He eased open the door. His posture was relaxed, but every muscle in his body was taught and primed, ready to explode. The claws of the hand behind the door were already unsheathed.
“Who is your guest?” Yveun asked directly, narrowing his eyes at the unfamiliar Dragon at Finnyr’s side.
There was no time for Finnyr to formulate a response.
The illusion over the woman rippled the second she moved, too complex to maintain over the bulky clothes she wore. Yveun crisply heard the sound of bone breaking and the slicing of flesh. The scent of cedar assaulted his nose as Finnyr coughed blood.
With a spray of gold, Yveun watched as the careful play he had been orchestrating for years was cut down before him. Finnyr, his toy, his opportunity to slice Xin down and seat a loyal shadow in the Oji’s seat, could not be killed here and now. They were too close, Petra too weakened, to stray from the course.
Rather than reaching for the woman, Yveun reached for Finnyr. He gripped the man and pulled forward, un-impaling him from the woman’s blade. She twisted her knife through the empty air with a snarl, its mark gone. Yveun threw Finnyr behind him, hoping the wordless Dragon would muster enough sense to crawl from the fighting. All the worthless Xin had to do was keep himself alive, yet Yveun was unconvinced if he’d manage that much.
The woman lunged for him, all teeth and growls and golden blades. Yveun dodged, letting her momentum carry her into his den. He slammed shut the door as she turned.
Two bright lilac eyes stared at him, nearly glowing in the first sunlight of morning. She was gray, bland, swaddled like a babe in industrial garb. A Fenthri turned Chimera. Unmarked. Addressing him like she was a champion.
Yveun wanted to laugh, but he recognized something in her eyes beyond their oddly familiar shade. It was the same look Petra had when she stared at him. It was the same look he saw in the mirror.
A broken lust for something that you would drown the world in its own blood for twice over.
He didn’t announce his attack. He didn’t throw a threat. He didn’t give her the opportunity to know he was about to claim her life. It didn’t matter how or why she was here; she was an agent working against his goals and that was all he needed to know. Fools threatened. Killers moved.
But his claws didn’t meet flesh. They met a golden dagger that sprung to life seemingly with its own consciousness, like some kind of barbed tail tethered to a line. His hand pushed against the weapon in surprise, cutting to bone on the edge of the blade.
The blade twisted, deepening its bite onto him. One hand closed around his wrist, pulling him in one direction. She landed the first hit square onto his face with claws.
The dullness of shock wore off quickly. Yveun dipped down, pushing the blade and her hand back. He reached with his teeth, sinking through all the mess of fabric and leather to her shoulder.
Most Dragons never attacked with their fangs out of the taboo associated with imbibing. But that made such attacks the perfect opportunity because they were unexpected. The woman gave a grunt, biting in a yell of pain. She let go of his hand, reaching for his neck. His claws gouged into her side and they both drew blood.
But the slit across his throat was enough to make his jaw relax. She leapt away, her dagger lashing out. Yveun parried it with his claws effortlessly.
It was then that he noticed the blood pouring from the wound on her shoulder. The taste it left lingering in his mouth. As gold as his, she did not bleed the rot of a normal Chimera. On his tongue was the taste of honeysuckle, the faint essence of Finnyr, and the recognition that didn’t require the other man’s obvious interjection.
“Arianna! It’s the Master Rivet, the engineer. The one from the rebellion!”
The woman turned to Finnyr, momentarily distracted by who she wanted to kill more. Yveun sprung for her when she was caught in her own loathing, barreling into her like a bull. Arms around her waist, he dug into her. He felt her knife stab into his shoulder.
Golden blood poured over his hands like an omen of all his worst fears.
“The Rivet who claimed to make the Philosopher’s Box.” The scent of blood made him feel alive, woke his senses and gave him power. Yveun gave an extra push and she tumbled under his weight. “I’m sure you’ve confused many a Dragon with your trick of bleeding gold.”
Arianna rolled away from his violent slashes, her blood leaving a trail on the balcony. The spool on her hip spun and the line whipped forward, keeping him at bay. Yveun ducked, narrowly missing it wrapping around his neck. She panted, reclaimed her feet and kicked, spinning midair, seeking purchase against him with feet or claw or wire.
But Yveun dodged her.
The woman was good, that much he’d admit. Yveun began to laugh, which only seemed to whip her into more of a frenzy. He could see how this creature had killed his Leona. It made so much more sense than the unambitious and untrained Cvareh. He had seen these movements in the pit, another explanation settled just by watching her attacks.
Cvareh was not mighty. Xin was not mighty. It was this girl, this prodigy of two worlds, who threatened him time and again.
As he dodged an attack, Yveun felt the line of a wire wrap around his ankle, pulling. The world fell from under him as he slipped back. She lunged forward, her knee digging into his side. Her blades above him, he didn’t even struggle, he merely kept laughing.
It was delightful.
“I expected more of a fight from the Dragon King,” she snarled.
“I’ve no further interest in fighting you, my pet.” Yveun relaxed, noting movement from the corner of his eye. “You are more valuable alive, at least for now.”
“You’ve lost.” She raised the dagger in triumph.
