This woman should be his mortal enemy, and here he was admiring her. Cvareh finally eased onto his back, staring at his reflection in the ceiling. He certainly looked the same, but something had changed on Loom.
The reflection blurred a moment, clouded by the memory of Finnyr’s face when Cvareh had told him he needed to remove his hands. He had harvested his brother. Conflict clouded his chest. Sure, Petra had blessed it, even ordered it expressly as the Oji—and there was no questioning nor going back when such an outright decree had been made. Furthermore, him and Finnyr had never been particularly close. After Finnyr had lost to Petra for the Ryu position and was shipped off to Lysip, it was hard to foster a particularly deep bond with his brother. Cvareh had tried, but when Petra had chosen him as her Ryu, rather than Finnyr, it had only exacerbated the problem.
Still, Finnyr was his brother. He was the direct blood of House Xin. And Cvareh felt more conflict over his lack of feeling conflict than he did actual turmoil over harvesting him.
Cvareh smiled to himself. Petra would be proud.
The moment Arianna stirred, she donned the contraption she’d designed for her fingers. It was brilliant, really. And with that alone her illusion settled atop her, weaving like a thousand strands of light to form a perfect facade. It was all a testament to her ingenuity and strength, and Cvareh discredited her with his internal disappointment at seeing her as a Dragon rather than in her natural state.
When they left, he made it a point to put his hand on her hip once more. The proximity marked her as his. It affirmed to all Dragons that she was claimed by the Xin’Ryu himself. However small the measure of protection was, he would give it to her gladly.
“How long do you intend to touch me?” she muttered, clearly not sharing his sentiments about the contact.
“Would you trust me if I say it’s for your best interest?”
“Hardly.” Her head turned as her eyes remained glued on a stall selling wind chimes. Cvareh briefly debated if the word meant she thought he was doing so because it delighted him. “What are those?”
“They make sound as the wind blows.”
“I can see that.” She peeled her attention away long enough to roll her eyes at him. “Is it for wind storms of some variety? A warning?”
“No, just because they sound nice.”
All her questions were in the same vein. Arianna asked why some walkways were suspended and why some were on the ground. He remembered the Raven city, and how each level served a separate purpose. But there were no such motives on Nova. Things were as they were because someone was compelled to make them that way.
Her displeasure mounted throughout the day. Cvareh tried to take her everywhere that made him happy. He took her to his favorite sundries shop, his tailor, to see the best performers in all of Ruana. But Arianna merely continued to withdraw.
He was exhausted, and he wasn’t even cultivating an illusion.
They ducked into one of his favorite tea parlors in a quieter area of town. Usually he haunted more fashionable places to see and be seen. But Cvareh avoided them today. He didn’t think he or Arianna could handle the expectations of a highly public appearance. And besides, his tailor had yet to cut him anything befitting of the current season. He would certainly not be seen wearing clothes from a year ago—though the fact had likely already reached the ears of the gossips.
The parlor’s patrons bowed their heads as he entered. Herbs hung from thick beams that drew lines across a plaster ceiling. They perfumed the air and clouded the nose with promises of brews that would be even more delightful than their aromas. The tea master from behind the bar gave a nod of recognition as Cvareh led Arianna back to an iron gate that served as the parlor’s back door.
It opened into the shop’s private garden. A delightful nook of Napole with wafting lavender, sunny chamomile, leafy tea plants, and—Cvareh stilled. His favorite scent hovered above them all in a carved arbor that framed the lone table nestled among the greenery. Vining honeysuckle was heavy in the air, the sweet floral notes at once an invitation and a comfort.
He looked suddenly at the woman next to him.
“What?” Arianna was expectedly oblivious.
“Nothing…” The taste of her blood was across his tongue at the mere thought. Had he known all along? Had he sensed it from the first moment he’d met her, the faint aromas that always lingered upon the woman by the very essence of her magic? The smell he so loved was within her veins.
It didn’t matter what he knew before. He needed her now, more than ever. He wanted to sink his canines into her flesh. He wanted to smear her blood across their flesh, mingling with his. He wanted to drown in her magic. He wanted—
“What may I get started for you?” The tea master was a welcome interruption.
“Whatever is in season,” Cvareh mumbled by means of reply. His eyes were on the woman who was easing herself into one of the three seats around the table. Cvareh closed the distance between them once more, pulling his chair slightly closer in the process of sitting. “Do you understand tea?”
“Brewed herbal remedies for colds and other such things are found on Loom.”
He couldn’t help his laughter, even though he knew it was going to draw out her ire. “This is purely for pleasure, not for medicinal purposes.”
“Everything the Dragons do seems to be for pleasure.” She stared at the garden and while he would’ve hoped for a spark of interest or inspiration, the mounting confusion that’d been lining her brow remained. “You build for beauty before function. You spend countless hours on adornments. You make noises with your mouth and tools, calling it song, moving to it and calling it dance, but it serves no greater design.” She shook her head in frustration. “You don’t even know where your water comes from.”
He’d nearly forgotten about that anecdote from the morning. “You’re not wrong about those things.”
“But what do you do?” she pressed. “Loom has given the Dragons Gold, gliders, science, mathematics, a true way of understanding the world. We—”
“That is untrue,” he interrupted. “Nova understands the world in a way Loom does not. We understand it through the Twenty Gods above. We understand it through magic.” She pursed her lips together as he continued. “You’re right, we do not craft engines of steam or write arithmetic that can lift people to the skies. But we understand life, a richer meaning for it than on Loom, and we create joy.”
“Xin’Ryu.” A young girl with Tam skin delivered steaming mugs of amber colored liquid. Arianna stared so intensely at her that the child was nearly startled.
“Thank you.” Cvareh dismissed her, sparing her from whatever had Arianna’s vicious interest.
The girl bowed and turned, happy to flee.