she could feel about someone who seemed to revere Dragons for saving the world and endorse treating them worse than livestock in the same breath.
“There aren’t many trains left and they’re filling.” He reached for her upper arm, yanking her from the bed.
“Trains?” Florence ripped herself from his grip. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you must be seriously confused.” She stood her ground, pointing at the still gaping door from where he had entered. “Now leave my room.”
“They’re going to blow the guild.”
“What?” It was as if she had half the powders needed for a canister and he was expecting her to produce a complete shot.
“We have to get out before they do. There’s not much time.” Powell reached for her again and she sidestepped away. He cursed loudly. “Pitchforks and sickles, woman, if you want to stay, thenfine. I didn’t have to come for you anyway.”
He started for the door. Florence stared at his back in a daze. Even if she didn’t fully understand what was happening, she knew desperation when she saw it. She knew what fight or flight looked like in someone who was struggling to fall into their training rather than chaos and cowardice.
Whatever Powell thought was going on—right or not—he really believed they were all in danger.
“Powell, wait.” Florence grabbed the back of his shirt. She regarded him with a glare, hoping to make it clear that she was still very aware of the uneasy terms they were on despite their situation. “When you say they’re going to blow the Guild…” she tried to speak slowly and evenly, coaxing him into some sense of calm that could bring order from what seemed to be a tempest of thoughts raging in his mind.
“The Dragon King has ordered every guild hall destroyed. We’re the first.”
Florence’s hand went limp, dropping to her side. She laughed. “What?”
“Florence.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her roughly. “This isn’t a joke, and we must leave.”
It made no sense. The Dragon King was going to destroy the guilds? Why? He needed them. Nova needed their technology and their production and, at the very least, their gold.
“We have to get Derek and Nora.” She was already at her friends’ door, banging loudly before entering. “Derek, Nora, we have to go.”
“Flor?” Nora rolled at her lover’s side, groggy.
“What’s going on?” Derek was far more alert.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, hoping they had enough stock in her decision making ability to trust her blindly. “But I believe we need to leave.”
“And quickly!” Powell urged.
Derek and Nora, to her surprise, did exactly as Florence asked. They left the bed without further question, not even bothering to tug on more than their sleeping clothes. Together with Powell, the three hastily started down the winding halls of the Harvesters’ Guild.
At first, it seemed they were the only people to know what was happening. The halls were quiet and empty; only random scampering as a person sprinted ahead of them, or someone darted from a side room with a bag in tow. But the open doors on either side of them told a different story.
They weren’t the first to know. They were the last.
As they wound down, the halls began to crowd with people. They were pushing by each other, forcing their fellow initiates and journeymen out of the way. None seemed to regard Powell as anything more than anyone else, despite his nearly being at Master status.
Everyone was running. Shouting. Pushing and shoving. They funneled into narrow walks that wound tightly beneath the Harvesters’ Guild in Faroe, compacting in on each other in tunnels that were not meant for the current capacity.
