“They treat us better than House Rok did.” The man across from her, a Fenthri with the Alchemist symbol on his cheek, continued to fiddle with the tubular object they’d been passing between them for the better part of the afternoon.
“So you’ve said . . .” Arianna mumbled, though she just couldn’t imagine it. Fenthri on Nova—not just Nova, but Ruana—the whole time she was there. There had been a taste of home hidden right under her nose while she was isolated in the Xin Manor, and Petra never told her. It was almost enough to make Arianna resent the deceased Dragon. “Didn’t you want to come home?”
“Of course, but it wasn’t an option.”
Arianna chewed on her lips and flipped one of her daggers in her free hand. She felt restless, uneasy. Was Xin any better than House Rok if they kept Fenthri? Surely, if conditions were so good, Petra would’ve mentioned it. Had she been conspiring to put another Yveun in power?
The idea quickly evaporated. Petra was dead and whatever kind of king Cvareh would be, he wouldn’t be anything like Yveun.
“Did you try to escape?” She wanted to find a way to make herself feel better about the whole situation.
“To what end? Escape would, at best, require a sympathetic Dragon. I’ve met Dragons I’d dare call kind, but sympathetic enough to just let me go? Certainly not.” The Alchemist, Luther, sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been here thirteen years.” She believed him, judging by the white streaks in the slate hair running back from his temples. “I don’t have that much longer left.”
“Hush.”
“It’s true and you know it.” Arianna kept her mouth shut, rather than argue against a fact. The man smiled tiredly at her silence. “I wouldn’t know what to do if I returned to Loom. From what you tell me, I doubt I’d recognize it.”
“Or maybe you’d know it better. It’s moving back to what it was before the Dragons.”
He held out the tube and Arianna took it, popping off the bottom and inspecting his work, making her own modifications. “I can’t believe you’re happy here . . . you want to be here.”
“I want to be here more than I wanted to be at Rok. I’ve had my own room, proper food, the ability to work. What more does a Fenthri really want?”
She withheld the word “freedom” for his sake.
“I’m not crammed in a single room like livestock,” he continued. “None of us are. None of us are beaten or debased. The ones Petra got out were the lucky ones.”
Arianna felt anger rise in her. Anger at herself, at the world she lived in, at the people she’d made into Loom’s allies. No matter what happened Arianna was beginning to wonder if Loom was trapped in an endless cycle of subjugation at the hands of Dragons.
It was a dark moment—perhaps one of her darkest—and the least ideal for her to see a Dragon, any Dragon. Naturally, Cvareh rounded the corner of the laboratory at that very instant.
“Ah, I see you’ve made a friend.” He beamed.
Arianna didn’t know what expression her face had, but it was enough for Luther to stand from the seat he’d been comfortably occupying for hours and make a swift retreat.
“Xin watch over you, Cvareh’Ryu,” the other Fenthri muttered as he passed. Arianna wondered if it had been drilled into him by force or if a Fenthri could actually believe such superstitious nonsense.
Cvareh didn’t even motion at the display of respect. His eyes stayed locked with hers, searching. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arianna had already decided she would not give him the liberty of having the first word.
“Were you going to tell me?” She carefully set down the tube she and Luther had been working on to transport the Flowers of Agendi past the clouds without damage.
“Tell you what?” Cvareh frowned.
“Tell me your sister was no better than Yveun.”
“What?” Cvareh hissed. “You know well and true Petra was not Yveun. Not by any stretch.”
“Then what of you?” She practically leapt from the chair. “What of you, Cvareh?” She rammed a finger into his chest, though she couldn’t recall crossing the room to get to him. “Are you any better than Yveun?”
“Arianna, what happened?” Cvareh clasped her hand with his. There was no reason why she couldn’t wrench herself away; she had the strength. But every part of her suddenly felt weak. Arianna couldn’t place why until she felt her eyes burning at their corners.
“Petra, you . . .you kept Fenthri as slaves.”
Cvareh’s head whipped from her to the door Luther had just exited through. Emotions swept across his face, beckoned by the winds of a truth undeniable to either of them.
Arianna stepped away.
And was tugged closer.
His cheek was against hers, staving off the first prickle of tears by pressing his flesh to her own. His mouth was on her ear, and he uttered promises she didn’t know if her heart could hear.
“We never saw them that way, Ari. We couldn’t get them home.”
“You lie.” Her mind knew better, but her heart begged to believe him. It ached for him despite herself.
“I never saw them that way,” he clarified.
“Set them free, then.”
“Is this your boon?”
“No, this is what you will do for me if you truly care for me.”
“And care for you, I do.” He moved the corner of his mouth against hers, and then the whole of his lips.
She leaned into him, matched him touch for touch. She hated herself for it, for needing it, for wanting it, for wanting him.
Eva forgive me.
“Free them,” she repeated. It was the only thing she could cling to. She’d lost all other dignity the moment her fingers curled around his.
“I will. When I am Dono, I will,” he uttered.
And then, the tears fell.
Not since the death of her master and her last lover had she cried. For what Arianna had just heard was the decree that would separate them; it was the utterance that would tear them apart as the great machine of fate continued to roll over the world.
He would be Dono, and she would be no one. That would be the end of them.
So, for now, she indulged herself. Arianna cast aside all pride. She pulled him by the scraps of fabric he called clothing and pressed herself against him. She felt the curves of that all-too-familiar chest, the swell of his pectorals before they fell to the dips of his abdomen.
Cvareh’s hands moved to her face, held her mouth to his, and they breathed together for a blissful moment.
“I will be leaving soon.”
“When?” The word was more of a gasp—part groan, into her neck.
“Soon. I must return to Loom. I must bring flowers with me. There are boxes ready for tempering; we shouldn’t dally.”
“When?” he repeated.
“Tomorrow? Soon.” She had to return to her world and leave him to his, or else they would fall into that contented state that dulled the pressing needs of all they had become responsible for.
“Then give yourself to me now?”
Like he had given her a choice. “I demand something in exchange.”
He laughed darkly against her shoulder. “Of course you do.”
“I want your lungs.”