Cvareh slowly pulled his fist from the doorframe, regarding the woman and her claws warily. He raised his hands, showing that his claws had yet to be exposed.
“Forgive me, Oji.” He spoke to Finnyr, but looked at the Rider. It was apparent who the true Xin’Oji was. “I am merely emotional given the present trials. I shall work on composing myself.”
Fae looked to Finnyr, and Cvareh’s gaze followed. Finnyr continued to look at him with that same detached, cold stare.
“See that you do, Cvareh,” he cautioned. “If you want any hope of keeping any sort of title to your name.”
Cvareh gave a small nod. The meeting had been a failure from the moment the door opened and at the rate things were going, it wasn’t impossible for him to wind up dead. It made complete sense to turn his back and leave, and yet, something compelled him to hover a moment longer.
“Remember, brother . . . For however much you hated Petra, and hate me, you are still Xin, and we are Dragons. Your blood flows from Lord Xin. Build your own legacy as you see fit, but at least make it truly yours.”
Finnyr’s mouth was shut so tightly, his lips weren’t even visible. “Get out of my sight.”
With pleasure, Cvareh barely kept himself from saying as he departed down the hall and away from that miserable room.
Cvareh strode through the Xin Manor with the look of a man on a mission, but it was all a carefully crafted illusion. He had no direction to go in, and what seemed like fewer options available to him by the second. His mind and heart both were heavy with a frustrating, infuriating ache.
He found himself walking up a long staircase. It was a narrow offshoot from one of Petra’s lower halls, and wound upward into the heights of the manor. When he was lost, there was one place he’d always gone to for answers.
The viewing chamber was empty and that, for some inexplicable reason, surprised him. Cvareh stared at the far edge of the dais, where his sister had sat facing the large windows that looked out across the Ruana mountains toward the temple of Xin. He sat heavily in that same spot, looking for answers he didn’t think he’d find.
It wasn’t long before footsteps broke the silence, and Cvareh knew who stopped at the top of the stair without having to turn. He knew it by the smell of the man and the sound of his gait, and because there was only one other Xin Dragon who would dare venture up to one of Petra’s most personal and private spaces.
“Sit with me?” Cvareh spoke without turning.
Cain didn’t speak. He did as he was told, but in the wrong way. He walked around to the far edge where Cvareh sat, sitting next to him.
Cvareh didn’t have it in his heart to correct the man. “How did you know I was here?”
“Dawyn told me,” Cain answered softly. There was something about the space that made lowering one’s voice in reverence natural. “She saw you headed this way.”
Cvareh vaguely recognized the name. “One of my sister’s attendants?”
Cain shook his head. “She actually helped see to the Fe— to Ari while she was here.” He stopped himself mid-word with a glare from Cvareh at the slur for the people down on Loom.
“What is she doing in Petra’s wing?” Cvareh felt protective of the space. He wasn’t ready to see it turned over to Finnyr, to anyone.
“Paying her respects . . . looking for answers . . .”
Cvareh heard his friend’s meaning without needing it spelled out for him. “I don’t have the answers.”
“I suggest you find some,” Cain said firmly. “House Xin needs you.”
“Finnyr has not said if I am to remain Ryu.” Cvareh shook his head. “Even if he did, this is not what was intended. I was to help Petra, not become Oji myself.”
“Pull yourself together. We need a leader.” Cain sighed, looking out through the windows. “Plus, life is made of missed intentions.”
“Poetic.”
“I heard it at a tea parlor in Napole.”
Cvareh chuckled and shook his head. With his friend, he should’ve known. “I think he will avoid appointing a Ryu.” Cvareh whispered what he had been too afraid to even think. “If there is no Ryu, he’s less likely to be assassinated from within Xin.”
“Because if it’s not in a clear duel and there’s no Ryu, succession isn’t assured.” Cain cursed under his breath. “Damn that Yveun.”
Cvareh was inclined to agree.
“What’s worse is that Finnyr will get away with it. Because he knows you love this house too much not to keep functioning as Ryu, with or without title.”
Once more, Cvareh’s silence was his agreement. He’d always gone along. He’d spent every moment and every breath in devotion to his house. He’d only done what others had set out for him. But what should he do now, when there was no clear path?
“This is wretched.”
Cvareh sighed and leaned back, wishing he had his sibling to lean against.
“What is it?” Cain made note of his shift in demeanor.
“I wonder how much could have been avoided if Petra had just given him some favor.”
“Turn sympathetic to Finnyr and I will duel you myself,” Cain threatened.
“Twenty gods, no.” Cvareh shook his head. “Merely wishing things were different.”
“Wishing gets us nothing. We need action.” Cain folded his arms over his chest, beginning to pace. “We need to show Yveun that we won’t tolerate these slights.”
“We need to bide our time.” Cvareh tried to use his words as a mental block to slow Cain down, but they only seemed to make him pace faster.
“Until what? Until Rok decides to pick us off one by one?”
“Until we hear from Arianna.”
Cain spun to face him in one fluid movement.
“You know I’m right.” Cvareh preempted whatever the other man was about to say. “If we are to stand a chance against Rok, we need the help of Loom. We bide our time until then.”
Cvareh could almost feel Cain’s anger bubbling to the surface. He braced himself for the moment it would explode. But Cain took a slow breath, and his whole demeanor shifted.
“How do you plan on making use of them for House Xin?” his friend asked, finally.
“The same way Petra intended: to make us an army.” Cvareh wondered how much Petra had shared of her mind with anyone beyond him. Judging from Cain’s almost confused frown, he guessed the circle was small, if it existed at all.
“Make us an army? Of people like her.”
“Arianna is the first of her kind, a Perfect Chimera. They will make more and stand with us. With that much power, we will defeat Yveun.”
“I hope you’re right . . .” Cain shook his head, starting for the stairs. While Cvareh considered it a success that his friend could even stomach hearing mention of Loom and Arianna without exploding, it seemed the fuse of tolerance was still quick to burn. “Because if you’re not, we’re all dead.”
“I know I am,” Cvareh reassured Cain.
“Then I will leave it to you. Fetch me when I’m needed in your master plans, Cvareh’Oji.” The final vowel of the honorific echoed back up to Cvareh, ringing in his ears several times over before it finally faded.
Cvareh . . . Oji . . .