“And you wasted the chance to kill me like the child you are.”
Coletta loomed behind the Chimera who thought she had him pinned. In her hand was the smallest of daggers, little more than a letter opener. Without a single expression crossing her features, she dug the tiny blade into Arianna’s neck.
Arianna’s spare hand rose to the wound as she turned in shock. But her eyes were already losing focus, the artery quickly carrying Coletta’s poison to her brain. The Chimera twisted her blade in her hand and swung backwards.
Coletta stepped back in an effortless dodge.
Off balance and sluggish, the Rivet tipped sideways, landing in an undignified heap at Yveun’s side. Her eyes held awareness still. The only thing capable of attacking him. But looks couldn’t kill, and Yveun stood.
“She had you on a few attacks,” Coletta both teased and chastised.
“I merely didn’t want to kill her,” Yveun explained.
“I reasoned.” Coletta leaned forward, drawing the dagger from the woman’s neck. “The poison will wear off within the hour. Move her before then.”
Yveun watched with both fascination and chilling horror the gold blood that dribbled from the hole. This was what Fenthri could be capable of, if they were left to their own devices. The ability to become mighty enough to slay Dragon Riders and challenge even the Dono himself. All from the might of stolen organs.
“Your insight is unparalleled.” Coletta began to collect her things after nothing more than a cautionary glance that showed she had heard him. Yveun looked to Finnyr, knowing the source of his mate’s discomfort. It was very rare for them to have a guest in their chambers. “You have many words to tell me,” he spoke to the pasty blue Dragon.
“I will tell you all of them.” Finnyr thrust his face against the ground at Yveun’s feet. “But we have more pressing matters. Petra has sworn to challenge me today in court.”
And Petra would win.
Yveun sighed. The blue sack of flesh before him sometimes seemed more trouble than it was worth. As easy as it would be to off Finnyr once and for all, doing so would be a half measure, the easy route. He had cultivated Finnyr for too long to throw away the effort.
“After yesterday, there need not be another day of Court,” Yveun announced. “She will not have a chance to challenge you, as we will be on Lysip within the hour. I will announce the Court ended.”
Yveun stared at the unconscious engineer, the woman who had single-handedly caused him so much trouble. There was information he needed from her. But for once, he was going to have the time to extract it. And Yveun would do so with deliciously slow, full measures.
42.Florence
The room began to clear and Florence bided her time. She would not endear herself to Powell by taking this moment from him. Plus, it was the silent observation that freed her mind time enough to think.
She had come here on behalf of the Vicar Alchemist to secure the loyalty of the Harvesters. Florence glanced at Nora and Derek. Well, she had come here as an escort to those appointed to secure the Ter.1 guild’s loyalty.
But a rift was slowly growing between her and her Alchemist friends. Not one of the heart—in that respect they were as close as ever. The rift was one of purpose. Nora and Derek were still being pulled along by the mechanisms of fate and chance. Florence had seen those gears spin too many times. There were two types of people in the world: those who loaded the gun, and those who pulled the trigger.
Florence wanted to be the latter.
She didn’t want to live another moment in a world of the Dragons’ making. Certainly, there were some Dragons, like Cvareh, who were genuine and peaceful and kind. But the more interaction Florence had with the race, the more she saw that Arianna had been right all along. The Dragons were vicious, destructive creatures that had no true regard for the world. No matter what Powell said, Florence couldn’t believe their intentions matched their actions. They were compassionate only so long as it suited them, and even then, it was the Harvesters who found the solutions to the problems Loom faced.
Florence pushed away from the wall, starting for the ever-thinning center of the room. There were only a few journeymen with fully inked sickles on their cheeks, and the Masters. It would be as good a time as any.
“Congratulations, Vicar Harvester,” Florence commended sincerely.
Powell’s coal colored eyes met hers, offset by the mess of long hair that was perpetually determined to hide his right eye. He looked haggard, they all were. But the man had aged nearly to double his life in an hour. His cheek had yet to be tattooed with a Master’s circle and he was already the Vicar.
“Tell me of the rebellion.” Powell wasted no time. He knew what they were there for.
“The Alchemists are working toward a Philosopher’s Box.” Derek stepped forward. “If we have the appropriate amount of gold and organs—”
“A Philosopher’s Box?” Max snorted in amusement. “We need solutions, and the Alchemists give us dreams.”
“It is quite real, I assure you,” Derek responded faster than Florence could.
“Your guild has been claiming such since before you were born.” Theodosia stepped forward. “But we have yet to see the product. Stitching together a Chimera with that much magic without falling is impossible.”
“We have a solid lead.” Nora joined the fray, as if to prevent Derek from being outnumbered by the Harvesters.
