“I make every effort.” Even if half of Coletta’s efforts were thwarted by idiocy or incompetence or the foolishness of the system she was forced to navigate.
“Speaking of efforts . . . I hear there is a disgraced Tam babysitting House Xin?”
“There was. Fae Rok,” Coletta affirmed.
“How fitting that Rok requires a wayward Tam to keep the balance with House Xin. It is in our blood, after all.”
“Rok name, Tam blood—together it’s a powerful combination,” Coletta answered carefully. She wanted to drive her point with the Tam’Ryu deep. “Our families making a stable balance, equal force . . . We both have much to gain, and much to lose if that balance is disrupted.”
“Tam will continue to defend the balance so long as House Rok continues to abide by Dragon law.” Tam and their bloody obsession with the law, Coletta thought as Doriv spoke. “And so long as we continue to be appropriately compensated for the assistance we give.”
They stopped again, now at the apex of the large loop that swept around the outer fields. A pathway split away through the hills, still paved but no longer covered. Usually, their conversation would shift back to veiled threats and jabs as they rounded the curve back to the estate proper.
“How lovely it would be to have some precious gold to adorn Tam’s castle.” The Tam Ryu turned in a different direction than normal, headed away from the estate.
“Perhaps some could be spared, as a gift between our families—a gesture of thanks.” Coletta heard the request clearly. It was a request that all prior conversations with the Ryu had prepared her to hear.
“I said it before, Coletta’Ryu—you are much too generous.” Doriv smiled, showing her razor-sharp teeth.
Coletta did the same.
Doriv folded her hands before her. “I hear rumors too that Yveun’s refineries are taking shape.”
That was the greatest lie of them all. The refineries were a failure. Difficult to maintain, difficult to feed with resources. They were glorified houses for the gold she had stolen from Loom, a fa?ade and nothing more.
“Would you like to see one?” Coletta knew better than to deny the woman, which would only raise suspicion. She knew the request was inevitable, but trusted that her carefully crafted plans would yield the expected result.
Coletta knew something was wrong the moment the wind shifted around them. The air smelled sweet, rather than sharp with the metallic tang of the refinery. She couldn’t demand they turn around; to do so would be admitting something had gone awry. But as the refineries nestled in the hills beyond the Rok Estate came into view, Coletta wasn’t prepared for what she found.
“It’s quiet.”
Damn Doriv and her observations. “We run it on alternate days, so as not to draw too much attention to it.”
The Tam Ryu gave a small hum of amusement.
“I can see the gold transported to you from here,” Coletta offered, trying to arrest their progress.
“I’d like to see these operations—temples of industry from the world below.”
Coletta had no grounds to object, so she didn’t. She continued onward and downward to the main entry. The tangy sweet smell became overwhelming; Coletta had no option to brace herself.
“We’ll head straight to the storehouse.” Whatever had happened here, Coletta would deal with later. For now, she’d show the gold she’d stolen from Loom, keep the illusion of a strong House Rok, and get Doriv out as quickly as possible.
“Lead on.” The woman’s smile was knowing, frustratingly so.
Coletta walked through the still passageways, trapped in by lattices of steel and iron, to a small storehouse not far from the outer edge of the refinery grounds. Coletta took a breath, unbarring the door.
Were it not for the dozens, hundreds, thousands of people she’d killed over the years, her face might have cracked. The room that she’d filled to the brim with gold from Loom, stolen from storehouses revealed to her by the self-styled Fen King’s notes, was completely vacant. A large pennon hung over a pile of hearts, dull and fraying already with rot.
Coletta read over the brief message, painted with the grease pencils the Fen used to mark various machines and walkways in the refineries.
After a long moment of silence, Doriv was the first to speak. “Coletta’Ryu, who exactly is the Queen of Wraiths?”
Florence
“I don’t call the shots, just deliver them.” Helen shrugged at a fuming Vicar Dove.
“We sent one hundred men and women to be made into Perfect Chimera, and you bring us only three back and ask for fifty more.”
“Again, just delivering the message.”
Florence looked at the delivery summary in question. She knew, better than Powell or Dove, what the request meant. They had precious few Revolvers as it was; to ferry them by the tens to Ter.3 was putting a strain on their ability to defend themselves in Ter.4.
“What are Willard and Ethel thinking?” Dove turned her attention to Powell and Florence.
It was a question Florence knew the other vicar didn’t really want to be answered, but answer she would. “They’re trying to encourage us to consolidate.”
“Then they should outright say it.” Dove pushed away from the table where the papers lay strewn, as if she was too disgusted by them to bear another moment in their presence.
The Alchemists had been sent ahead to Garre to learn how to transplant the boxes, and then become Perfect Chimera themselves. At first, due to “tempering issues,” the process was painfully slow. But, as was the case with most new technology, things improved quickly and efficiency increased exponentially. From the whispers, it seemed the Alchemists were content to stay in Garre for a while; it was a hard point to argue when that was the site of the boxes.
“I’m fairly sure they have.” Florence picked up the letter from Ethel that encouraged the rest of the guilds to come south. “It’s not an illogical proposition.”
“We cannot keep moving people,” Dove objected.
“And there’s the issue of Dragon attacks,” Powell added.
“If we hadn’t already sent so many Revolvers south, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Dove seethed.
“What’s done is done. There’s little point in arguing now.” Florence couldn’t believe she was younger than them both, especially not when they acted like squabbling children. “We should heed Ethel’s suggestion and relocate.”
“We just got to Ter.4,” Dove needlessly reminded Florence.
“We arrived at Ter.4 nearly eight months ago. And this move will be far less tedious with established rail lines. We can leave right through the guild hall. It’s a fairly straight shot south from Holx.”
“But we did just finish fortifying the Underground.” As weak as the objection was, it was still an objection and Florence couldn’t remember the last time Powell spoke against her. She hoped it wouldn’t become a habit.
“Fortifications in the form of blocking tunnels and building some doors,” Florence countered. “Hardly any significant investment of time or resources.”