He stopped in his tracks, leaving her to pause as well, a hand on the doorknob.
“Ari?” The Dragon was uncertain, searching. It was as if she’d given him a truth he deemed far too good to be true. But all Arianna could see was that she was giving him certain war.
“It’s not for her.”
“Who then?” he asked tentatively.
“Florence.” He visibly deflated at the name. “Helping your sister will be the best chance of this rebellion she’s put so much stock in seeing success, as long as Petra doesn’t betray us and try to rule Loom when she has the throne she so wants.”
“Logical. I’d expect no less.”
Arianna sighed softly. “It’s for you as well, idiot.”
He brought his eyes back to hers, hopeful.
“You don’t think I actually trust Petra, do you?” Arianna took a deep breath and braced herself. What she was about to say would no doubt rattle them both. “I trust you, Cvareh. If nothing else I trust that you will do what must be done.”
“I will, I promise you. But Petra won’t betray you, either.” He eagerly followed her into her quarters as she made her way to her desk.
“Good, because I will need some supplies.” She grabbed for the journal that was mostly still blank inside, the others scribbled across with random notes, maps of the manor, and other postulations.
Her pen paused as she thought a long moment. What did Sophie say she needed? What would help the rebellion the most? Arianna wasn’t born to be a leader and she didn’t want to be. She was born to create tools and was content to let others figure out their use.
“Yes, anything. You know I will give you anything,” he repeated his dangerous offer.
Arianna withheld scolding him. She would save her boon for as long as she could. She would use it when she had no other option. When it was something he wouldn’t give her willingly, or tried to be subversive about.
“Those flowers, I will need them.” Merely thinking about crafting the Philosopher’s Box again set the hairs on her neck on end. With every pen stroke and mental note made, she felt like she was writing the world’s future.
“The Flowers of Agandi? Why?”
“The traitor. He brought them once… I thought he was a simpleton, bringing back something for the sheer beauty of it, a memento of home. But it was a stroke of luck.” She laughed at the irony of her word choice. “We discovered that they have a special property in their pollen that can be used as a type of tempering on gold. It helps keeps magic fresh and rejuvenated.”
Cvareh’s eyes widened. The man was smarter than she gave him credit for, sometimes. He was beginning to piece together why she needed what she claimed. “But it wears off when the flower closes, or dies.”
“It does, but if the pollen is tempered properly, the properties stay,” Arianna explained. “It keeps the blood from turning black. It removes the strain of the magic.”
“This is genius,” Cvareh whispered by her shoulder.
“This was Eva’s genius.” Arianna would never miss a chance to laud her dead lover. Eva deserved that much, and so, so much more. “She was the one to notice her reagents hadn’t gone sour in the flower’s presence.”
“How many do you need?”
“Not too many... well, depending on how many boxes we make. But since they don’t grow on Loom and you said they’re particular about where they grow even here… We’ll need your help getting them. They must be transported quickly and securely so they arrive living and undamaged.”
“Petra and I will see that this is done.” There was an awe about Cvareh’s excitement.
“We will also need more gold.” Arianna tried to think back to the things Sophie said were in short supply. “For the boxes, and in general. I think you could perhaps intercept some shipments here to Nova from Loom.”
“Far simpler than that.” Cvareh placed a hand on her shoulder with a broad smile. “My sister has refineries here, nearly in working order.”
“Refineries, here on Nova?” Arianna tried to grasp what this meant for Loom. If the Dragons could refine their own steel into gold, that meant Loom was one step closer to becoming irrelevant. She stared at her supply list. Loom needed the Philosopher’s Box. They needed to secure their place in the world’s future.
“Not as large as on Loom. But there are even Rivets and Harvesters Petra has brought up to help.”
Arianna snorted, trying to imagine the thought. But the emotion was quickly lost. After all, here she was.
“Very well, then. The Alchemists could still use more guns. And any help with transport on Loom. We’ll need to leverage the Rivets to put things in mass production.”
“We will help how we can.” She understood Cvareh’s hesitation. Their power was significantly less once they stepped off the floating islands that drifted across the stars. “I will go pass all this information along to Petra.”
“I’ll finish the list while you do.” Arianna drew another line, thinking of any other demands she could make on behalf of her home. Even if Petra ultimately betrayed them. If she could give Loom enough of an advantage to tip the scales, it might be worth it.
Wrenches and bolts, Arianna mentally cursed herself. She sounded like the same idealistic girl who had let herself be swept up in the rhetoric of the last rebellion.
“One more thing, Cvareh.” She didn’t look up from her paper. “Tell Petra to ready the glider for me to return to Loom.”
There was an agonizingly long pause. “Pardon?”
“I’ll need to return to Loom. I’ll need to return to the Rivets personally. I will still have sway there—the Masters will remember me as Oliver’s student. I can teach them how to make the box. I—”
“We have everything you need here.” Cvareh said hastily. “The flowers, the gold, tools…”
Arianna looked out the window. This shouldn’t be so difficult. But here she was, struggling against the truth, fighting for words. “I need factories. I need other Rivets and Alchemists. I need to go home.”
“Can you return?”
“Why would I?” Arianna turned to see him trapped in limbo in the doorway. She wanted to stand and walk over and comfort him. She wanted to pull him into the bed and build blockades out of blankets to keep the world at bay.
“Because Petra needs me here.” The truth was more deadly than a paring knife between her eyes, though the pain may have been equal. “She won’t let me go again. I can’t afford the suspicion.”
“Understandable. Your place is here, mine is on Loom.”
“Arianna, that cold and detached persona will no longer work on me.” Cvareh stood his ground, literally and proverbially. “I know you, and I know that you…”
“That I what?” she pressed, seeing if he would really say the words her mind filled in. Cvareh faltered. “You barely know me, Cvareh.”
“After tonight, I think I do.”
“One day of sex and a small conversation does not give you my mind, all my history, my truths. You will never understand what drives me.”