20. Cvareh

They stood in complete darkness at the end of a dinky pier. His Dragon sight pierced through the blackness, enhanced by the goggles Arianna had upgraded him to. The world was reduced to a reddish filter over shades of gray, but he could see clearly enough to move without hesitation.

The woman was nothing if not meticulous. She waited for the boats around them to creak with every small wave before undoing another knot or line. She was dressed once more in her full regalia as the White Wraith: a pistol on her thigh, canisters around her waist, her winch box and spools of extended line on her hips and strung through her harness.

His attire wasn’t much different. It had been strange to be outfitted by the two Fenthri. Foremost, because it had been the most attention they’d paid him his entire time on Loom to date. But mostly because he’d not the foggiest idea how the guns and canisters strapped around his hips worked.

Florence did her best to explain them, but the girl went into far too much enthusiastic detail about alchemical runes, stored magic, latent power, adding will to the shot, and different types of powders for Cvareh to make sense of it. Arianna’s explanation made a lot more sense: point one end at the enemy, pull the trigger, and hope they die. The longer he spent around her, the more he saw Petra in her. The two had undeniable similarities in the way they approached the world. Things fit neatly into binaries defined by “that which would help them achieve their goals,” or “that which would hinder them.” He smirked privately, amending the last: That which had to be eliminated. He wondered if they would get on well, or be two strong personalities repelling, if they ever met.

Which really was a foolish thought, because there was no way Petra could come down to Loom—that was why he was there in the first place. As the Xin’Oji, Petra had too many eyes on her; navigating the Crimson Court for potential allies and enemies was too necessary an occupation to leave. No, the only way Ari and Petra would ever meet would be if the Fenthri traveled to Nova, and that was a trip he couldn’t imagine her taking.

Finally finished with the ropes, Arianna nimbly boarded the rocking vessel and held out a hand for him. Cvareh blinked at the gesture. She extended her arm a little further, impatiently.

He didn’t want her help; he wasn’t a soft House Tam. He was House Xin. He was sharp of claw and mind, and something like boarding a skiff wasn’t going to—

The boat rocked unexpectedly. With one foot on the pier and one foot on the vessel he was sent stumbling forward, arms flailing. Between the waves and his balance issue, the floor beneath him heaved back and forth, leaving him straining to find footing.

Two strong hands gripped his shoulders and Arianna virtually shoved him into the front seat. She set her feet wide, her knees bending with each wave to keep her balanced. Her face dominated his field of vision as she encroached on his space, their noses nearly touching.

“We don’t have room to be proud,” she hissed. “I must accept your help tonight when I need it. You must do the same. Or we will die here.”

All her pride, all her hatred for him and his people—however unjustified—she had put aside. Cvareh felt as though his slate had somehow been expunged of the crimes she had chiseled in from before they had even met. This was a woman on a mission: the White Wraith, free of the prejudices her alter-ego carried like armor.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He admired her resolve. For all her faults, this was a side of Arianna he could appreciate. If they failed tonight, it would not be because of him.

“Good. Now no more talking. Voices carry over water.” She eased away and sat in the back seat. Keeping the small sail furled, Arianna began straining against two oars, pushing them through the choppy inner sea.

Her warmth retreated with her, but her scent remained. He smelled her keenly over the salty sea. They both knew what was going to happen, but hadn’t talked about it much from the start. He would imbibe from her again before the night was out. He would taste her power once more.

Cvareh’s eyes dilated in the darkness.

The floating prison of Ter.4.2 grew in size. What had been nothing more than a black silhouette breaking the horizon on their way into port was now an ominous colossus of woven metal and impenetrable stone. Arianna had gone over its basic structure with him three times over: an outer ring of cells, an inner guard tower from which guards could observe their tenants at any point without the convicts being aware of who was where. As a result, the prison needed fewer guards. The idea of being watched proved a stronger deterrent against unwanted behavior than the actual, physical presence of someone watching.

From Arianna’s limited time to research, she had come to the conclusion that there were between five and fifteen guards on staff at any time. But they were all heavily armed and well trained—trained to kill before asking questions.

She pulled the oars a short way out from the rocky island, allowing them to coast toward the shore. When they were within a stone’s throw, she stood, easing herself out of the boat and into the water. Arianna held onto the skiff, inspecting the walls, waiting.

She extended her hand and he took it. It was like a dance, and she was leading. Everything Cvareh had been taught screamed against letting another be in control. It was opposed to the dominance structure of Dragon society. But with Petra, obedience spun from loyalty was a familiar feeling for Cvareh—a feeling that Arianna was slowly stealing for herself as well.

Arianna pulled him from the boat with the crash of a wave. He tried to nimbly exit the skiff and was met with mixed success. Luckily, his flailing was kept to a minimum this time, and Arianna didn’t feel the need to have another heart to heart.

She unclipped a small disk from her harness, settled it into the boat, then waded into the water far enough that she could free the vessel from the tug of the waves. They walked together up the shoreline with cautious stares trained at the dark guard towers. Four towers, and only two were ever manned at once. His eyes darted between the three corners he could see, fighting for some sign of where the guards might be. It was his first taste of the harrowing feeling of possibility being watched without knowing by who or from where.

They slunk between spikes of all sizes, erected to ward off ships that would ram the prison for a mass breakout, to the base of one of the towering walls. Without hesitation, Arianna’s hands adjusted the cabling through her harness and freed her clip. She spared one glance for him. That was all the confirmation Cvareh knew he would receive.

She closed the gap between them, her hips flush against his, her abdomen pushing into his body as she bent backward, seeking space to navigate the cabling around them. Cvareh swallowed, wondering if she could hear his heartbeat when she leaned into him like that to tether them together. Life and power surged through her, a blend unlike any he had ever known. Knowing that he’d soon have it again made him crave it all the more. It made him want to cling to her until he had bled her dry.

His arms snaked around her back, holding her to him. He was slowly going mad, and she couldn’t be calmer; he couldn’t even hear a whisper of her heart. Arianna gave a small nod and Cvareh braced himself against the howling winds of time.

He breathed it into him, letting his lungs become a cocoon for the sands of the hourglass. It burned instantly, all the way down his throat. Like a flock of birds, they fought and scratched against his insides, seeking freedom from their unnatural cage. The world slowed as he gained dominance over the minutes of the clock and in seconds that felt like eons, he won control over time itself.

Arianna was moving. He felt her magic clearly through the vacuum of space he had created. As his magic encased her, her magic ensnared him. They were their own world and Cvareh was barely aware of movement. He focused only on keeping control as time fought for freedom from his lungs.

It shredded his insides, filling him with blood. His lungs began to decay, becoming necrotic in mere moments due to magical exhaustion. The world shuddered. He wouldn’t be able to hold his breath for another second.

She slammed him against the wall. A scream tried to escape his throat, but all that was there was blood. It poured down her shoulder in the darkness. Arianna pushed herself against him. She clutched his waist, her feet planted.

“Do it.”

He was too happy to oblige.

Cvareh yanked on the back of her hood, catching hair with it. Her head twisted backward and pulled her face into a grimace, exposing the one part of her body that wasn’t covered in layers of fabric. Magic faltered within him, struggling and failing to heal his ailing lungs.

He sunk his teeth into her eagerly. He fought to keep himself from tearing out strips of her neck in his zeal for her power. Cedar and honeysuckle flooded his mouth, mixing with the smoky musk of his blood spewed on her shoulder.

It was pure power. It was the essence of life. More than anything, it was her.

He invaded her through her magic, pillaging and rummaging through every dark corner. He could smell the tang of regret harrowing her behind every shadowed awning of her memories. He could hear the echoes of longing crying out through the lonely hallways of her daily consciousness. He could feel the heat from the flames that consumed her waking moments whole, a pyre in the lighthouse of her wayward morality that burned for one thing alone: vengeance.

She was an enigma, a strange creature of contrasts. And, for the briefest moments when he imbibed off her living flesh and blood, she was his.

Arianna pulled herself from him, and he barely relinquished. Drunk off her power, his mind swam, clouded. Her hand flew up to her shoulder, smearing the blood from where his lungs had failed and come up golden, covering her wound until it healed. Their eyes met and he felt the same urge as he had last time—the want to drown in her.

She lowered her hand, her stare wavering but not breaking. Her eyes challenged him to say something, to move for her again, to do anything. She threatened the same in kind. He could read every twitch of her muscles. She wanted to level the score, to put him in as vulnerable a position as he had just had her.

What was equally terrifying and thrilling was in that moment, he would have let her.