“If I call you mongrel you’ll answer, after that stunt you pulled,” Arianna snarled.
Florence expected Cvareh to rise in kind, as he usually did. But the man tilted his head back, exposing his neck and chest. Florence was oddly reminded of a dog exposing its stomach to the leader of the pack.
“You’re right. It was stupid of me.”
Arianna clearly didn’t know how to handle this sudden subservience, and Cvareh’s out-of-character actions seemed to annoy her all the more. Florence leaned against the rubbish bin, too tired to care about the smell and already getting used to it. Ari grabbed the Dragon’s face, pulling it toward hers.
“Can Dragons track blood or magic across water? How well?”
Cvareh considered this for a long moment. “We don’t have large bodies of water on Nova like on Loom—and nothing salty. If we could scrub the trail of our scent before getting on the water and kept the magic to a minimum, it could cover the smell enough—better than the open air would.”
“Do you think you can keep the magic ‘to a minimum’?”
“Yes.” Annoyance at Arianna’s tone and manhandling was beginning to creep into Cvareh’s words. Florence shifted, preparing to put herself between them like she had back in the bunker.
“You’re sure? No more running off and attacking Riders for no good reason?”
Cvareh finally jerked his head from her grasp. He swatted her hand away with a glare and the two locked eyes. They were like counter-weights on either side of the scale. Different, but painfully similar—more so than they wanted to admit.
Florence could see them from a step away, and that step was a half a world of perspective. He was the sugared art on a cake and Ari was the plate and utensils. They saw an enemy in each other, mortal opposites, form versus function. Florence saw two things that were undeniably different, but surprisingly complementary.
“If you knew what they’d said you wouldn’t—”
Ari rattled off a string of guttural sounds that echoed up from the back of her throat. Florence knew that Ari could understand Royuk, but she’d never actually heard her teacher speak it. The sounds were perfect, nearly identical to the accents the Riders used.
It was perhaps too similar; Cvareh’s talons were unsheathed in a second. He lunged for her and Ari released him to grasp for her dagger. The sharp points of each of their weapons pressed into the other’s throat, their noses almost touching.
“I don’t give a damn about your House,” Arianna growled. “When you are traveling with me you put it aside, and you do as I command.”
“You ground-born, soot colored Fen,” Cvareh snarled in kind, his lips curling back to expose his elongated canines.
Florence placed a hand on both their shoulders, trying to ease tensions. She had worked so hard to make her hands conjure explosions that it was odd to use them to diffuse. “Both of you, stop. What’s done is done. This isn’t helping.” Eventually, Florence had no doubt that appealing to their mutual sense of reason would fail. But for now it seemed she had yet to reach that point. “Ari, you are clearly working on a new plan.”
“I am.” The taller woman stood. Florence noticed a small slash in her coat, but miraculously, no black blood stained the white. Now that Florence thought about it, she’d never seen Arianna bleeding at all… But perhaps that was a given since the woman healed as fast as a Dragon. Arianna distracted Florence from her thoughts as she continued, “But you’re not going to like it.”
“Why?” Creeping dread crawled up Florence’s spine at Arianna’s tone. If the woman said Florence wouldn’t like it then Florence had no doubt whatever it was, she’d absolutely hate it.
“I’ll tell you when I decide it must be done.” Arianna glared back at Cvareh, still heaping mountains of blame on his shoulders for what had happened with just her eyes.
Florence looked hopelessly at the Dragon and stood as well. He was clearly no more pleased with himself than Ari was. Dragon or Fenthri, the look of guilt seemed to be the same. Still, he pulled himself to his feet with them and stood on his own. He didn’t do the one thing Arianna would find even more intolerable: give up.
Ter.5.2 was the primary port for the Revolvers’ territory. It served both air and sea, a relatively short distance from the land terminal the three of them had entered in on. High above, at the tops of skeleton frameworks and spiraling iron staircases, were the airship platforms.
Large cruising vessels boasted over-sized balloons strapped atop tiny but luxurious passenger cars. Men and women dressed in bright jewel tones that matched the few Dragons they walked alongside. There were smaller, more practical airships parked alongside the opulent dirigibles. They had wings shaped like fish, finned rudders and arcing bodies. Gold glinted on them, magic enabling journeys by air.