Petra.
He followed his elder sister down the long staircase he’d sprinted up only an hour before. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could feel her. She was bright and sharp. Her magic smelled crisply of pine. Her steps were measured and even, the lithe, sinewy muscles in her legs betraying strength hidden from the casual eye. Her breathing was even, unlabored, unfaltering. She’d met the Dragon King and walked away as though it was a matter that caused her no more concern than choosing what to wear in the morning.
Meanwhile, Cvareh’s knees still trembled. Yveun Dono was an imposing force. He was not to be trifled with and made no hesitation in making it known. Cvareh had enough experience to last a lifetime fighting against his Riders; the last thing he was inclined to do was fight the King himself.
But he kept himself together in Petra’s presence. He worked to mimic her stoicism. His sister was far more devout to the Lord Xin than Cvareh was, and he would do nothing to offend her faithful sensibilities to Lord and House.
She didn’t so much as look back at him the entire length of the hall. Cvareh noticed the occasional curious glance, and the knowing look from worshippers, but no one commented. He mirrored Petra’s movements as she covered her eyes with the heels of her hands and crossed the threshold into sunlight.
His sister took a deep breath, spreading out her arms as if to invite all of Ruana into her embrace. The sunlight danced along her golden curls, striking against the midnight blue skin of her shoulders. Petra was nearly the same height as Cvareh, but her body was cut and primed. She was born to be the Oji he adored—alongside everyone else in House Xin.
“Cvareh!” Without warning, a switch flipped in her demeanor. She spun on her heel and pulled him in for a bone-crushing embrace. “How I have missed you, little brother.”
“And I, you.” He had missed being enveloped in the scent of pine, the familiar feeling of her muscles beneath his palms, the pleased hum that thrummed across their magic when they were in the other’s presence. Petra was born to be Oji, and Cvareh was born to be her Ryu.
“I insist you tell me everything.” She pulled back, leaving space for business to come between them.
“I must insist on clothing first.” He let himself shiver in the wake of a mountain gust for emphasis.
“Very well.” She started for her boco. “Come home. It has been too long since you graced the halls of the Xin manor.”
“I see Raku put on weight while I was gone.” Cvareh patted the boco’s side as he situated himself behind his sister. Riding a saddle without trousers was bound to be a positively miserable experience, and he’d turn his thoughts to anything else.
“Muscle,” she insisted.
“Of course.” Cvareh grabbed his sister’s waist as they took to the air.
Ruana spread out like a lover beneath him once more, inviting and familiar. This time he could appreciate the splendor of his homeland. For now, it appeared as if they’d evaded Yveun Dono, which meant his life was secure for a little longer.
In the distance he saw the towns of Abilla and Venys, sprawling toward the largest city on Ruana, Napole. He imagined the soaring vocals of the last opera he’d seen there drifting to him on the wind, and was instantly set to wondering what was playing now. Cvareh felt like a Dragon seeing the upper half for the first time. Everything was wondrous; everything felt new. The sights and sounds he had taken for granted all his life were now shining in the eyes of a man who had resigned himself to the real possibility that he might never see them again. The eyes of a man who had seen nothing but steel blended with bronze and steam for months.
His sister tilted and Raku banked. Cvareh moved with them as their course altered. They no longer tracked along the sloping valley, but aimed instead for a smaller mountain nestled between the grasslands and the Temple of Xin.
“You’ve made progress,” he observed.
“The winds have been kind to the workers,” Petra affirmed.
Cvareh had been born in a smaller estate much closer to the heart of Napole that was now used to house the Kin and Da of House Xin. When Petra killed their father, assuming the Xin’Oji title, she had deemed the older estate unfit for the current House Xin. She’d hand-picked the best architects from across Nova, pulling them in on the most ambitious project to date. Any who deemed her vision impossible met an ill fate.
Petra’s methodology had reaped rewards, as it so often did. Now, the Xin manor was the jewel of Ruana. Its spires defied logic as they curved and wound together like mating snakes. Rooms hung as freely as ripe fruit on the vine in the free air. Tunnels burrowed into the mountain itself, opening into cavernous meeting spaces, only to be rolled out like lapping tongues to meet the illogically suspended towers.
A smile thinned his lips. He wondered what Arianna and all her Rivet sensibilities would make of his wondrous home.
“That’s a new feeling.” Petra glanced over her shoulder, catching him in the act.
“What is?” He tried and failed to play dumb.
“That pleased pulse across your magic. That coy smile.”
“Hardly.”
Petra laughed like song bells. “Cvareh, your efforts to conceal the truth to me are futile. You whispered to me about a woman—the White Wraith no less. Now, you bring a Chimera home to me whom I can only assume is one and the same.”
“I promise I will tell you everything once I have clothes on.” He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, ready for Raku to land on the waiting stretch of stone beneath them. “What’s the style of the day?”
“Magenta seems to be quite popular among the tea house socialites,” Petra answered over Raku’s fluttering wings, easing them back to the earth.
Cvareh made a gagging noise. “Rok’s influence no doubt.” The color would clash terribly with his skin.
“You’ll pull it off fine. Or, there is always the tried and true Xin blue,” Petra consoled, seeing straight through him. “For now, indulge me and wear last year’s fashions so that we may catch up.”
“If I must.” Cvareh sighed, already half dressed.
Servants had met them on the platform, preempting their needs. As soon as Cvareh had dismounted, his feet were in the wide legs of lounging trousers. While Petra had been speaking the help had woven a delicately embroidered shawl around his arms and across his shoulders. The final adornments were affixed about his neck, a silver chain with many loops, black stones reminiscent of the Rider’s beads weighting their apexes.