Florence didn’t have an endless supply of numbers that spewed from the depths of her mind, only some vulgar phrases. She was certainly not one of the most gifted Ravens to walk the guild hall in Holx, just a little crow on the run. She had her wits, a basic amount of education in a number of areas, two dead bodies, and a lot of endwig as motivation for some quick thinking.
The train rattled and shook as it gained steam. Embers spit out from the engine gate, singeing her clothes and skin. The vessel lurched violently, sending her scrambling for some variety of hold that wouldn’t leave her tumbling out the side of the car. The clamp of teeth echoed by her ear as an endwig nearly missed her shoulder.
With a grunt, she righted herself in the engine room, her hands finding the levers again. Endwig were now splattering against the side of the train. Their attempts at a hypnotic hum were drowned out by the sound of the wheels on rails, the squeal of steel on steel as they rounded a corner in the wood.
It looked like they’d gained enough steam—finally—to outrun any real threat from the monsters. Florence still pushed the train hard, like a bullet from the chamber. This wasn’t the Underground, where the next move was to proceed with quiet and caution. The endwig slept during the day and fed in the twilight hours. She would take them past the dawn and into the only “safe” time they had now.
They. Florence hoped it was still a case of “they” and not just “her”. Nora and Derek only had to fend off the endwig for a short time before she’d gotten the train up to speed. After that it was just a matter of not falling out. Florence began to ease up the steam. If they couldn’t handle staying on the train, she really had no hope of helping them all the way to Ter.1.
The train coasted along the track, slowly losing momentum. They’d wasted a lot of coal on their flight, and she’d have to make what was left stretch. That meant using the brakes as minimally as possible and squeezing every last bit of heat out of the steam that it had to give. It was nearly midday by the time they finally ground to a halt.
She collapsed, exhausted, still sweating from the heat of the engine and the stress. Florence leaned against the wall, her head tipped back. She took in long, luxurious breaths of air and savored the silence. The blood of Anders and Rotus was caked on the floor around her. She’d ditched their bodies at some point in the early dawn in the hopes they might draw away the endwig. But their blood remained, and likely would for some time.
The train sighed softly with motion from the back. Florence heard footsteps nearing the engine door. She pulled her revolver, holding it up at arm’s length.
Lined up in her sight was a pair of familiar coal colored eyes. Derek slowly raised his hands.
The gun was heavy in Florence’s palm. It was like she lifted a cannon made of pure lead, not a revolver. Her finger tensed on the trigger. The hammer struck on the gun.
And nothing happened.
“Bang.” Florence had run out of canisters three hours ago. “If you were an endwig, you’d be dead,” she lied.
“Good thing I’m not.” Derek seemed to have the sense not to point out the falsehood of the weary Revolver’s claims, seeing as she’d just saved his life.
“Good thing.” She dropped the gun with a loud clang as it met the metal floor and closed her eyes. “Did Nora make it?”
“She did.”
“I felt one of your explosions. Damn near knocked me out of the engine,” Florence muttered. Exhaustion crashed down on her all at once. She never wanted to open her eyes again.
Derek stepped up into the engine, approaching her without hesitation or question. A hand slipped under her knees, the other rounding her back.
“Don’t,” she commanded as he tried to lift her.
“Nora is already asleep. I’m taking you back to the car with us.”
“No.” Florence shook her head. “We’re too close to the endwig. I need to sleep in the engine in case we need to make a sudden and unexpected escape.”
“Are you our Raven now?”
“And your Rivet. And your Revolver.” Florence grinned, opening her eyes halfway. She felt drunk off fatigue and high on the remnants of adrenaline. “It doesn’t matter what you want to call me. I promised the Vicar Alchemist I would get you to Ter.1, and you can bet that’s what I’m going to do.”
Derek rolled on his side, settling next to her. She watched him until her eyelids were spent and her neck was too exhausted to fight gravity a moment longer. Her head tipped onto his shoulder and Derek kept his arm around her.
They both stank of perspiration and blood, but neither cared. He tilted his head, resting it on hers. “Don’t be an Alchemist next.”
“Why?”
“Then you won’t need Nora or me.”
She huffed at the notion. “I don’t need you now.”
He chuckled by way of agreement.
“But I like having you both around,” Florence confessed. The two had been annoying for her, but it would be lonely without them on the journey. There was comfort to be found in the warmth of another, and the radiant heat reminded her for a moment longer that she was not alone.
22. Cvareh
The wind was still under his heels as Cvareh sped through the halls of the Xin Manor. Arianna was back sequestered to her room, only placated with the promise that he would return later to explain the Crimson Court in full. Ever since Zurut informed him that the Court was coming to Ruana, all he could think about was what he had to do to help Petra and his house.
For all the urges he felt toward Arianna, Cvareh would not let his loyalty to Xin be shaken. She was a new presence in his life, and he was loath to admit that she would likely force herself to be a temporary one. But his House would be his family forever. It was his home, his legacy, the greater picture of which he was only one small part.
He ignored all others, focusing on the one place he expected to find his sister. Up a curving stairway, he ascended to the heart of Xin Manor. The ancients lined the walls. Dragons with mighty bat-like wings and mouths filled with pointed teeth hovered overhead, sculpted with lifelike precision. Candlelight flickered over their faces, slowly diminishing into nothingness.
Cvareh emerged from the smothering blackness into a room of pure light, feeling like he had been born again in the process. His eyes narrowed to thin slits, adjusting to the sudden change in brightness. They found the room’s focal point. Not any sort of art, but a woman. Muscles bulged from her skin, fueled by frustrations that Petra had yet to relinquish. Her eyes were locked on the Temple of Lord Xin, visible in the far distance through the glass windows that made up more of the walls than the stone.
“Brother.” Petra shifted slightly on the pedestal where she sat.
He accepted her invitation, sitting on the opposite edge. He leaned so their backs and heads would touch. One mind, one body, one unit that existed for House Xin. Cvareh closed his eyes and readied his ears for the words of the Oji.
“Yveun seeks to root out weakness in our House.”
“He does.”
“I informed Cain that all are to be ready, that we are to be the ones to fight duels. We will open our land to his Court, but I will not give him our blood easily.”
Cvareh expected no less. “I will seek out Finnyr for potential challenge opportunities.”