“You keep saying that, boy, but you have no evidence.”
“We do.” All eyes were on Florence. “We do,” she repeated without hesitation. “We have the person who made the very first Philosopher’s Box.”
“Lies.”
“Her name is Arianna, and she is my teacher,” Florence spat venom, protective at the mere round-about accusation against Ari. “She will make the box for the rebellion.”
“Arianna, Arianna the…”
“Rivet,” Florence finished for Max. “A Master Rivet, at that.”
“Who appointed her?” Max asked with squinted eyes.
“Master Oliver.” Florence had only heard the name a few times before, and prayed she had it right. Judging from Max’s reaction, she did.
“That’s impossible.” The man shook his head. “Master Oliver was part of the Counsel of Five—the fools who died in the last rebellion. His student, Arianna, she perished with him.”
“Except she didn’t,” Florence insisted. She was exhausted the moment the defense crossed her lips. Standing for someone whom everyone seemed to know more about than she did was wearying. The first thing Florence would do the moment Arianna returned would be to demand an explanation of everything. “She is alive and well, and is securing the resources to make the box,” Florence lied, perhaps. What Ari was doing was anyone’s guess.
“We will expect to see the box, then, at the Tribunal.” Powell’s tone left no room for question or interpretation—it was now a caveat. “Once the Vicars see the Philosopher’s Box working, we will stand behind the Alchemists’ Rebellion.”
“I don’t know…” Derek started uncertainly.
“Done.” There wasn’t time for hesitation. Derek shot Florence a look from the corners of his eyes. “Can we count on the Harvesters, two months from now, in Ter.0?”
“I will be there to see the Vicar Alchemist and her Philosopher’s Box,” Powell affirmed. “And I will personally see that the other guilds come with me.”
“Thank you, Vicar Powell,” Florence said sincerely.
“The best thanks you can give us is holding up your end of the deal,” he cautioned.
Florence nodded. “We will return to the Alchemists’ Guild with haste, on the fastest train out.”
They didn’t have anything to pack, so the three of them made their way toward Ter.1.2’s main terminal directly from the hall. Florence knew Derek would have something to say about what they had just done, but it took him longer than she expected. When at last he spoke, the words he found were also unforeseeable.
“Florence, Sophie will stand for the Tribunal, but the box…”
“I don’t think she’ll want to share it with the other guilds,” Nora finished.
“That’s lunacy.” Florence shook her head with a small laugh at the comical notion. “How would she see the box built en masse without the Rivet’s tools and factories? Or get the supplies without the Harvesters and Ravens?”
The two exchanged a look. Florence waited for their nonverbal dialogue to end. When it did, Nora linked one arm with Florence’s and Derek linked the other. They walked together as one tight-knit group toward the station.
“Whatever happens, Florence, we’re with you,” Derek spoke for the both of them.
“You may be the worst navigator we’ve ever seen.” Nora gave her a toothy grin. It slipped when their eyes met and Florence desperately wished she could see what Nora saw in that moment. “But so far, you seem to always get the people who stick by your side where they need to be.”
It was a compliment that rang fundamentally Raven, but not. Either way, for the first time, Florence looked beyond the guild affiliation associated with the words and really distilled their meaning. For the first time, she didn’t try to correct any link between herself and the transportation guild of Loom.
43.Cvareh
As the first light of dawn winked into existence, Cvareh realized he hadn’t slept a wink in what amounted to nearly a full day. Even as a Dragon, he was beginning to tap into his magic to find energy. And another day at the Court awaited him, a day that was sure to be awash in blood. The only relief he found was in the thought that the Court would not possibly sustain a full three days, as was the average. After all that had happened, he’d be surprised if it ran a full two.
He dragged his feet toward his room. Even if there wasn’t time to sleep, there would be time to wash and dress in something clean. Cvareh never underestimated the power of a pair of well-stitched trousers or a fashionable vest. He would feel far more like himself if he wasn’t coated in the blood of his sibling.
His room was intentionally far from Petra’s. They could reach different sections of the manor faster and could easily meet in the middle in instances of emergency. As such, it also meant that most of the aesthetic had been catered to his tastes. Thousands of gemstones were inlaid in a dark ceiling, shining like the light from Lord Agendi’s flowers. How he had loved them and their magic, only to have his sentiment surrounding them forever clouded by the events of the past day.
There was irony in nearly everything that encompassed him. The woman who was sharp as a dagger and more abrasive than pumice was his lady of flowers. She smelled potently of honeysuckle, a scent he had delighted in long before they met. Her skin was the color of Lord Xin’s veil, her hair the shade of Lord Agendi’s path. She had been the first woman to so consume him that he had taken her before his patron to mate.
