“It’s actually quite important on Nova.” Patience, Cvareh reminded himself. The Fenthri had likely never left the ground of Loom. She didn’t know what was important above the clouds.
“Oh, I know it is.” She smiled, and he barely contained a cringe at how her flat teeth made a perfect line in her mouth. “Come now, Cva, we’re going to be late,” she chided.
“You may call me just Cvareh Soh,” he insisted.
“Mmm, Cva is easier.”
“I must insist—”
“Don’t push your luck, Dragon.” A hand curled around one of the crossed blades at the small of her back. He was getting rather tired of seeing that golden steel. “We could always go back to the heart-cutting.”
Cvareh looked her in the eyes, or, well, the goggles. She didn’t tense and didn’t shy away. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had no love for Dragons—and no fear of them either.
“I don’t think you will.” He took a step closer to her. “You want your boon.”
“Ah, yes, a boon.” Rather than shrinking away, the woman met his step with her own. She was almost as tall as he, and Cvareh was of average height for Dragon standards. He’d always been told the Fenthri were a smaller race. “They’re quite rare for Dragons to give out. What could you possibly want at the Alchemists’ Guild so badly that you’d surrender yourself to my whims?”
“You think I’ll tell you?” He took another step toward her. His blood rushed at the feeling of her magic: wild and varying, a blend of many Dragons’ powers combined into something all her own.
“I could make you.” Her chest, flat and strapped under what appeared to be a harness, touched his.
Cvareh paused. A harness. Why did his mind tell him that was important?
She clicked her tongue against her teeth then stepped away when he didn’t rise to her challenge. His failure to respond to her banter had disappointed her. So his options seemed to be allowing himself to be annoyed at her very apparent efforts, or pleasing her. Or swallowing his pride and letting her say what she wanted but not giving her the satisfaction of taking the bait.
He was growing to hate this hideous wench with every second.
Somehow, Cvareh managed silence. He followed her through the rank passage for what seemed like forever until the sewer vomited its sludge into a slime-covered river. The woman paused, glancing outside and back at his hands.
“Dragon, can you make illusions?”
“Not a skill I possess.” Though he was glad she asked. The look of consideration she gave his clawed fingers let Cvareh know she was well aware of what Dragon parts held what magic. It further confirmed that, whoever she was, she truly knew about Dragons beyond the value of a heart.
“Of course you can’t. That would be far too easy.” She let out a sigh of utter disappointment. The woman thought for another long moment. “Very well, stay here.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“If you walk around Old Dortam looking like—” Her head moved up and down as her eyes raked over him. “You, you’re going to cause a scene. Or someone else will harvest you. And then I’m out a Dragon heart as well as a boon.”
Cvareh would appreciate it if she’d stop discussing cutting out his heart, but he knew better than to say so. He also knew she was right. Cvareh adjusted the wide sash around his waist, heavy with the beads and embellishments of his station. His shirt was done in a dark navy that highlighted the color of his powder blue skin just so. Its capped sleeves showed the strength in his arms—his physical ability to assert dominance. Dragons took note of the feature, which had helped ward off challenges for years.
He looked back at the woman in her heavy leather coat and worker’s trousers. She was unfashionable and plain, a continued source of vexation for him. Certainly, she was poor and couldn’t afford more than basic clothing. But why would anyone choose to wear white in this industrial wasteland?
“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted.
“Of course I am,” she agreed confidently. “Now stay here like a good little Dragon and don’t move.”
Cvareh did as he was told.
Time was hard for him to tell on Loom and the seconds smeared into tedious minutes. The thick layer of clouds above hid the progression of the sun, filtering it into a bleak and neutral light. Cvareh cursed himself for forgetting his timepiece back on Nova. He hadn’t really had time to pack anything.
He opened a small pouch at his waist and pulled the folded papers from it. They were old, or had been through a lot to find their way up to Nova. He expected the latter was more likely. The parchment was weathered and already delicate, the leaves beginning to tear at the folds. He didn’t dare spend longer than a moment making sure all were accounted for.
The delicate lines made up schematics that meant little to Cvareh, but they would mean something to a Rivet. However, he wasn’t headed for the Rivets’ Guildhall. The engineers of Loom had long been under the close eye of the Dragon King and, seeing as how Cvareh had stolen the documents from under said King’s nose, he didn’t think heading toward anyone or anything that was notorious for being under his thumb was a good idea.