“Tell me what you know, and I’ll let you keep every last organ you illegally harvested, and all your lives. A fair deal, no?”
“Quite fair.” His voice trembled slightly as she dragged her knuckles up and down his neck.
“How did the Dragon die?” Leona asked.
“His heart was ripped out.”
Cvareh then, without doubt. “Who did it?”
“I hear talk of a Dragon running through Mercury Town, blue.”
Cvareh again. This wasn’t new information. Leona’s fingers walked around his tiny neck, ready to throttle. “Where was he headed?”
“No one could find him.” Leona’s hand tensed, causing the man to wheeze. “But I have a theory.”
“Is it a theory you’d stake your life on?” She curled her lips as she spoke, showing her teeth. Her patience was about to run out.
“I hear word of a fight against Dragons at the Ter.5.2 station, three days after your friend died.”
“And?”
The man spoke faster at Leona’s urging. “It takes three days to reach Ter.5.2 by train from here.”
“I already knew he was seen in Ter.5.2. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“What do you know about the White Wraith?” The man smiled at Leona’s immediate reaction.
Now this was certainly new information. The infamous White Wraith of New Dortam had been an annoyance for over a year. They had tried to send Riders down, but one ended up dead, and the rest were made fools of. Yveun Dono eventually deemed it a waste of time to fight an enemy that would not stand up for a duel and only fought from the shadows.
She pulled her hand away for him to continue.
“People say your Dragon ran with the White Wraith through the streets here.” The man adjusted his velvet vest.
Something didn’t add up. “Why would the Wraith help a Dragon?”
“That, I cannot tell you.” The man held out his hands hopelessly. “Have I earned my harvest?”
“Keep your pilfered magic,” Leona sneered, starting for the door. Camile was silently in step, her claws still extended.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Leona paused. “You see, I happen to be the main contractor of the White Wraith. So I know a few things you may want to hear about how he conducts his business.”
Leona squinted at the hustler. She would be impressed if he wasn’t a Fen. “Name your price.”
“I want a living Dragon.”
“Too steep,” Leona scoffed. She knew what men like him would do. They would chain up the Dragon and pick them apart slowly, slow enough that the Dragon would re-grow flesh and organs to be harvested again indefinitely.
“Then another corpse—a strong one.”
“If your information is worthwhile.” Leona could think of a few members of House Xin she’d like to throw down to Loom for this scavenger to lick clean. And there were always those with no rank—they were practically born to be organ fodder.
The man sat in his chair, a tiny throne for the pitiful king of a worthless scrap of dirt. “The first thing you must remember is the name Florence.”
16. Cvareh
He had always been taught that Fenthri didn’t have magic. Dragons turned up their noses at the plain creatures of Loom, the hardened, stony residents of the rock below who lacked raw power surging through their veins.
It was the Dragons that had been the fools.
Cvareh had never seen a Fenthri work. The few Chimera that had been brought up to Nova to maintain imported golden machines were kept almost exclusively at the Rok estate; he who held the gold held the power in the sky world above. The Chimera slaves were kept out of sight, trusted to do what they must to keep the devices that had become so integral to Nova running.
On the third day into their voyage, the Holx III had suffered engine troubles. Problems with the pistons set the crew to scrambling, and Arianna stepped in. The woman hoisted wrenches as large as his calf, sweat rolling lines through the soot and oil caked on her flesh. She worked tirelessly through the night, changing out lines, welding, creating tools from scratch.
Cvareh was only below decks to support with his magic as needed. Arianna had been reluctant to ask him, but Florence was insistent after the fifth hour. Cvareh knew why the second he arrived.
Arianna’s strong shoulders were beginning to sag and her posture was slacker than the normal board-straight height she usually carried herself with. Running back and forth between drafting tables in the small cabin attached to the engine room and maintaining her patches while she rambled off numbers in search of a permanent solution had taken its toll. Arianna didn’t have energy to expend on magical pursuits. So when something golden needed to be lifted, or turned just so, Cvareh was there.
Arianna stepped away from the iron, brass, and gold monster she’d been wrestling with all night. The ship’s Rivet handed her a soiled cloth, which she uselessly wiped her hands with. The woman was absolutely filthy.
“Cvareh,” she summoned him without turning. “Strike the flywheel.”