“Do you have a better idea?” Florence held out her hands, as if to receive some great insight from the vicar. “If so, I’d love to hear it.”
Gregory looked to the other vicars and masters. None came to his defense. “It will be easier to fortify the Underground with less,” Gregory finally murmured. “Even if we’ll be fighting on two flanks. Don’t know what I want to tangle with less . . . whatever could come from above, or below.”
The other vicars voiced their agreement, each one deferring to Florence. Arianna leaned forward again, inspecting the woman who stood in the center of the room. There it was, that same aura she’d sensed before—the one that showed the shaking girl she’d pulled from the Underground was no more.
And if that role was no longer needed in Florence’s life, what did that make them?
As if sensing her stare, and thoughts, Florence turned. They shared a long look full of questions that neither of them could answer.
“You will head to Ter.3 with Vicar Willard.”
Arianna knew it was coming because it was logical, and because logic could be used more effectively than the sharpest dagger. She wanted to object, to tell Florence that under no circumstances was she going to let the girl out of her sight again. She had gone to the world above and fell back to Loom below just for Florence.
“Go home, and make sure you know whose side you’re on.” Florence turned her back to Arianna and focused on the vicars once more. “We begin now. There’s no time to waste.”
None spoke for her and none objected. Arianna didn’t really expect them to. One of them saw her as a weapon foremost, another a traitor, and now two more saw her as their new harvesting experiment.
Arianna stood and excused herself without a word. She wondered if she was the only one who had just witnessed the true leader of the rebellion rise.
Coletta
The Gray Room was progressing nicely. Coletta ran her hand along the back shelf, where all manner of wicked-looking tools had been laid out in careful order. A knife was one of the most beautiful creations that had ever come from a forge. It could kill, it could save—it was both famine and feast. She picked up the item, inspecting it by the firelight of one of the two braziers.
“Will all this do?” she finally asked, turning to the man who stood next to Ulia.
“It should be enough, yes.” The Fenthri, Thomas, blended in with the room around him—rock-colored and bland.
“What else will you need to conduct the surgery?”
The man brought his eyes upward from their respectful downward cast. He took one more long look at the shelf in quiet thought. “Nothing more comes to mind. But again, I’ve never done this before.”
“So you repeat to the point of disgust.” If she didn’t desperately need this little man, she would do away with him on the spot. Coletta had only interacted with him a handful of times, but it was already too many.
“I want my queen to be aware that it is possible there will be failures before we see success,” he said. Coletta could appreciate one thing about the Fenthri: Their logical minds didn’t allow things like emotions to cloud their resolve, usually. Thomas didn’t so much as blink when he said the word “failures,” when what he really meant was “deaths.”
“You will not see success,” Coletta said softly. “Any success is mine.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my queen.” Gold glinted threateningly from around the man’s neck, but the collar was tempered to Yveun, not her. Nevertheless, Coletta could kill him in a second if she so desired. “I merely do not wish to disappoint you.”
“Well, that is wise. You shall have some room for trial and error.” Coletta set the knife down. She didn’t want to give him that leeway, but even she could recognize it was unreasonable to expect otherwise.
The Alchemist Coletta had brought from Loom years ago was, indeed, deceased. Topann had done well, finding a suitable substitute. He was older, but his black hair was only sprinkled with salt, rather than completely white. Thomas was old enough, however, to be born before the segregation of guilds, and he had spent time in his early years studying with the intent to become an Alchemist. When that no longer interested him, he’d switched to the Rivets. Between his knowledge and the information Coletta could acquire through her contact on Loom, she had faith that their research would yield fruit. How hard could it really be to stitch up some organs in a Dragon? There was no need to worry about decay, and they had ample power to heal.
“When will we begin?”
Coletta eyed the man. The question was awfully bold, almost bold enough for her to give him a warning shot. But she permitted it because she believed it mere curiosity rather than an indication of the false notion he could schedule his own timetable of events.
“Soon.” Coletta waved him and her flower away. “Ulia, take him to his room.”
“My room?” Thomas repeated, looking between them.
“Yes, I have prepared a room for you.” Coletta enjoyed the look of shock on his face.
“M-my own room?”
“Indeed. Ulia will show you there.”
His mouth gaped open and he looked between them many times over, as if waiting for one of them to correct the statement and inform him that he wasn’t getting his own quarters after all and it was back to the squalor he had known his whole life.
“Of course, my queen.” Ulia bowed and escorted the man. Coletta’s flower avoided touching him, for which Coletta didn’t blame her.
The Fenthri were dirty, rotten creatures that smelled and looked of death. Plus, if he tried to run, any Dragon would be twice as fast and kill him three times more horribly than he could ever imagine. By working with them, he now had his own room away from the cramped quarters Nova’s Fenthri were confined within. Any Dragon would look at his accommodations and think them barbaric, but after spending most of his life in the darkness of the Fen barracks, Coletta suspected Thomas would find them palatial.
With her business concluded, Coletta started back through the estate to her gardens. She looked out the windows as she passed them, her eyes scanning the skies for traces of rainbow. Yveun had left early that morning and now the sun was halfway through the sky with still no sign of him.
Coletta didn’t want to think of the Fenthri as being able to slay her mate. But with numbers alone, they had him. One mistake, and that would be the end of it.
The garden was catharsis. Her flowers and their many concoctions kept her hands busy through the afternoon and into the evening, when the sun hung low and the sky began to fade into Lord Xin’s hour of death. Coletta knew the moment the gliders approached, rainbows arcing through the air with a flash of brilliance.