Arianna sincerely hoped they would see a next train, period.
A young man jumped from the engine, a filled Raven on his cheek. He looked utterly exhausted, but still determined. “Vicar Rivet.” His eyes scanned the three of them, waiting to see who responded, as though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was looking for. “I have a message.”
“Let me see it.” Willard held out his hand.
“It came by whisper a few days after we left Holx.” The man produced a hastily scribbled letter, depositing it in Willard’s palm. “That’s all there was.”
“Thank you.”
Most of the platform had cleared and, when it was apparent that the train held no more, Charles started to make his way toward the rail as well.
“What does it say?” Arianna wasn’t sure if she wanted to know, but when the vicar’s face fell, she knew she had to ask.
“What is it, Vicar?” Charles pressed gently, stopping.
Willard looked up from the letter, his attention darting between his companions. Arianna knew she would not like the outcome when his eyes settled on her.
“The Dragons have attacked Ter.4.”
Cvareh
His knees ached, and his feet had gone numb.
Cvareh knelt before the statue of Lord Agendi in the Temple of Xin. The statue was a spitting image of the mischievous, happy lord; he held his silver box, outstretched, cracked halfway, but his crown of flowers was hidden under a stone veil, the edges of the petals barely protruding from beneath the sculpted fabric.
The temple was the only quiet place he could retreat to now. The only place he could sit and think without his family’s questioning eyes, Fae’s unyielding presence, or Finnyr in general. But Cvareh’s peace was abruptly interrupted when another worshiper knelt beside him.
“Cvareh’Ryu,” the man said with a bow of his head. Judging from the man’s sky-colored skin and lack of tattoo, he was Xin—though Cvareh didn’t recognize him. “I thought that was you. What an honor to kneel before my patron with the Xin’Ryu.”
Cvareh did not have the heart to correct the man.
“Simply terrible, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Cvareh asked cautiously.
“The flowers. I made it out there today, myself. Sure enough, it’s as they say, almost half the island gone.”
“Flowers?” Something resembling horror dressed in the trimmings of panic threw its arms around Cvareh’s shoulders. The Flowers of Agendi were the one thing Arianna needed from him and his world. The one thing that could offer Xin the future they so desperately needed.
“Is that not why you’re praying? So that the dying Lord may find peace?”
“Please, explain. I have not heard this news,” Cvareh demanded quickly.
“Oh, no? I suppose not . . . I imagine the manor is still in mourning. It was just rumors at first—that all the Flowers of Agendi had disappeared from the isle of Lysip. Sure enough, there were whispers that Gwaeru was the same. I didn’t know what to think, but Agendi is my patron. Perhaps I didn’t worship at his temple enough . . .”
“Gone?” Cvareh tried to keep the man on track as his heart began to race. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I didn’t believe it myself either. Thought it was just gossip with a supernatural twist in the parlors at Napole. But I went out to the lord’s temple today and sure enough, half the flowers on the island were missing.”
Cvareh jumped to his feet. His knees had turned to gelatin from kneeling for so long and his toes started prickling up to his shins, but he ignored the discomfort. The man blinked up at him, surprised by Cvareh’s sudden movement. “Your house needs you. Go to the Xin Manor, and tell Cain Xin’Kin to meet me on the isle.”
The man pulled himself to his feet, confused but obedient. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s enough.” For now, Cvareh added in his head.
He was working on a plan as he went. He had been silent in the face of Arianna’s demand—holding back, waiting for her signal. It was a natural role for him, the same one Petra had carved for him. But, Arianna was not here. Petra was not here. Which meant if he didn’t act, no one would.
Cvareh mounted Saran, who had been perched on one of the high ledges around the Temple of Xin, and took to the skies.
The small pebble islands that floated between outposts and tethered the three main islands of Nova together whizzed under him, blurring into a line. Cvareh squinted ahead, looking against the setting sun for the island he knew well. Even among the howling wind, the buffet of wings, and his own racing thoughts, his heart reminded him that the last time he had flown to this island, Arianna’s arms were around him.
A dark speck appeared in the distant sky. Cvareh pushed the boco harder with a short, urging shout. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to get to the island and see that the man’s report had been nothing more than tea parlor gossip.
His shadow crossed over the edge of the island, soaring over greenery until—
Nothing.
The island, once filled completely with the tall stalks of the Flowers of Agendi, was nothing more than bare earth on one side. Cvareh landed his boco on the platform that was now only halfway surrounded by foliage. He dismounted, crossing to the dirt in a few long strides.
The cry of another bird distracted him and Cvareh turned on instinct, claws ready. But he recognized the creature, as well as its rider.
“Raku lets you ride him?” Cvareh phrased it as a question to Cain, but the answer was obvious.
“He does.” There was an apologetic note to Cain’s voice. “He came to me the other day and began roosting on my balcony . . .”
“I’m glad he returned home, and I’m glad you’re the one to ride him,” Cvareh said honestly, hoping to allay the guilt Cain clearly felt over being chosen by Petra’s mount.
“What is happening?” Cain looked around the island, the question layering in more ways than one.
“Rok.” Cvareh scowled.
“Why would Rok attack the Temple of the Lord of Luck? To get back at you?”
“No, Rok isn’t quite so small-minded.” Unfortunately. “The resistance needs these flowers.”
“The resistance? On Loom? Needs . . . flowers?”
“There’s something about them. They’re used to make Perfect Chimera.” Arianna could’ve explained it far better than him, but the point seemed to be made well enough. “I didn’t want to move for them too early, for fear of identifying them as important. Furthermore, they’re needed fresh; if the rebellion isn’t ready, we waste this resource.”
“Damn Rok is wasting them for us. Yveun must have discovered something during his trip below.” The parlors in Napole had been abuzz with rumors of the Dragon King descending to parlay with the Fenthri, but no rumors had mentioned flowers.
“We have to save as many as we can.”
“How?”
“We have to move them, replant them somewhere on Ruana where Rok won’t find them, but they still can grow.” Cvareh was formulating plans as he spoke.
“Do you have an idea for where?” Cain gripped Raku’s feathers and Cvareh could sense the ripple of movement about to turn into a wave of feathers.