39. Arianna

The list of her supplies was almost finished.

It was an extensive process to calculate out the amount of various elements she would need to get a satisfactory initial production on the boxes. For the first time in maybe her entire life, she wished she could talk to Sophie. The woman would know how many boxes were a reasonable number to produce. She was far better at planning tactically for things like that than Ari was.

But that was currently impossible, and Arianna needed to give something to the Dragons before she left. She wanted a sort of contract in hand, a written understanding of expectations. The comfort it’d give her would be literally paper thin, but it was something.

She operated under the thought that an initial run of a hundred boxes would be enough to begin to shift the tides in House Xin’s favor. Then they’d move into second-stage production, where all the tooling would be perfected and the workers on the line would know the full assembly process with ease. They could make more, faster.

She hoped it would be enough.

The waft of a scent hit her nose, distracting her. Arianna paused her pen on the page. It was the smell of Dragon blood, a sharper, fresher aroma than just trace magic. It wasn’t extremely close, but it was near enough.

She stared at her hands. She had decided to look to the future, not the past. She was going to craft a new world for Loom, for Florence. Arianna pressed her eyes closed. She was going to let herself hope and dream again for a future that she might design herself to be a part of.

But the smell of blood was stronger than hope, and more real than any dream. It lured her back to the old addiction known as revenge. Arianna gripped the pen tightly, as if it was a lifeline in the rip current she was about to be pulled into.

The scent grew and Arianna stood. The Dragon named Rafansi was nearby. He was bleeding. Arianna didn’t know why, but she felt the immediate tug in her gut that meant if she was not the one to kill him, she would harbor nothing but resentment for the rest of her years. This man had taken her life; she would not also let him take his death on his terms.

It is better this way, she tried to convince herself as her body moved on auto-pilot. She would seek him out and have her revenge. There would be no need to involve Cvareh and, in fact, she could still have a boon from him to spend on anything he didn’t give her freely out of adoration. Yes, she was doing this for him, as much as herself. It would be better for everyone this way.

Arianna walked to the door, poking her nose into the hall, looking around. The smell was stronger, though it seemed to be trailing away. She looked back to the desk, caught between what she had vowed to fight for all her life—a rebellion, a future for Loom—and a quiet whisper that this was the one thing she truly wanted.

The Dragon she needed dead was here. He was here, and vulnerable. She could kill him and then build a future without the shadow of the past lurking somewhere in Cvareh’s home. Rafansi was close enough that she could do it and be back in her room before the sun crested the horizon, before any were the wiser.

Arianna tore at her Dragon clothes in a sprint of movement. Yanking open the top drawer of her dresser, she pulled out her industrial trousers. They fit as perfectly as they had before. No matter how much time she spent on Nova, this was the cloth she was cut from.

She was meant to walk in boots designed for function before fashion. She was meant to tighten belts and harnesses about her fully-covered torso, wrapping herself in her own clockwork designs. She was born of stronger things than colors and fanfare. She was born of steam and steel. It had never felt so right to don the coat of the White Wraith.

As she started down the hall, her hands running over her winch box, the bottom of her coat flapped about her calves and she felt like a bloody god. She would not take her revenge in the clothes of a Dragon. She would do it with every advantage she had stitched into herself during every hardship she had survived over the years.

Arianna was not seen if she didn’t want to be. She’d spent days, months, slowly mapping out the Xin Manor with the same care as she would a high-paying heist. The halls were surprisingly empty of occupants, which made it all the easier.

She tracked the scent, running in parallel halls upward until she was right upon it. Arianna looked up and down the stretch, seeing and sensing no one. In the distance, she could pick up the edge of magic, but it was weak. Likely a servant, nothing she couldn’t handle if she was forced to.

She stopped before the door and took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. Her eyes shot open, blood boiled. He was here. Rafansi was right in this room.

Arianna forced herself to take measured breaths. She forced her head to cooperate. But all she could hear in her ears were the dying words of Eva, of Oliver, of everyone she held dear. She could feel the tug of bloodlust pulling her under its powerful wave, and fought all the harder to breach the surface with clear thinking and logic.

She looked down the hall once more and briefly considered walking away. If she let this man go, she would reclaim control over the one force that had driven her to the brink of insanity for years. She would reclaim her future by snapping the tether of the past.

Killing him would also snap that tether.

Arianna dropped into a crouch, peering into the keyhole. Just from the bit of tension the door handle gave when her hand rested on it, she knew the lock was engaged. She reached for the small tools concealed in the belt holding her winch box.

The lock was as simple as the one on her door. She approached it with ease and familiarity. Still, sweat dripped down her neck and her fingers nearly trembled. Nearly. She reaffirmed her grip on the pin now slick with sweat in her hand, and held steady.

She was close. She was so close.

The lock disengaged and the sound was louder than a gunshot to Arianna’s ears. She slammed down the handle, swinging open the door. Her hand was on her knife, drawing it. The door snapped shut behind her, her blade wedged into the groove to prevent anyone else from entering. She turned, her other blade already in hand.

A Dragon stared at her in shock from the center of the room. His face had paled to nearly a Fenthri gray, his jaw slack. His magic seemed to nearly vibrate with pulses of frantic terror.

Arianna stared at him. Their eyes locked and it was a spell, one she couldn’t fight. Here he was, here was the man who had betrayed her. No one to get in her way, nowhere for him to escape, he was hers. Her lips curled in a guttural growl of bloodlust.

“A-A-Arianna?”

“I’m glad you didn’t forget my name.” Her voice was gravel and broken glass and the sum of countless hours spent screaming alone into the darkness. “I never once forgot yours, Rafansi.”

He shuffled backward as she advanced.

“And now, it will be the last thing you ever say.”

Arianna pushed off, unloading the tension of her knees into the floor. She grabbed for the golden chain around his neck. The tempering resisted her magic—no matter. She twisted, swinging him like a rag-doll down onto the floor.

He fell hard. Arianna went down with him. She panted, her knife rearing back like an adder. She had him right where she wanted him and the idiot was too stunned to do anything. She could do anything she wanted, kill him however delighted her, though nothing would satisfy her hunger for his suffering.

Did she want to scoop out his eyeballs with the point of her blade? Did she want to carve out every organ he ever gave her? Did she want to take his heart and be done with it?

Arianna wanted to scream.

None of it was enough. None of it would be enough to quench her thirst for revenge. None of it would bring back the woman she’d loved, the teacher she’d revered, the friends she’d made in the only true home she’d ever had. She could kill him a thousand times over, and it wouldn’t be satisfying to her. Because what she truly wanted, no boon, no vengeance, no vision, could give her. She brought down her dagger.

His hand shot up, catching her wrist. The other swiped for her throat. Arianna caught it. They were in deadlock. Eyes on eyes, blade point and claw point at throats. She shifted her feet, ready to overpower him. She could feel it in his trembling grip—he wasn’t nearly strong enough to hold her.

“Wait, don’t kill me,” he spoke quickly, before she could laugh or scream or even give a growl at the coward’s attempt to barter for his life. “Don’t kill me, Arianna. I can give you something better.”

“Once a traitor, always a traitor,” she snarled. Arianna swung backward, pulling on his wrist, feeling the bones pop. She curled herself and brought her feet forward, kicking out his other wrist.

“Yes!”

Her blade stopped a second time, now of her own accord.

The man’s face moved oddly as he spoke. His visage was horribly scarred with markings that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. Arianna watched his bones knitting before her eyes. Envy bubbled up at whoever had maimed him so effectively; jealousy was quick to follow that somehow she found herself lacking in doing the same.

“Yes, I am a traitor. But it is not you I am betraying now. I can give you something better, more satisfying than my death.”

“You have no idea how badly I want this.” Her hand had finally given to shaking.

“I betrayed you, Arianna, but I was nothing more than a puppet. If not me, it would’ve been someone else. What do you get from my death? Nothing. There will be more like me who creep up from the shadows. Kill the man who pulls the strings.”

“You’d betray your own King?”

“Once a traitor, always a traitor.” He grinned darkly.

A shiver of malice raced down her spine. She wanted to kill him. She had wanted to kill him for years. But he was now a low-hanging fruit. She had him and she could slay him any time. She knew she could overpower him and best him in any fight—that much had already been proven in their short encounter thus far.

Yes, killing him would serve her personal vendetta. But it would mean little for any beyond her. If she killed Yveun… She would cut off the head of the snake.

“I can take you to him, right to him. I can get you in his room before the sun even wakes. No one else can give that to you, no other Dragon will.” Rafansi panted softly, continuing to eye her dagger. “It’s a fair exchange, my life for the life of the Dragon King. Don’t you think?”

Arianna stood, glancing to the window. If she killed him in the manor, she’d have to contend with the other Xin. She could let him take her to the King, kill Yveun, then take Rafansi’s life in turn. Arianna flipped her dagger in her palm, once, twice, before sheathing it.

The mere idea, even if it was a farce, of working with him again made her feel soiled. Eva, forgive me. But she was going to cast the die and gamble for it all, or nothing.

“Take me to the Dragon King.”