“I shall go to the Fen pens and search.” Topann was unswayed. “Should I not find one, I will bring one back for my lady from Loom.” She said it as though she were bringing back a souvenir from a leisure trip, not a creature, live and resistant.
“Good. The other thing I require shall be easier to procure.” Coletta looked about the room again. Sturdy walls, thick, built to dampen sound. “Go below Lysip, and find me an organ donor.”
“Any preferences?” It was not the first time Topann had received such a request. Coletta had been using organs to bargain with powers on Loom, and Nova, for years.
“Yes. Where is your magic, Topann?”
“Mine?”
Coletta nodded.
“Hands. Eyes. Ears.”
It was a standard set of magic for a Dragon. Coletta was pleased. It would be simple to measure the effects on one such as Topann, who possessed so little magic to begin with. “Find a stomach.”
“Of course.” There was the beginning of understanding hovering beneath Topann’s words. But the woman was undeterred. Coletta had long-held Topann’s life in her claws.
“Good.” Coletta walked over to her loyal subject. She stretched out a hand and cupped the woman’s cheek in a sign of affection that was almost never seen. Topann stilled, taking a shallow breath. “You have been with me throughout the years, my flower, and I will reward your loyalty.”
“You have given me more than enough,” Topann whispered. “You showed me the sun, Coletta’Ryu.”
Coletta smiled fondly on her first test subject. “Yes. And now I shall show you what it means to be made perfect.”
Cvareh
Cvareh lay in bed, debating with the dawn. Was it too early, or not early enough? Was the sun duller than normal, or did it shine with its usual strength? He wondered if he could somehow delay time by whittling away the seconds, question by question.
Today, Finnyr would arrive.
Lord Xin’s presence was palpable in the manor. Cvareh could feel it in the stillness of his room, in the quiet that seemed to seep into the stones.
He stared at the ceiling above his bed, wanting to scream. But his mouth could no longer make sound. He breathed slow, shallow breaths, until tears fell like tiny waterfalls off his cheeks and onto the pillow.
He realized Petra would never see the Xin Manor completed. She would never see House Xin ascend the ranks of Dragon society. Though the likelihood of either coming to pass now seemed slim.
One bright spot: She wouldn’t see their family crumble away to nothingness, either.
Daylight inched its way across his ceiling, creeping in through his windows like an unwelcome guest. His attendants were not long to arrive. Cvareh wiped his face with his palms and sat upright.
He could allow himself this weakness only in private. Among Xin, he was the face of his house. Every man and woman had made that abundantly clear with their silent expectation that he would duel Finnyr.
Cvareh stood and went to his dresser. He pulled open his favorite drawer, running his hand over the silks and satins. All the beautiful colors clashed and complemented each other, a rainbow contained in a wooden box.
“Cvareh’O—Ryu.” The attendant in the doorway quickly corrected himself.
Cvareh didn’t spare the man a disapproving look. They could not call him Cvareh’Oji. “What did you have in mind for today?” the man asked, quickly moving between Cvareh and the dresser of fineries.
What did one wear to meet his sister’s murderer . . . who also happened to be his brother?
He rubbed his temples. Cain was right; he had learned a deep and profound sympathy and appreciation for Loom. For as backwards as the idea of not having a family was, at least on Loom they weren’t killing their own flesh and blood for power.
Which world, again, was the uncivilized one?
“White,” he finally decided on.
“White?”
“Yes.”
“I—Well, I’m sure there’s something in here . . .”
Cvareh honestly didn’t know if there would be. He couldn’t recall a time he’d ever worn white. But today, he needed strength. He had lost one woman who he thought was invincible, and wanted to feel closer to the other woman he knew who had the same power of conquest, the same bravery, the same drive.
In the end, it was as he suspected. Nothing in the drawer was white, or black, or grey. He wore a light seafoam color that had a rough-cut lace overlay in white.
While it was a far cry from Arianna’s coat, the tight-fitting trousers that hugged his thighs and matching shoulder embellishments accentuated his physique, and seemed to give a deeper, richer hue to his skin—which he hoped also reminded Finnyr of their midnight-skinned sister. It wasn’t precisely what he’d had in mind, but as Arianna’s coat fit her for conquest, this was his own battle-ready armor.
A woman appeared in the doorway, breathless. “Cvareh’Ryu, bocos have been spotted in the western skies.”
Eyes were on him, expectant, waiting for his reaction. Cvareh waited as well, to see what rose within him. But the waters of his soul were dark and calm, concealing much in their depths, concealing his true feelings—concealing him.
“Then we should go to the arrival platform,” Cvareh said, and strode past the woman to lead the way.
The morning’s light had lost its luster. It shone through the windows as gray, bland, like the light filtered down to Loom. Cvareh adjusted his shoulder adornments, the beaded silver that dangled from them clinking softly, then dropped his arms limp at his sides. There was a danger to this dark ocean that House Rok had poured into the pit of his soul; it drowned his heart and overflowed into his mind. He didn’t hold anger in balled fists. He kept it coiled in the tense muscles of his wrists, ready to unsheathe his claws in a breath.
More people followed as he ascended the stairs and halls of the Xin Manor toward the wide platform that was used to receive people of importance. Sculptures laden with rare gemstones and lined with gold rimmed the platform where the other half of the manor waited with Cain.
They formed a wide arc, leaving the open end of the platform barren to the air and bocos off in the distance. Was this a receiving party, or a dueling ring?
Cvareh, himself, did not know.
“What will you do?” Cain asked. The man always seemed to know just where and how to push. There was never a question of Cvareh’s insecurities, uncertainties, or weaknesses when Cain was around. That made the man a strong ally. Invaluable.
“Do you trust me, Cain?” Cvareh asked, loud enough for the house to hear. Cain had been a favorite of his sister, and it was not by chance that half the family had chosen to stand behind him.
Cain studied him a long moment. Cvareh knew the man understood what he was asking, what he was saying. If they fractured and broke now, Rok could stab a fatal wedge into the foundation of House Xin.
“I trust you, Cvareh’Ryu,” Cain affirmed. He didn’t hesitate, but the words betrayed his uncertainty. The truth was clear: Cain trusted him, but questioned his methods.