“I see where the notion came from,” Arianna whispered.
He couldn’t fathom what she was on about until the woman raised a hand to her cheek. Cvareh hadn’t even noticed the mark. He’d not paid it any credit as he hadn’t his whole life. It was a part of his world, as inconsequential as the icy peaks of the mountains or the never-ending waterfalls. He hadn’t had cause to look at it differently until a Chimera forced him to see it through her eyes. “The tattoos are how we know when someone has left their native House,” he explained.
“Tattoos should be choices, not brands.” She tried to pin him down with a deathly glare.
“These are choices. They choose to leave their house and join a new one. It’s how I and everyone else here knows they are friendly, that they are kin. It is their decision.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist, speaking before she could pull away, “Just as these are.”
Arianna stared at his hand a long moment where it fell over her own tattoos. If her eyes were actual daggers he’d be cut from thumb to cheek. “Unhand me.”
“Explain them.”
“Unhand me,” she repeated, a little louder.
He acquiesced, but only because he did not want to make a scene. His hand was cold in the wake of her warmth. “I had never seen them before. I want to understand.”
She looked away sharply, as if he would vanish because her eyes were no longer on him. He didn’t. And so she was left to gather herself to speak. “We call them link marks. They signify a date of importance regarding... a person.”
And she had three. For whom? He could guess Florence would be one. Her lost lover another… Was another lover the third, perhaps? Even with a short life span and no notion of family, how a Fenthri could forge such a deeply amorous connection with so many people was lost on him.
“You saw when I dropped my illusion.” She massaged her wrist lightly where he had touched it.
“I did. I think they’re beautiful.” He operated on instinct, offering encouragement when in doubt.
She found amusement in that decision. “They are, because they are significant.” Arianna’s purple eyes met his and Cvareh felt helpless in their gaze. “They were choices. For nothing touches my body that isn’t my choice.”
What did that make him?
Cvareh opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a velvet-clad man. “Cvareh! I did not expect to find you in the city, my friend.”
“Zurut.” Cvareh stood, embracing the man in greeting. “It was an impromptu trip.”
“Seeing the tailor, no doubt.” The man picked a ribbon on Cvareh’s shoulder with two fingers as though the color that had gone out of vogue could somehow stain his quite lavish and luxe design. “Are you trying to make a new statement?”
“Hardly. You couldn’t be more correct, it was time to visit the seam masters.” Cvareh mentally cursed Petra, again, for not ordering clothes to greet him upon his return.
“And what a time it is! I was just there myself ordering a new jerkin to wear to the Court.”
“The Court?” Cvareh repeated, certain he’d misheard his friend.
“How have you not heard?” Zurut was in shock. “The Crimson Court will be happening on Ruana within the fortnight. It’s been all the talk across the city this afternoon.” His friend’s eyes drifted toward Arianna. “Though I see your attentions have been elsewhere.”
Cvareh had always known that choosing a mate beyond superfluous play would result in quite the talk. It was natural as the Ryu, and sometimes the tea parlors on Ruana were hard up for gossip. But today was not one of those days.
He muttered off an introduction, his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t even be certain what name and title he’d given Arianna, if it was the same as the one he’d fabricated before. He couldn’t be bothered.
A Crimson Court on Ruana.
The Dono intended to wash the streets gold with Xin blood. There would be no harbor, no excuses for why key members of their House could not attend. They were being cornered and led to slaughter. And now he had exposed Arianna as his potential mate, a Xin’Anh, easy fodder for any woman who had sought Cvareh’s fondness and the prestige it gave for herself. Cvareh swallowed hard. It was likely to be his first court in the pit.
“Ari.” She stood at the tone in his voice alone. “We need to return to the Xin Manor. Now.”
He was worried for himself. He was worried for maintaining Arianna’s illusion. But his mind remained focused on one thing: his House. He had to return to his sister.
20. Yveun
Underneath the main continents of Nova, there was the “below”. The underbellies of the iceberg-shaped islands had been carved out and hollowed into a reversed anthill of maze-like passages, freezing alleyways, and the seedy abodes where all manner of business was conducted. It was the type of commerce that could only happen in a place where the sun didn’t shine.
Below was a place where the threads that bound the structure of Nova together would barely hold knots. Here was where the Anh and lower Da of Houses were sequestered. Further down were the Bek. And further down, still, lived those who barely had a name. Close to the Gods’ Line, close to the vulgar world of Loom where only first names were used and all elegant social structure was lost.
It was a place a King should never venture, for it was far, far beneath him.
But it was in these places that he dredged up gold from among the rock and raw metal of his society. Leona had come from these chilled and dank halls. He had been given whispers and guidance regarding the woman he would find down here from Coletta, and Yevun had pulled Leona into the sunlight, molding her into something that truly shone by obliging his whims. Once again, this would be how he would find his next Master Rider.
Hooded and robed, he kept his face downward, focused on the smooth, sinking stairs that wound around a building. Wind whipped against his left side, intent on pulling him from the perch and tipping him into the abyss below. Graffiti stretched against the wall under his palm, glazed with moisture from the perpetual chill. Xin swords and books were painted atop Rok crowns that dwarfed Tam scales.
Blood was thick in the air. He could almost see it alight in the alleyway he turned into. A fruit cocktail of the scents of Dragons who had died from illegal duels.