“No sign of troubles.”
“There was no way she could have removed them?”
“If she even knows what they are? No. They were added to a strawberry jam.”
“You are truly ruthless.” She bared her teeth in an appreciative smile. This was what she needed from Cain. She needed someone who was so loyal to their House that he would risk her ire for the sake of its defense.
He gave a small bow of his head. All delight faded when Cain turned back to the pit. Arianna had just bested Cvareh again. “Petra’Oji…”
She wasn’t familiar with hesitation from Cain. It made her give him all the more attention. “Be careful with this one.”
Petra narrowed her eyes to slits. “You think I cannot fell her?”
“I do not doubt you.” The but was felt before it was spoken. “But she is something different. She has that many organs and has not fallen. Think of what she might be like with more. More magic? More power? She—”
“You have been heard, Cain,” Petra dismissed him abruptly. She would not tolerate dissent or questioning in her ranks. Cain had earned himself good will for investigating the woman, an odd mix given his unconventional methods of doing so. She wouldn’t want to see him squander it.
Cain gave a short bow and descended the stairs gracefully. Petra’s eyes remained locked on the woman far below. Cain didn’t know it, but what he feared was a Perfect Chimera. A creature that was so mighty it could even challenge a Dragon.
Petra grinned madly.
One man’s fear was another’s salvation.
24. Yveun
The skies were filled with boco as Dragons of all colors flooded Easwin, the easternmost town of the Isle of Ruana. It was impossible to look in any direction and not see scarlet, cerulean, or viridian. Yveun surveyed the generally unassuming town from his current perch. It was unorthodox to be anywhere but Lysip for a Crimson Court, but it was too late now to question his play.
“How many people worked on getting the amphitheater up to par?” he asked over his shoulder. Slaves silently dotted and lined his exposed chest with a thick paste that would temporarily tattoo his flesh.
“Petra told me she had over five hundred workers at all hours.” Finnyr was seated awkwardly in the center of the room behind Yveun. He was appropriately ignored by the slaves, their focus on their master—as it should be. Yet the fact that Yveun had not dismissed him was its own form of honor. Yveun kept Finnyr trapped in the “between”, a place few Dragons ever found themselves in thanks to their society’s strict hierarchy.
“How did she find the craftsmen?” It annoyed Yveun to no end that Petra had managed to scrape together the sort of display that towered against the distant horizon. The girl was an annoying little gnat, impossible to squish and always flying around where she didn’t belong. A gnat that aspired to be a wasp and already fashioned itself thusly.
“She told me she took all hands from progression on the Xin manor. Some others were in Napole still after the initial construction. The rest? Nameless from below, I believe.”
“So desperate is she to display her strength that she leans on the shadowed nameless.” His insult was for no one but himself. Finnyr was already his obedient servant. The slaves who attended him had no names themselves and therefore no souls and no purpose. Nevertheless, letting out his displeasure into the very air on Ruana sated him some. “I will let you return to her tonight when the day’s duels have ended.”
“You will?” Finnyr’s voice started shrill before he managed to control his emotions.
“Is that a problem, Finnyr?” Yveun held up a hand, stalling the servants’ work. He turned to look at the Xin’s face. It was harder for a man to lie when you were actively trying to spoon out the truth through his eyes.
“N-no, Dono…” He went pale. “After last time, my sister was adamant that I stay with you.”
Yveun keenly remembered the man’s bruises from having his hands harvested. He wanted to slice Finnyr up himself and force him to watch his organs being fed and connected to Fenthri as punishment for his cowardice. His voice was a low growl that rumbled over the jagged stones of his aggravation. “I held this Court on Ruana so I might finally learn the truth of what happened on Loom, and the extent of how far Petra’s power reaches into the land below—how it may even be increasing here on Nova. You will play your role and return to her as a relieved prodigal child, blessed to be home. You will prove your worth and give me the information I seek.”
Finnyr lowered his eyes submissively. “Of course, Dono. I live to serve you in no half measures.”
Satisfied, Yveun turned forward again. “I want you to find whatever information you can on Cvareh—of his trip to Loom, of the schematics he stole. Speak to slaves, servants. Offer them a better life on Lysip with the favor of the Dono if you must.”
He would never actually allow Xin hands who had served Petra directly to attend him. But they didn’t need to know he would see them dead the second they set foot on his home. Their surprise would be delicious.
He locked eyes on the grand, stone amphitheater in the distance. The streets were already filled with music and cheers. Laughter harmonized with song as men and women danced together. The Court was a celebration of life, and death, and everything that hung in the balance between those conflicting yet beautiful forces.
He rode in a litter to the Court. It was a wide platform with low railings and a pointed roof covered in red clay tiles and edged in silver. The wooden base and poles were a fine mahogany, stained to a deep wine color. Textiles the colors of fire shone, silks glinting with sunlight. Sixteen men carried its bulk through the streets.
It stood in stark contrast to the lake blue pennons and people of House Xin that parted like waves around his metaphorical boat. Yveun kept his eyes forward, or on the woman who lounged next to him.
Coletta Rok’Ryu To was thin for a Dragon. She had never quite grown out of her girlish years, her face remaining soft and her cheeks rounded. Her ears pointed more outward than upward and her nose was thin and narrow, cutting between two eyes that looked all the larger for it.
She was his cherry woman. She smelled of the fruit and perfumed herself with it for added effect. Her flesh was creamy-orange, hardly red at all, but it reminded him of the sweet cherries that could be cultivated in the spring. Her hair was the bright red of a candied fruit of the same variety. But her eyes were truly striking, dark orbs that shone with the depth of a rich wine. The kind that could absorb a man whole.
Those same eyes looked listlessly at the world around them, as if it were all more trouble than what it was worth. For Coletta, it may well have been.
“Ruana has not changed much since the last time I was here,” she said softly. She was a humble and unassuming counterpart to the loud and dominating presence that was Yveun.