Raku milled about in a high courtyard. He cooed the moment his giant eyes caught sight of her and Petra smiled in reply to her trusty steed. He was saddled at her request, her favorite oxblood colored seat. Petra wasted no time, mounted, and took to the skies.
Ruana shrunk beneath her, smaller and smaller with each flap of Raku’s wide wings. The Temple of Lord Xin rose from the mountainside, shading the farmlands below. The cities and towns speckled the countryside like gemstones in a mine only to cluster together in determination against nature to create cities and centers of art and culture. They were children of earth and sky, birthed from sunlight fractured into a thousand shining colors.
From this vantage, Petra could see all that she fought for. Her home, her father’s home, her father’s father’s home, and all the way back hundreds of years to the great fall of House Xin to House Rok. This was the land where the Dono was meant to sit. And she would see the mantle returned.
Banking across cliff faces and weaving over treetops, Petra made her way around the mountains that curved across the back of the Isle of Ruana. Nearly opposite the Xin estate, tucked behind imposing sheer mountain peaks, was a series of work houses situated atop a slowly blossoming network of mines. From the air, it was easy to mistake as nothing more than a snowy, barren valley. The smokestacks had been carefully tunneled through the mountain itself, hiding the real work of Ruana’s first refinery.
Petra tugged on Raku’s feathers, clicking a command with her tongue and teeth. The beast curved through the sky, spiraling downward. He landed nimbly on a narrow ledge, well trained to seek the safest footing.
She swung down from the saddle, her long toes curling through the thick snow and seeking purchase against the frozen rock beneath. The wind was icy and bit with savage numbness into her skin. Every pinprick made her feel alive.
She waved her hand at Raku, and the boco took to the skies. He would hunt, or roost, or mate—whatever satisfied his wild nature that morning. Petra allowed the beast to indulge his whims as long as he always responded to the shrill whistle that demanded his presence once more. He was one of the few beasts in the wide world who had yet to fail her.
“Oji,” a man greeted her from the shade of a sheltered window. “It is a pleasure to have you in our presence.”
“You flatter me, Poiris’Kin.” Petra jumped down into the hall where he stood. Despite having no glass or shutters, it was so warm that the snow melted on the windowsill.
“Never flattery, merely truth.” The Kin walked forward, knowing why she was there without an explanation. “We are making good progress. Spinning iron to steel is becoming a simpler task by the day.”
“The help you demanded?”
“Has been invaluable.”
Poiris was a smart man, enough so that Petra had placed him in charge of one of the most important tasks involved in laying the foundation of her new world order. He was leading the charge in assembling the refineries she needed to produce House Xin’s own gold. Doing so would free the House from under Rok’s thumb. He who controlled the gold, controlled Nova. Once House Xin had their own refineries working, they would no longer need to depend on small allotments or what limited back-winds trading could be done with Loom.
Of course, it wouldn’t be enough. Not even close. Petra still needed Loom and the depths of their mines, the extensive capacity of their refineries, the efficiency with which the Fenthri operated. But even small steps were progress. Change did not happen overnight, birthed from plots of wishes. It grew from the grit of sacrifice and blood.
“Have they presented any problem?” Petra asked.
“Quite the opposite.” She gave him a look that demanded elaboration. “They tell me we treat them much better than House Rok.”
“So even Fen have sense.” Wicked satisfaction pulled on Petra’s cheeks, drawing her lips taut in a satisfied smirk.
“More than we give them credit for, on the whole,” Poiris affirmed.
“Don’t go too far.” Petra couldn’t help but think of the woman Cvareh had brought home. She fashioned herself as clever, but all Petra had seen was a child. She had been too easy to break, sitting quietly in her room, only walking the courses that Petra had designed for her to be led along. She had expected more from New Dortam’s infamous White Wraith. “Show me your product.”
Poiris led her inward to a great room of whirring mechanisms and molten metal. Petra surveyed it like some fire god. She didn’t understand the first thing about how it worked, but she commanded it nonetheless. Chimera stood in the corners, sweat dripping off their faces, as they spoke to Dragons who walked unfazed through the overbearing heat. Giant buckets poured liquid iron into other containers.
“We have the air lance situated to remove impurities in the iron.” Poiris pointed overhead to a long tube. “But we are yet working on the reagent lance.” He shifted her attention down to the bottom floor far below, where a similar golden tube was being fashioned by a number of laborers.
“You are slowed by gold,” Petra observed.
“We believe with what we can attain, we should have it finished within the next six months.”
Slower than she wanted, but nothing could be done. A solution was offered and her men were hard at work. She could demand nothing more from them. When a boco was flapping its wings with all its might, it served little to push it harder. That was how riders got thrown from their saddles.
I have time, she reminded herself. There were decades of history behind her. She would not sacrifice all her work in haste. At the least, she delighted in the knowledge that she was quietly siphoning off gold and resources for the refineries she claimed to be assisting Rok in building.
“Show me.”
Poiris led her back into the hall from the observation deck and they wound down through the refinery’s innards. It was simple, rough, and raw compared to the luxury of the Xin manor. But there was no time to fit it with things of beauty. She allowed those living here to bring their own artistic sensibilities to bear, and fashion furniture as they could without raising suspicion, but could do no more for them. It was a pitiable existence, but it had to do. Somehow, the Chimera didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
They had almost reached the ground when a Dragon, unknown to her, came bounding down the stairs behind them. Petra turned with fluid grace, her claws tensing on instinct but not unsheathing.
“Oji, the Ryu has arrived,” the man reported.
Petra glanced between the messenger and Poiris.
“You may use my office,” the Kin offered.
“See him there,” Petra ordered the other Dragon. “Lead on, Poiris’Kin.”