“The Harvesters would have seen that soon enough.” Florence had every faith as long as men like Powell were in the guild. Plus, it wasn’t as if she could be proven wrong. No one could ever know what would have happened to Loom had the Dragons not intervened. “And then, when you caught wind of a Perfect Chimera, of the Philosopher’s Box being made, you tried to steal her work and kill them all.
“But she survived.” Florence pulled back the hammer of her gun. “And no matter how many times you try to kill her, you just can’t seem to land the final blow.” She spoke as loud as she could. She hoped everyone would hear her words. Because it was well possible that she was about to die. “That is the power of one Perfect Chimera. Now, what do you think will happen if you face an entire world of them? Perhaps you’re right in wanting to talk peace, but you shouldn’t be offering it—you should be asking us for it.”
His mouth twitched, his snarl widened, and for one brief second Florence thought she had him.
But the Dragon King hadn’t lorded over them for so long by being clumsy. He eased back on his glider, hands still firmly on the handles. “Shoot me, child. Let it be known to the world that it was your gun that heralded Loom’s ultimate demise.”
He was bluffing. He had to be. Florence locked her elbow to make sure her hand didn’t shake. The revolver felt heavier than it ever had. All I have to do is squeeze the trigger, repeated over and over in her head like a mantra. It wound up strength that flowed into her forearm, then her hand, then her fingers.
She didn’t know what she thought she would really accomplish. At the very least, she’d show everyone that she did not back down. That Fenthri no longer cowered before Dragons.
“Don’t shoot, Florence.”
All her focus was broken, and Florence whipped her head around to stare down Arianna.
“You offered us peace?” Arianna addressed the Dragon King.
“No . . .” Florence breathed. What was Arianna doing? Would she even think of handing over Loom to the Dragons?
“Take heed, Fen. Even the woman you deem ‘perfect’ wishes to talk before war.” Florence felt the weight of Yveun’s stare as he spoke. But her eyes were on Arianna. She didn’t look anywhere else. “Yes, I offer you peace as long as you subject utterly to me.”
“Give us three days to destroy our weapons and return to our respective guilds. When you return, you will see us ready to serve you.”
This was not the Arianna Florence knew. Rage shot through her mind like a cannon ball.
“Very well. Let it be known that I am a most merciful god! You have three days. And should I not find all of you back where you belong, ready to serve, I will burn your world to the ground. I will give no quarter. You will all perish.”
From behind, she heard the glider take to the sky again. Florence was aware the Dragon King had left as keenly as she was aware that she would forever regret not taking the shot, not trying everything possible to kill him at the one opportunity she may ever have.
Florence stared at the woman who had been her mentor, her role model, her friend . . . and saw someone she no longer recognized.
Arianna
Her whole body felt heavy. Phantom pains ached in her joints at the mere sight of Yveun. Her mind echoed with the sounds of her flesh tearing under his claws, and howls of rage at the man she wanted dead more than she wanted to draw breath, more than she wanted to tinker and invent.
Arianna was too eager to turn away from the space the Dragon King had just occupied.
No one impeded her short progress back to the guild hall. Part of her wanted to collapse under the weight of all her memories, every misfortune in her life that the Dragon King had orchestrated. Part of her wanted to personally wait where she had just stood for three days until she could tear apart the Dragon King limb by limb.
If she even could . . .
Doubt tightened around her throat in the shape of Yveun’s claws and Arianna didn’t know how to dislodge it from her neck, where it was slowly suffocating her.
“Arianna!” Florence’s voice was the only thing sharp enough to pierce the shell that encased the vortex of her thoughts.
She turned to see the girl sprinting toward her. Florence skidded and half-skipped to a stop. Her fist shot out, grabbing Arianna’s coat, jerking her away from the staircase she’d been about to use for escape. It felt like being thrown back on a stage she had been trying to avoid for days.
“What in the five guilds was that?” Florence panted.
“Let me go, Flor.” The machine of her mind was clanking loudly; too many wrenches had been thrown in it from different directions. Arianna couldn’t be sure what the output would be if she continued to be pushed.
“No, not until you give me some explanation.”
Arianna stared down at the girl who was holding her in place. In half a second, she could wrest herself free by breaking or severing Florence’s arm in the process. But Arianna would never intentionally hurt Florence.
“Explanation of what?”
“Why did you tell me not to shoot? Why did you offer peace?” Florence shook her head. Arianna knew she wouldn’t like the next words out of Florence’s mouth by the look the girl gave her. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’d like to hear this answer as well.” Gregory and two other vicars stood with a small but growing group who had made it in from the outside.
“I owe none of you an explanation.” They were putting her under a dangerous amount of tension with their demands and their idiocy. “If you can’t see the logic behind my actions, then none of you are fit to lead Loom.”
When he spoke again, Gregory’s voice was loud enough for all those assembled to hear. “How dare you. You’ve been nothing but unhelpful this entire time. If you’re on our side, help us.”
Arianna stared stubbornly back at him, her mouth pressed shut.
“As the Vicar Revolver, I want to know why you told a Revo not to take her mark.”
Florence’s eyes were torn away from Arianna at being called a Revolver by the vicar himself.
“Don’t call her a Revolver when it suits you to do so,” Arianna sneered. Her rage compounded. “That’s low, even for you, Gregory.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you really want to have this conversation? I know the rumors about the shots you take in practice. The faulty canisters you’d claim were made by your colleagues.” Arianna had carefully vetted Revolvers from the moment she knew Florence would need a teacher, and Gregory’s name had come up as a master with some flexible perceptions of morality—especially when it came to Dragons. He’d been a little too flexible for Arianna’s comfort then, and now.
“Lies . . .” the vicar whispered.
“Say it a bit stronger so maybe someone will believe you.” Arianna shook her head at the sad little man. “If Florence had fired, it would’ve done nothing but provoke the king’s wrath.”
“Something we already had.”
“And now we have something more: three days assured when we don’t have to worry about a Dragon attack.” Powell, ever the voice of reason. Arianna liked him more and more by the second. She used the distraction to jerk free of Florence’s grasp. The girl didn’t make a move to recover her. “We have a timeline for when our preparations need to be complete.”