Faroe was perched in the center of these seemingly endless mines, like an island among an empty sea. Its towering buildings and compact construction was unlike anything Florence had ever seen. Buildings made of concrete had spires of brick built atop them, foundations made from the carved stone left from long-ago mining. Like an impenetrable wall, it was all connected. One city, one guild, every peca of space used. She wondered if Arianna had ever been to Faroe, and if so, what the Rivet’s take on the architectural choices were.
The train ran into a station underneath the city. Powell, in his kindness, offered to escort them to the guild hall. Florence was thankful they accepted when he led them through a rat maze of tunnels and tiny elevators that served as the city’s only means of getting around.
“Faroe built up when it could no longer build out,” Powell explained. “The problem with situating itself at the world’s richest mineral deposits meant that most of the land needed to be committed to mining. The Rivets tried to make sense of it, but the Harvesters ended up doing what we do best.” He knocked on the rough, bare stone wall next to him. Pick marks still pocked its surface. “We tunneled our way through.”
Within the city proper, Florence felt an omnipresent weight. Rock and steel, brick and concrete hovered over her. It compressed Florence’s lungs, and she was suddenly reminded of the last time she’d felt such a sensation.
“The Underground,” Florence said boldly. It was a taboo subject in Ter.4, and, judging by the rise of Powell’s eyebrows, it was known as such in Ter.1 as well. “Did Harvesters help with that at all?”
Powell considered it a long moment, encouraging in that he didn’t immediately refuse the subject. “At the time the Underground was first being conceived, perhaps. We did grant them some of our explosives long ago, pre-Revolvers even, to help blast deeper after the ground was broken. But the limestone of Ter.4 is prone to pockets and holes, and the Ravens seemed impatient and determined to make the place their own. Moreso after the Dragons’ regulations on the guilds.”
The man’s tone differed from Ari’s at the mere mention of the Dragons. There was no bitter bite, no longing for the past. Instead she heard quiet acceptance. His eyes reflected... appreciation?
The weight was lifted as they ascended to the guild proper. A disk shape at the very top of Faroe, the hall’s outer walls were all windows, permitting the gray sunlight and a view of the barren earth beyond. Florence set her bag down slowly, her hand numb from carrying it. As if in a trance, she crossed to the nearest pane of glass. Five times her width, three times her height, it felt as if the view could swallow her whole.
With the flatness of the land she could see for veca upon veca. She saw the dusty clouds that plumed off the ground between the mines. She saw the far explosions that broke into the earth farther and deeper. The mines she’d seen from the train had only been a small part of a much, much larger system.
“What do you think?” Powell asked.
Florence jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard the man approach. Pulled from her trance, she immediately sought out Derek and Nora, but they were nowhere to be found.
“They had business on behalf of the Vicar Alchemist for the Vicar Harvester. I saw that they spoke with the right people to get them where they were going.”
“Thank you,” Florence said sincerely. “You’ve been quite kind to us.”
“You are guests in my home.” Powell smiled in reply. “Ter.1 may not be what it once was, but it is still home and I will still love it and see it is shown in the best light.”
“You said that before,” she noted. “That it’s not what it was.”
He nodded, but offered no more explanation this time than he had the last.
“Do you mean before the Dragons?” she pressed.
“I do.”
She followed Powell’s stare, looking out at the land. “What was better, then? How has it changed?”
Powell shook his head and chuckled. “The Dragons changed a lot, overseen directly by the King.” Again, unlike Ari, there was no bite at the mention of their oppressors. “Not much was better in my lifetime. We’ve been on this suicidal path for hundreds of years. If they hadn’t come when they did, Loom would be in a difficult spot now.”
“What do you mean?” Florence couldn’t comprehend what the man before her was saying. There was no path of logic that let her get to his point until he spelled it out.
“The Dragons, Florence. They saved Loom.”
27. Cvareh
The blood shone like liquid metal, caked upon her skin. It picked up the sunlight like some horrible truth that his mind, in all its efforts, could not fathom. Arianna had killed yet another of the Dono’s Master Riders. That should be the fact his mind circled around relentlessly.
But it wasn’t.
He stared at where her flesh had been punctured by Lossom’s claws. Gold streamed from the wound, mingled with the drippings of the heart she held up in victory. But it was clear enough with every pulse of her heart, clear as Lady Lei’s springs and rivers. For the first time, it was as if he was seeing the real woman behind the name.
“She actually did it,” Cain said in awe from Cvareh’s left.
“This court just got interesting.” Petra clapped her hands in appreciation from between them. His sister turned to him, summoning Cvareh from his thoughts. “You should go to the new Soh. She did stand for you, after all.”
Cvareh’s gaze swung to Arianna, but her back was to him. The woman had her eyes locked on Yveun Dono’s. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to challenge the King himself.
He moved, jumping down the short distance to the pit. Arianna tuned sharply, but relaxed visibly at the sight of him. Men and women shouted and cheered. Challenges flew above their heads, the Court whipping into a blood frenzy at the upset.
Cvareh’s eyes rose from her forearm to meet hers. “Come.” He held out a hand and she hesitated, the potent dissonance of the emotions in his magic giving her pause. But he had no hope of reining it in, not until he had explanations. “Come, Ari Xin’Anh Soh.”
She finally obliged, and took his hand.
Sweat glistened off her, even through the illusion. A perfect crafting, he realized, because she was already so close to a Dragon. She was stockier than most Dragon females, but she had the height and the speed of one of his kind. She had the eyes and the claws. The ears—if she ever removed the metal caps. She was more Dragon than he had ever given her credit for, than maybe she had ever realized.
And that fact was surprisingly disappointing. It was like everything that made her shine was losing its spark. The picture he had painted in his mind of her was losing all its complementary colors at the idea that there was something so important about her that she had knowingly kept from him. He hated his distance from her, and grew weary of the feeling of her keeping him at arm’s length.
They walked out of the light and into the dim of a hall, only to be greeted by other victors and the bold applause of servants. Arianna kept her eyes forward, oblivious to it all. The metal of the splint on her fingers pressed against his skin. Even with the surge of power from imbibing, holding the illusion must be tiresome…