6. Cvareh

The King’s Rider still lingered in Cvareh’s mouth. The man tasted like a rose, sickeningly floral. Cvareh clicked his tongue, trying to dislodge the flavor.

“How did you do that?” Arianna demanded from over her shoulder. She led him through the winding alleyways of what he could now only assume was the infamous Mercury Town. It was filthier than the regular streets had been and he had no idea how living creatures could willingly choose to live in such squalor.

“Do what?”

“Break through a corona,” she clarified, turning sharply and running backward a step or two for emphasis.

A man ahead of them froze in his tracks as they came barreling down the alley. Arianna didn’t say anything, just shoved him out of the way as they tore past. The man blubbered, trying to find his thoughts. By the time he could even form the word “Dragon” they were already far enough away that the shout only echoed to them faintly.

“Corona are meant to keep out steel, bullets, blades, weak Chimera magic… My claws are none of those things.”

“I see.” It was the first time he’d witnessed her mind put to action when prejudice wasn’t hindering the winds behind her mental sails. Arianna squinted at him thoughtfully. She kept using new eyes to give him looks he didn’t yet comprehend.

“The other Riders will catch up soon,” he warned.

“How soon?”

“I can’t tell. I can sense their magic growing, but not how near or far.” If they’d been bleeding, he would’ve been able to catch the smell or get a true taste of their power on the wind. But he wasn’t exactly surprised that they had yet to be wounded. The only Fenthri whom Cvareh could see standing a chance against a Rider stood before him.

“Then I must assume the same is true of them and you?” He was surprised when her voice rose slightly on the last word, indicating a question. She was actually asking him things. Quite the sudden change from a few hours earlier.

“As long as we stay ahead of them. And I’m not coughing up more blood anytime soon.” Cvareh wasn’t pleased about her abuse of his powers. He should have known from the moment he told her about it that she would demand he use the ability for her ends, and it’d only taken her a minute to back him into a corner until he felt there was no other option. Why had he told her?

“I won’t need you to stop time again.” She vaulted over a railing and down into a tiny side stair. Cvareh walked around as she whirred dials on a strange looking lock built into the doorway. “We’re here.” Arianna paused, considering him for a long moment. “And you best hope that Florence is too.”

Cvareh knew the outcome of her threat before he could respond. Arianna contained her emotions well. Her face remained impassive, swathed in the unnatural, terrible light of the electric bulbs that lined the tiny stairwell. But he could feel the relief about her, standing so close.

This was one of the many reasons why imbibing from the living was so taboo. If every person’s mind was a locked chest, then their magic was the key. It was the way into a carefully guarded and illogical system, unique to each individual. Letting someone imbibe was allowing them to make a copy of that key. They could open you up and understand you without effort for a length of time after the imbibing. And really, once that understanding was imprinted on the mind, could it ever be forgotten?

Cvareh vowed to himself that he had no interest in understanding this woman as she opened the lock on the second door. She was equal parts intolerable, brash, harsh, improper, and—worst of all—unfashionable. But there was a counterweight to her heart. Something in her magic shone as brightly as starlight as she swept up her ward into a tight embrace. Something about it made the gray skinned Fenthri woman almost… glow.

“Flor! You had me more worried than a Harvester who can’t find their mining pick.”

“You know I can take care of myself.” The girl patted the pistol that sat just under her arm for show. The motion was brave—false, but brave. “It’s not like you to be so worried.”

“There are Dragon Riders about and we’re hiding in the bunker. This isn’t normal. I think my worry is justified.”

“Speaking of…” Florence’s eyes drifted over to him. “They’re looking for you, I think.”

Cvareh wasn’t surprised. His hand went to the folio strapped around his waist, checking to make sure the clasp hadn’t come undone. The Dragon King would know what he’d stolen, and Cvareh had been expecting that he’d go to any measure to retrieve it.

“Yes… I don’t believe we ever finished that conversation.” Arianna stared at him with her stolen eyes. Cvareh wondered what Dragon had given them up. Had they been killed? Or were they harvested and left to suffer as the organs grew back in their empty sockets?

“I thought we had.” He sighed, leaning against some of the boxes. The room was horribly dusty, but his clothes were already soiled past hope. Cvareh was distracted long enough to inwardly cringe at the notion of eventually being forced into some coverings like those they wore here on Loom.

“Dragons barely lower themselves—” her tone was sarcastic “—to come to Loom. Never Old Dortam and even less Mercury Town.”

“Didn’t you hear the doomsayers in the streets? They say Dragons are going to start raining from the sky and finally torch the gods’ forsaken rock known as Loom.” He returned her sarcasm with some of his own. Cvareh was tired of her mood swings, but could only seem to succeed in drawing them out.

She crossed the room in two long steps, almost as wide as his own. Her hands twisted around his collar as she pulled him onto his feet again. Cvareh met her halfway and kept his lips closed, resisting the urge to curl them back in a snarl.

“You’re going to rip my shirt, and I quite like this shirt.” So what if he’d already decided one of his favorite garments was forfeit? He’d already kicked the hornet’s nest that was Arianna again; he may as well stomp on it too.

“I don’t give a damn about your shirt.” For a Fenthri, this woman could act like quite the Dragon.

“Then give no more care to who exactly I am, where I’m going, why I need to get there, or why the Riders want me.” He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the hideous line of her teeth. “Care about getting me to the Alchemists’ Guild hall. You think I’m any more thrilled at the idea of traveling with the White Wraith?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Yes, I know you. Many have heard of you on Nova. The White Wraith is infamous for making organs disappear and helping traffic Dragons into illegal harvesting rings.” That’s right, he reminded himself, I should hate this woman. Whatever sparkle she had for her ward was overshadowed by the cloud of guilt she should bear for all the lives she had submitted to the torture of the harvesters. “Why do you think Dragons never—how did you put it?—grace Dortam?”

“Then it seems like I’ve done my job.”

“Enough, both of you.” The black-haired girl pushed herself between them, pulling Arianna away. “What’s done is done. You said you’d get him to the Alchemists’ Guild, Ari. There are King’s Riders outside our door. I think we have more pressing matters than tallying up who’s who and who’s done what.”

He didn’t expect to find sense from the youngest among the three of them, but that was where it lay.

“Fine.” Arianna pointed in his face, close enough that he could’ve bitten her finger clean off if he wanted. “Florence is right. It doesn’t matter who we are. But I cannot take you to the Alchemists’ Guild if you don’t tell me what else I may be up against in getting you there.”

“You seem to have the overview.” He held out his palms in a ‘nothing up my sleeves’ gesture that was only half true. Cvareh still had the entire deck squirreled away. She just didn’t need to know that.

“You’re not being helpful.” She pulled her hand from his face and began tearing through the room. Wood chips and shavings flew as she rummaged through crates. “Will I need a large revolver, or a small cannon?” Arianna stacked weaponry of varying shapes on the boxes as she continued her tirade. “Am I to assume they’ll leave when they’re done demolishing Mercury Town?”

“They could be at it for a while.” The Riders would toy with Loom for a bit just because they could.

“Dragon—”

“They said they were after you because you descended illegally,” Florence interjected before the argument spiraled out of control again.

“Flor.” Arianna’s voice audibly shifted when she addressed the girl. She went from ice to restorative broth within the space of a breath. “Descending illegally is a matter for their constabulary, not the King’s Riders,” she thought aloud. When she returned her attentions to him, the warmth completely vanished once more. “Why does the Dragon King want you?”

She continued to handle herself with an utter absence of grace and tact, but the question was sincere. She’d again put aside whatever grudge fueled her. Cvareh closed his eyes with a sigh.

He could have answered with a hundred things. He could’ve made up a lie, told a half truth, concocted almost any reason and—from what he knew of her—Arianna would’ve accepted it at face value just for the sake of ending the conversation. But Cvareh did none of those things. He told the truth.

“Because I want to help overthrow him.”

“What?” The entire spectrum of color exploded across her magic.

“The Riders want me because I am working to overthrow the Dragon King.”

“You lie,” she whispered.

“Why else would the Riders be after me?” He sighed again, growing even more tired of the woman. He avoided her questions, and she throttled him. He was smart with her, and she drew her blades. He told her the truth, and she acted like he’d told the most boldfaced lie she’d ever heard. There was literally nothing he could say or do around her that didn’t end with her maiming or insulting him.

“I could think of a number of reasons.”

“And none are better than the explanation I just gave you,” he insisted.

“Why would a Dragon want to overthrow his King?”

His cheek tensed as he struggled to keep his mouth from curving into a condescending smile. A Fenthri could never understand the plight of the Dragon houses. They saw all Dragons as one—one enemy, one overseer, one force to overtake. Even the most enlightened Fenthri would grapple with understanding nearly two thousand years of infighting and power struggles.

“Why are you the White Wraith?” Answering her question with a question annoyed her all the more.

Ari opened her mouth, rising to his challenge as he knew she would. And then her lips clamped shut, smothering the words she’d been about to say. She chewed them over and swallowed them along with every expectation he had for her reaction. Her face was as stony as her skin when she spoke, “Fine, we’ll go with your earlier assessment, Dragon. We don’t need to know anything real about each other.”

Arianna stalked over to him. The woman was almost tall enough to look him in the eyes. She’d be average height for a Dragon, making her unnaturally tall among Fenthri. “But if you have some knowledge that will interfere with my ability to fulfill this boon…”

Cvareh took a sharp inhale, overwhelmed by her scent as she took one step closer and crossed the threshold into his personal space. Her magic assaulted his. It made him hungry for her. He’d had a taste of this woman and now all he could think of when she was so close was the feeling of her, the rush of power as her magic encapsulated his. Yes, there were so many reasons why imbibing from the living was an awful idea.

“If it’s something that’s going to put Flor in harm’s way again…” She was talking. Cvareh struggled to focus on her words, to focus on anything other than the urge to grab her and sink his teeth into her flesh again. “I expect to know.”

Every muscle in his body held him frozen with tension. Arianna was challenging his dominance, trying to overwhelm him, to stay in control of the unorthodox relationship they were forming. She was under his skin. In her he suddenly saw Petra in the most wonderful and heartbreaking way. He loathed it. He loved it.

“Well, now that that’s settled…” Florence summoned both of their attentions once more, snapping them back to reality. She had an amused little glint to her eyes, as though they were more delightful than frightening to watch.

The woman eased away from him, and her magic with her. The powder kegs around them stacked taller, but for now remained dry and cool. Eventually, the only way out would be to forfeit everything they were and strike flint.

“Obviously I didn’t have a chance to go shopping, but I still have the dunca.”

“We have enough supplies here to get to Ter.5.2.,” Arianna muttered. She seemed to look anywhere but him for the first few seconds following their confrontation.

“We’re not going home, are we?” The girl seemed more intrigued than disappointed by the idea.

“Not until we’ve unsaddled ourselves from this one.” Arianna’s particular breed of tact had returned as she motioned rudely to him. “Speaking of…” She resumed rummaging through things, tossing rags in the shape of clothing his way. “You should change.”

“You don’t honestly expect me to wear this, do you?” He poked at the fabric with his toe as though the offending plain trousers were likely to attack him.

“We can’t have you strolling around like a giant blueberry,” Arianna drawled.

“My clothes are quite fashionable,” he defended before he could stop himself. No doubt he’d just given her extra ammunition to attack him with later.

“I fail to see how that—” Ari stole his inflection on the word as she raked him up and down with her eyes, “could be construed as fashionable by anyone in their right mind.”

The desire to rip out her throat was certainly more natural than whatever had been happening earlier.

“Come now, we don’t have all day.” She waved him on as though he were a lowly unranked. “We have a train to catch.”

Cvareh scooped up the clothes along with the remnants of his pride. He waited for them to avert their eyes. “Are you going to turn around?”

“Oh he’s modest,” Arianna quipped to Florence. “Who knew? I didn’t think anyone who could wear something so gaudy and revealing could have real modesty.”

He was right. She had used the knowledge of his love of fashion against him at the first opportunity. But the two women finally obliged.

“If you think you can attack me while my back is turned, I’ll—”

“I know, you’ll cut me,” he finished dryly.

Cvareh begrudgingly pulled the clothes from his frame, dressing instead in the dull rags that had been forced upon him. This was going to be a long trip to the Alchemists’ Guild hall. A very, very long trip.