3. Cvareh

Cvareh would trade his soul for a well-tailored pair of trousers and tastefully matching shoulder adornments. It was ice cold atop the mountain and he fought shivers as the air nipped at his bare skin. It was still tender from healing after the abuse he’d put it through at Petra’s request.

Petra.

He followed his elder sister down the long staircase he’d sprinted up only an hour before. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could feel her. She was bright and sharp. Her magic smelled crisply of pine. Her steps were measured and even, the lithe, sinewy muscles in her legs betraying strength hidden from the casual eye. Her breathing was even, unlabored, unfaltering. She’d met the Dragon King and walked away as though it was a matter that caused her no more concern than choosing what to wear in the morning.

Meanwhile, Cvareh’s knees still trembled. Yveun Dono was an imposing force. He was not to be trifled with and made no hesitation in making it known. Cvareh had enough experience to last a lifetime fighting against his Riders; the last thing he was inclined to do was fight the King himself.

But he kept himself together in Petra’s presence. He worked to mimic her stoicism. His sister was far more devout to the Lord Xin than Cvareh was, and he would do nothing to offend her faithful sensibilities to Lord and House.

She didn’t so much as look back at him the entire length of the hall. Cvareh noticed the occasional curious glance, and the knowing look from worshippers, but no one commented. He mirrored Petra’s movements as she covered her eyes with the heels of her hands and crossed the threshold into sunlight.

His sister took a deep breath, spreading out her arms as if to invite all of Ruana into her embrace. The sunlight danced along her golden curls, striking against the midnight blue skin of her shoulders. Petra was nearly the same height as Cvareh, but her body was cut and primed. She was born to be the Oji he adored—alongside everyone else in House Xin.

“Cvareh!” Without warning, a switch flipped in her demeanor. She spun on her heel and pulled him in for a bone-crushing embrace. “How I have missed you, little brother.”

“And I, you.” He had missed being enveloped in the scent of pine, the familiar feeling of her muscles beneath his palms, the pleased hum that thrummed across their magic when they were in the other’s presence. Petra was born to be Oji, and Cvareh was born to be her Ryu.

“I insist you tell me everything.” She pulled back, leaving space for business to come between them.

“I must insist on clothing first.” He let himself shiver in the wake of a mountain gust for emphasis.

“Very well.” She started for her boco. “Come home. It has been too long since you graced the halls of the Xin manor.”

“I see Raku put on weight while I was gone.” Cvareh patted the boco’s side as he situated himself behind his sister. Riding a saddle without trousers was bound to be a positively miserable experience, and he’d turn his thoughts to anything else.

“Muscle,” she insisted.

“Of course.” Cvareh grabbed his sister’s waist as they took to the air.

Ruana spread out like a lover beneath him once more, inviting and familiar. This time he could appreciate the splendor of his homeland. For now, it appeared as if they’d evaded Yveun Dono, which meant his life was secure for a little longer.

In the distance he saw the towns of Abilla and Venys, sprawling toward the largest city on Ruana, Napole. He imagined the soaring vocals of the last opera he’d seen there drifting to him on the wind, and was instantly set to wondering what was playing now. Cvareh felt like a Dragon seeing the upper half for the first time. Everything was wondrous; everything felt new. The sights and sounds he had taken for granted all his life were now shining in the eyes of a man who had resigned himself to the real possibility that he might never see them again. The eyes of a man who had seen nothing but steel blended with bronze and steam for months.

His sister tilted and Raku banked. Cvareh moved with them as their course altered. They no longer tracked along the sloping valley, but aimed instead for a smaller mountain nestled between the grasslands and the Temple of Xin.

“You’ve made progress,” he observed.

“The winds have been kind to the workers,” Petra affirmed.

Cvareh had been born in a smaller estate much closer to the heart of Napole that was now used to house the Kin and Da of House Xin. When Petra killed their father, assuming the Xin’Oji title, she had deemed the older estate unfit for the current House Xin. She’d hand-picked the best architects from across Nova, pulling them in on the most ambitious project to date. Any who deemed her vision impossible met an ill fate.

Petra’s methodology had reaped rewards, as it so often did. Now, the Xin manor was the jewel of Ruana. Its spires defied logic as they curved and wound together like mating snakes. Rooms hung as freely as ripe fruit on the vine in the free air. Tunnels burrowed into the mountain itself, opening into cavernous meeting spaces, only to be rolled out like lapping tongues to meet the illogically suspended towers.

A smile thinned his lips. He wondered what Arianna and all her Rivet sensibilities would make of his wondrous home.

“That’s a new feeling.” Petra glanced over her shoulder, catching him in the act.

“What is?” He tried and failed to play dumb.

“That pleased pulse across your magic. That coy smile.”

“Hardly.”

Petra laughed like song bells. “Cvareh, your efforts to conceal the truth to me are futile. You whispered to me about a woman—the White Wraith no less. Now, you bring a Chimera home to me whom I can only assume is one and the same.”

“I promise I will tell you everything once I have clothes on.” He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, ready for Raku to land on the waiting stretch of stone beneath them. “What’s the style of the day?”

“Magenta seems to be quite popular among the tea house socialites,” Petra answered over Raku’s fluttering wings, easing them back to the earth.

Cvareh made a gagging noise. “Rok’s influence no doubt.” The color would clash terribly with his skin.

“You’ll pull it off fine. Or, there is always the tried and true Xin blue,” Petra consoled, seeing straight through him. “For now, indulge me and wear last year’s fashions so that we may catch up.”

“If I must.” Cvareh sighed, already half dressed.

Servants had met them on the platform, preempting their needs. As soon as Cvareh had dismounted, his feet were in the wide legs of lounging trousers. While Petra had been speaking the help had woven a delicately embroidered shawl around his arms and across his shoulders. The final adornments were affixed about his neck, a silver chain with many loops, black stones reminiscent of the Rider’s beads weighting their apexes.

Those same servants disappeared back into the shadows and off even the edges of Cvareh’s subconscious as he followed his sister into their home. The floor of the main entry hall had been done in glass, save for a stone lip on the outer edge. The mountain beneath it had been carved away and radiant sunlight from the clouds far below filled the room. Petra walked boldly across it, Cvareh following in her steps.

She settled on a raised dais as the doors closed. A throne of stone, simple yet imposing, its angular lines cut into the hazy light projected upward from the floral-patterned glass. Cvareh wondered if Yveun Dono had yet to see his sister’s hall. The statement it made was hardly subtle.

“Now, tell me all that has transpired.” Petra’s tone changed the moment she sat upon the throne. Gone was his adoring little sister, overwhelmed with excitement and relief at the sight of him. In her place was the Xin’Oji, the deadly and fearless leader who had desired nothing more for the entirety of her short life than to be Dono.

Cvareh approached, settling himself cross-legged on one of the wide lower rungs of her dais. He remained poised with his back straight, instinctively answering her unspoken demand by assuming his place. If she was to be the Oji, then he was to be her Ryu.

“Flying the glider proved to be more of a challenge than expected. I didn’t get far before crashing in New Dortam, the Riders close on my tail…”

The words spilled from him as he watched the events of the past months replay before his eyes in double time. Things had grown hazy, especially at the onset. Details had faded into the obscurity of unimportance, shrouded by the more pertinent and immediately relevant parts.

One shining element remained in crystalline focus. At every turn and twist, he could see Arianna perfectly. He could recall with ease the expression she wore the first time she’d driven him to stop time. He remembered the contours of her face when her gaze softened as she looked at him on the ship crossing to Ter.4.2, the first moment he had seen beauty in the unique skills she possessed. Cvareh’s memories were painted with her, making their mere recollection an unparalleled delight.

His tale wrapped up with the Alchemists’ Guild. It was the most somber note of all he said. Despite all the progress he’d recounted, he and Arianna had left Loom at a place of tension and strangeness. But when he spoke his last words, the taste of honeysuckle tinted with cedar filled his mouth, evoked by the mere memory of the imbibing they had shared following the airship crash.

Petra hadn’t moved the entire time he spoke. She remained still and contemplative. Her magic was withdrawn tight to her body, betraying nothing.

“How long will she stay?” his sister finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Cvareh confessed. His summary had hardly been short, but it proved impossible to explain that he found himself in no place to question Arianna. “I presume she’ll want to leave as soon as she is confident in your leadership.”

His sister shifted, drawing her fingertips to her lips in thought. “This is an amusing little Chimera, isn’t it?” The corner of her mouth curled. “She has you quite ensnared and now designs to make me submit before her as well.”

“She is not one to be underestimated.”

“Oh that much is well apparent. Anyone who could kill the King’s bitch shouldn’t be.” Petra laughed with glee at the mere mention of the former Master Rider’s demise. “Leona, felled by a Chimera. Lord Xin can be delightful at times.” His sister straightened, pulling herself from her musings. “You know this woman—”

“Not quite,” he corrected, noting his sister’s tone.

“Then know her better.” Petra smirked. “Tell me, Cvareh, what must I do to earn her trust?”

He was still figuring that out himself. Cvareh stared at the decorative hem of his pants, patterns of leaves woven and cut into the edge. He debated quietly with the fabric until he had a decent answer. There were only two things in the world Cvareh could say with certainty were important to Ari. Two things that would prove someone an ally of the woman who called herself the White Wraith.

“Prove to her you love Loom.”

“I hold no love for that dreary rock.”

He knew it to be true, and instantly felt foolish for phrasing it as he had. “Prove to her, then, that you are aligned with Loom’s interests.”

“I know not what those are and furthermore, I don’t care.”

Cvareh closed his eyes a moment. Petra was a force unto herself, and now he had Ari to grapple with on Nova in addition to her. The idea of praying to Lord Agendi for luck grew more appealing by the minute.

“If you do not care, then assure her Loom will have sovereignty.” Cvareh met his sister’s eyes. “For all you care about the title of Dono, Arianna cares for Loom.”

“If she believes this, she will make the Philosopher’s Box for me? She will hand me my army?”

“For Loom, there is nothing she wouldn’t do.”