The hallway was illuminated with the brightness of dawn, windows cutting beams of light in the quiet corner of the manor. Just as his mind was shrugging off the haze of sleep, the door behind him opened. Cvareh toppled backward, catching himself at the last second with an elbow, nearly colliding with the pair of legs that waited on the inside of the door.
They were a pale blue color, not unlike his own. Leather shorts, similar to what Petra would fashion herself in, hugged mostly bare hips. Strips of crossed fabric bound over her breasts, the dark wine color offsetting the hue of her exposed skin in a way Cvareh would’ve never himself attempted. And yet, he must commend her for it, as there was something quite striking about the color contrast. Her eyes were the same purple color, but her hair had gained a more golden shade, framing the only thing familiar about the woman staring down at him.
“Since you seem to be suddenly insistent on keeping my company, you can be the one to take me out of this place.”
The voice was distinctly Arianna. Nothing could change her tone and cadence. But it was a strange disconnect to see it coming from a Dragon’s mouth.
“Up with you.” She nudged him with her foot. “I want to see this Isle of Ruana.”
15. Yveun
Yveun tapped his quill mindlessly upon the desk as he looked out over the wide balcony to his left.
The world had been quiet, almost quiet enough to give the illusion that all was right within it. But Yveun knew better. He did not appreciate the silence from his guild advisers down on Loom. He certainly knew better than to think the relative silence from Petra meant the woman had given up on her foolishly grandiose ambitions.
But those were two areas over which he had no control. His advisers on Loom were doing the best they could, considering the current climate within the guilds. The one he’d sent to get a hold on the Alchemists had been put off time and again, enough so that Yveun was nearly at the point of applying force. And Yveun had never boasted a measure of control over Petra, which was part of the problem.
He looked back down at his papers, rubbing his temples. If he looked at the balcony, he saw the ghost of Leona, reminding him of his immense failure in losing one of his greatest assets. If he looked at his work he was reminded of the guilds on Loom and all their troubles.
It all left only one frustration for him to focus on: Fennyr.
The elder brother of his enemy had been given what Yveun considered a simple task. Sniff out some information, any information. It couldn’t possibly be difficult. But his lack of results reminded Yveun why, despite being older than Petra, Fennyr was not the Oji of House Xin.
Still, Yveun had cause for hope. Fennyr had finally been invited home by Petra. The Dono rarely let his wards return to their respective islands, but he was all too eager to make an exception in this case.
He had been patient, but his patience was finally running out. The man had been gone for three days now, and Yveun wondered what could possibly be taking so long.
He tapped his quill again.
He lamented over the state of Loom.
His mind tortured him with the need to find a suitable replacement for Leona.
He could even smell the stink of the Chimeras House Rok kept deep below from where he sat, wafting up to his wandering mind like a foul potpourri that perfectly complemented his rotten state.
The distractions were unkind and it took Yveun nearly twice his usual time to attend to the resource allocation of both Loom and Nova. It was a delicate balance, one that was getting marginally easier with time, albeit no less tedious. Now that Fenthri were raised and kept in the guild they were born into, there were more exact counts on what each guild needed to sustain itself. Enough years had also passed that it was becoming clearer how many would survive, on average, the guild tests at Initiate and Journeymen to then become part of the general population.
Before, the land below was running through resources like wildfire, uncontrolled and unabashed. Had contact with Nova not been made, Yveun doubted they would have been able to sustain themselves for much longer before reaching their limit. And yet the Fenthri remained ungrateful to the good changes he was trying to implement.
Yveun stood from his desk, gathering his monthly updates. Not much changed with each cycle of the moon, just small shifts in how he wanted to see trade managed. But year after year, progress was made.
Lossom, his current Master Rider, waited outside his room. Yveun had yet to allow the man into his space.
“Tell me of the happenings beneath Lysip,” Yveun demanded as they walked. There were precious few hours in the day to waste any. He had yet to grant the young man quarters in the great Rok Estate and, for the time being, it meant he would also serve as Yveun’s eyes to the underside of the island.
“There was a dispute between some no-titled and some Bek.” Such was par for the course. Two of the lower rungs of society fighting tooth and nail. “A Veh chose to involve himself.”
“A Veh?” Yveun was actually interested now. “Why would a Veh bother with no-ranked squalor?”
“Because the no-titled slew all the Bek and proceeded to feast on them before their families.”
Yveun considered this. When Lossom had originally said “some no-titled” he had assumed his Rider to be speaking of multiple people—not a single person whose name he merely did not know. That made it all the more interesting.
“And did the Veh put this no-name to rest?”
“The Veh was killed, Dono.”
Even after feasting on the hearts of fallen foes, for a no-name to defeat a Veh… This no-name had Yveun’s interest. “What does this no-title go by?”
“I do not know.” Admitting as much made Lossom nervous. Nothing pleased Yveun more.
“Find out,” Yveun commanded. “Or better, bring him to me.”
“Her,” Lossom corrected.
Her.
All the better. In Yveun’s experience, women were fiercer fighters than men. He had a list of theories longer than his claws on the why, but it made no difference. All he had to look at was the evidence around him: Coletta, Leona, Petra, Camile, and a handful of other Riders he’d seen come and die. Women approached every battle as though it was their last, and they had nothing left to lose but everything to prove.
“Bring her to me.” Yveun would be truly impressed if the man could. It was likely a matter he would pass to Coletta and her quiet flowers, whose unassuming roots ran deep.
“As you wish.” Lossom bowed, holding his position as Yveun entered the Hall of Whispers.