2. Petra

Petra walked the tightrope of treason. On either side were the voids of failure, an oblivion from which there was no escape. Dangled at the far end before her was the title of Dono, Queen of the Dragons, glory of House Xin. The sight of it was enough to keep her toeing a line that even the most suicidally ambitious dragon wouldn’t dare to walk.

She grinned madly into the wind, baring her canines to an invisible foe.

Islands of Nova flashed beneath her, reduced to green blurs by Raku’s speed. She fisted his feathers and altered course slightly. The other three bocos behind her followed suit.

She had the Dono and two riders in tow. Their magic sparked with aggression, but only one held weight. Yveun Dono, King of the Dragons, barely held his emotions in check. She knew when his eyes fell on her back by the ferocity that lit the wind between them.

He knew he’d been played. It had been a plan years in the making, ever since Finnyr had slipped. Petra had cut it from the cloth of knowledge given to her by her elder brother—the King’s financial adviser for Loom. That knowledge of the Philosopher’s Box would be the pattern for the tapestry of her ultimate victory.

She’d moved carefully, sending Cvareh to acquire the documents and entrusting him to get them to the resistance on Loom. Her younger brother was underestimated by the whole of Nova. She’d kept him in the wings, cultivating his skills when no one watched. When the time came he was overlooked and slipped through the cracks, just as expected.

Her years of patience were now paying dividends. She knew he was stronger than anyone gave him credit for, but even Petra had not expected her brother would be the one to slay the King’s Master Rider. Poor Leona; for all her airs and appearances, she was felled by sweet little Cvareh. Not bearing witness to her ultimate demise had already become one of Petra’s few regrets.

Now the King sought justice for his slain bitch. He wanted Cvareh’s head in recompense, and that was a price Petra wasn’t going to pay. When Cvareh arrived hours ago, Petra had lifted the baton on the next movement of her orchestrations. Her brother was seen to the Temple of Xin. The Chimera he’d brought...well, that was an unexpected deviation that she had yet to attain a full explanation for.

Petra shifted in her saddle. One thing at a time, she reminded herself. The Chimera was hidden, for now. She’d deal with the creature later when she didn’t have a King in tow.

Her shadow zipped across the God’s Line far below, jumping on and off smaller islands as she crossed above them. The isle of Ruana, twice the size of House Rok’s Lysip, came into view. Mountains curved on the far ridge-line, spilling bountiful plains and fertile farmland in their shade. It was impossible for Petra to keep a smile off her face when her home came into view. No raging Dragon King could damper the way her soul soared alongside Raku as she crossed the threshold of Xin land.

Far on the horizon, at the highest peak, was the Temple of Lord Xin, the Death-bringer. It shot upward, like a sword spearing the land itself, in a single column: a pointed obelisk that both unified and severed earth and sky. Against the morning light, it was awash in ominous shadow.

Petra adjusted her grip on the boco. She feared no mortal man, but the gods were another matter. She would repent to the Death God in triplicate when this was over for using his temple in her fight against Yveun Dono. In the meantime, she could only hope Lord Xin turned his eternal gaze upon her fondly. Petra would believe that she was truly his chosen daughter, so if there were to be death dealt today, it would not be her or Cvareh’s.

With a chorus of flapping, the boco quartet landed on a nearly too-small ledge at the base of the temple. A yawning entrance, simple and unadorned, waited before them, cut and smoothed from the gray mountain stone. Petra dismounted alongside the others, silence their fifth companion.

She toed to the threshold of the entrance, the bright daylight cut in a sharp line of shadow. Petra closed her eyes and covered them with both palms, a sign of servitude and respect. One knew not what waited in eternity; the crossing happened only when one’s eyes closed for the final time.

Petra stepped into the temple.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting. Not a single candle burned and the world beyond cast long shadows over the twenty sculptures that lined the long hall. Nineteen alternated placement on either side, visages of every other god and goddess in the pantheon. Lord Tam held out scales, Lord To cradled an open manuscript with the delicacy of a babe, Lady Che held her trumpet of truth to her lips—the statues stretched on and on, atop their ornate daises.

There was one variation to the statues found in Lord Xin’s temple: they all wore a large veil atop their faces. The shroud of death was settled upon every brow, including the sculpture at the very end of the Lord of Death himself. Lord Xin’s visage had been carved with such elegance that his layered robes seemed to move with ethereal grace, even in stone. His veil was stretched taught over unknown features, pulled by an invisible wind. He looked as though he could at any moment become flesh and steal the life from any of his divine brethren.

Some worshipers took note of the unorthodox party as they traversed the hall. They offered bows of their heads to the King, though Petra was certain the gestures were far less than the prostrations he was accustomed to on Lysip. But the King’s demeanor was unchanged. Yveun Dono was either humbled into muted silence in the presence of the Death bringer, or he was too upset for his magic to hold any further aggression.

Petra led them back behind the statue of Lord Xin and into a narrow stair. Darkness engulfed them, so thick that even her eyes couldn’t penetrate it. She slid her hand along the wall, recognizing every subtle shift of the craftsmen’s work. Her feet knew the exact spacing of every step, memorized over years of pilgrimage.

One of the Riders stumbled, the noise breaking silence’s purity. Petra withheld a snapping remark, not wanting to shame her Lord further by doing the same herself. Still, she bared her teeth at the blackness behind her.

It would be in her right as the Xin’Oji to kill any who shamed her House’s patron without need of a formal duel. Yveun Dono certainly knew this, and his measured steps were barely audible; even his breathing was hushed. Certainly, his magic sparked violently, but he kept his physical manner in close check. He would never make it that easy for her.

The weight of the stone grew suffocating as they continued to spiral upward. Silence stretched into infinity. Darkness tore at the mind, turning seconds into hours.

The Riders’ breathing became labored, and not from the strain of the stairs. Petra didn’t turn or offer them even a thought of pity. Yveun Dono kept pace and didn’t falter.

Slowly, the sound of wind whispered freshness to them. They took one more wide curve and arrived at the apex of the obelisk. A single oculus cut through the darkness like a triumphant banner. It offered the temptation of a world beyond, a lone portal and no more.

Upon the floor was a circular divot, recessed as if the light itself had worn away the stone in time. Cvareh was curled within it like a snake in an egg, taking up nearly all available space. He was as naked as the day he was born. His palms covered his face and his body was still. His barely moving shoulders betrayed that he was alive at all.

Petra crossed over to her brother. His months-long meditation had been pretense, but now that he was swaddled within the embrace of Lord Xin, she would observe convention—and not just for Yveun’s sake. She knelt down at the rim of the recessed area, covered her eyes with her palms and brought her forehead to the floor.

“End bringer.” Her hushed whisper sounded like a shout. “Your child beseeches you, return Cvareh to us. Return him in both body and soul with your infinite wisdom and eternal truth.”

Three breaths, and Cvareh stirred. His breathing quickened to a normal pace, his muscles rippling under his powder-fair skin. With painful slowness he rolled forward, his face still covered by his hands in a position that mirrored Petra’s. His back straightened, each vertebra clicking into place. His head tilted back, and he finally pulled away his palms, blinking into the light.

She sat in tandem, opening her eyes as well. The relief that flooded Petra didn’t need to be faked. It surged through her at the sight of her brother, powerful and whole. The Lord of Death had not taken his soul yet from her side, not down upon Loom, not now as punishment for using his temple in her maneuvering against Yveun Dono. He rose again, and again, stronger than ever.

Cvareh’s blood-colored eyes finally drifted to her. They shone like two golden disks in the sunlight. She had whispered the plan to him as she organized it on her way to the Rok Estate. He had known she would be there, but a tangible joy pulled at his expression, tugging it into the realm of inappropriate given their current venue.

“Forgive me for pulling you from your meditation, brother.” She pushed through the moment. There was still work to be done. “Our divine King has demanded to speak with you.”

Cvareh played his part just as she’d instructed. Her brother was the perfect soldier. He never questioned and he was always attentive when she spoke.

“Yveun Dono—” Cvareh cleared his throat, as though he had not used it in months and it troubled him to speak. “It is an honor to be sought by you.”

“Cvareh Xin.” The Dono could not keep a growl from his voice. He stalked across the space with restrained and measured steps. “Where have you been these past months?”

Confusion furrowed Cvareh’s brow. “Forgive me, Dono, but I fear I don’t understand your question.” He lowered his eyes demurely, radiating nothing but subservience to the King looming over him.

Yveun leaned forward and Petra reminded herself to breathe. She’d instructed Cvareh carefully on what he needed to do. A scrub of perfumed salts until he bled, a wash of boiling water; when his skin had knitted he was to cut it again and smear his blood atop himself. And, by all the gods, he was to do it nowhere near the Chimera or anything else of Loom.

The King inhaled deeply. Petra knew she had won from that single sniff. His mouth pressed into a line and he breathed again in quick succession.

“Do not play dumb with me, child,” Yveun growled. “I know you have not been in this temple.”

“Has it been weeks?” Cvareh’s face paled on command. He turned to Petra and then looked back at the Dono in false confusion. “My King, I’ve been seeking the words of my Lord. Time has escaped me… If you called on me and I did not answer then—”

“Do not lie to me, you thief.” Yveun’s claws shot out from his fingers. They gleamed in the light, sharpened by grating on bones from years of duels.

Petra stood slowly. Her own claws itched for release. If she could goad Yveun into a mistake now, she could claim the throne.

“Yveun Dono… We are in the Temple of Lord Xin, Patron of my House. As his mortal hand and protector of all Xin, it is my duty to defend my kin.” She drew her height. Petra was three fingers shorter than the King but she felt evenly matched as she threw her magic against him without fear of repercussion. Cvareh could handle two fresh Riders if he could slay Leona. The King would be hers. “I have tolerated your affronts against my brother and have violated my Lord’s sacred code to bring you here. But if you maintain these slanderous claims before man and god, I will evoke the Deathbringer and demand your atonement for them.”

Her claws finally unsheathed to punctuate her words in a sweet release. It was the first time she had bared them before Yveun and doing so was a thrill unto itself.

Yveun’s lips curled in a snarl, exposing his canines. But he didn’t attack, and he didn’t speak further. While preserving all the dominance he could, he stepped away.

His retreating magic left a bittersweet aftertaste, a surge of power that Petra craved. It was delicious to feel it shrink before her and she wanted to feel the sensation again and again. At the same time, she wished it had been the first and only time she’d feel such a thing. For if such were the case, then the title of Dono would be attached to her name.

“Caution, Petra.” The King dropped her title, slapping her across the face with words. Petra remained mentally fettered. “If you continue down this path you shall evoke the Death-bringer indeed. But it shall not be my atonement he seeks. Do not let your ambition blind you to your ideals.”

Yveun Dono stepped away, knowing he’d been beat. With Cvareh in the place she claimed, acting so perfectly, not a scent of Loom on him, the King had no proof—for now. To challenge them would require the King to own up to his shames—Cvareh having bested both him in stealing the schematics from under his nose, and his Riders on Loom. She would see the sun and moon rise together before she expected Yveun to imbibe on his own humility. Petra watched as he departed back down the bleak descent of the Temple of Death, knowing it would not be the last time their tensions would rise to a near boil only to be iced again.

She relaxed her hands, claws retreating for now. “You are mistaken, Yveun,” she breathed. “Ends before ideals.”