The Rebels of Gold Read online

  If the Dragons’ notion of gods were true, Master Oliver would be in some infinite beyond, watching Willard achieve all the goals they had ever competed over. Oliver would also be looking upon her. Were her achievements enough to bring a smile to his face?

  By the time the Vicar Tribunal was called to order, the room wasn’t even half-full. No guild, at any point, ever had more than about fifteen masters. The Ravens were almost at capacity; twelve lined the seats behind the vicar. The Rivets had seven, counting Arianna—all fresh faces she didn’t recognize. The Alchemists had about the same count.

  The most sorrowful sections were the Revolvers, who had four, led by a new vicar who very clearly had no idea what he was doing. And the Harvesters, who had five, including Vicar Powell.

  Arianna looked around the room at the tired and unwashed faces. This was the best they now had. This was all they had.

  “I suppose we should begin with introductions.” Florence made her way to the center of the room when none of them did anything more than stare at each other. It seemed no one quite knew what to do at a Vicar Tribunal.

  “Vicar Powell, Harvesters.” Powell stood first at Florence’s motion. The room went around clockwise after him.

  “Vicar Ethel, Alchemists.”

  “Vicar Gregory, Revolvers.”

  “Vicar Willard, Rivets.”

  “Vicar Dove, Ravens.” The woman with the long black braid put her hand on her hip, tilting it to the side. “And before any of you ask . . . Yes, the name is really Dove. Always has been. Was born before the family law. No, I didn’t choose Ravens because of it.”

  Arianna leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Dove was the only one among them who had an ease about her. She was also the only vicar to survive the attack. Willard was the next-most acclimatized to his role. But even he hesitated with a too-long pause when it came to using “Vicar” in association with his name.

  Loom was a candle that kept being sliced into pieces from the bottom as it burned from the top.

  “Excellent. Well, then . . . Since we’re all introduced, we should begin by focusing on the issues of highest priority.” Florence grabbed a ledger she’d been carrying all morning. Arianna wondered how many hours the girl had spent preparing. “Foremost, Vicar Powell informed me of concerns with regards to feeding such a centralized population on ground that has no natural resources. I shall concede the floor—”

  “The issue of highest priority is the Philosopher’s Box.” Vicar Dove stood.

  All eyes were on Arianna. Unflinching, unwavering, Arianna stared down at Vicar Dove who stared back at her, trying to draw whatever height she could in intimidation.

  It wouldn’t work. Vicar Dove may have every experience in functioning as the leader of the Ravens’ Guild—the most reckless and freewheeling guild of the five. But the room had turned into a battleground, and no one had the gift of combat quite like Arianna.

  “The Philosopher’s Box will mean little if all of Loom starves before it can be made.” Powell remained on his feet as well.

  “If it can be made,” Dove retorted.

  “It certainly can be made.” Willard pushed off on his knee, bringing himself into a standing position and fighting for the floor. “I knew Arianna as a girl, and knew her teacher. If there would ever be someone who could make such a thing, it would be her.”

  She just loved being spoken about as if she weren’t there. Maybe if Arianna let them continue, she could actually sneak away and no longer be on display like some prize pig. Her fingers twitched, magic curling around her pinky. It’d be easy to illusion the room in a fog. They’d be none the wiser until she was already on a trike.

  “If it so easily can be made, how did none of your guild make it before?” Dove didn’t back down. “Or have you? And did you sit on the knowledge for years, locked away in your ticking halls?”

  “If anyone had locked it away, it would have been an Alchemist,” a master seated behind Dove remarked dryly.

  “Certainly not a technology we have had in our possession.” Vicar Ethel didn’t rise to refute the notion.

  “If it exists at all.” Dove gave a look back to Arianna.

  She knew when she was being goaded. The question was, should she let herself be? Arianna looked to Florence, who was allowing the volley of words from the center of the floor. Florence stared up at her with what Arianna hoped she read correctly as an expectant look.

  Arianna rose to her feet.

  “When I was seven, I left Ter.0 under the tutelage of Master Oliver. We travelled together around the world and ultimately back to the Rivets’ Guild.”

  “I didn’t ask for your life’s history.” Dove folded her arms over her chest.

  “Let her speak.” Powell, unnecessarily, came to Arianna’s defense.

  “Master Oliver, as some of you may or may not know, was the one who occupied the seat of knowledge for the Rivets on the Council of Five for the last rebellion,” Arianna continued, as though Dove nor Powell had said anything. There were some whispers at the mention of the Council of Five. “If you think talking on the Council of Five is still taboo, you should leave the room now. You’re all complicit in this new rebellion, and that will carry a far greater punishment than speaking on the last.”

  No one moved, but the room was thoroughly silenced.

  “Was the box developed for the last rebellion?” Powell asked.

  “Indeed.” The metallic contraption that occupied her chest, for the first time, seemed loud, as if it wanted to drown out her words—to conceal itself forever under her skin and harness and coat. Arianna pressed onward. She would utter this once, and then never again. “I worked with other guild journeymen in the rebellion on the box. We struck close a few times, but the difficulty lay in finding a way for the blood to remain clean, and the Fenthri body free of rot.

  “That was when Eva—” Arianna touched her wrist where Eva’s link mark was dated in ink underneath her skin. “—a fellow Alchemist in the rebellion . . . made a discovery.

  “We worked with a Dragon then, one who claimed to seek Loom’s liberation. Who claimed to be on our side. He brought a flower from the sky world of Nova.”

  “A flower?” Willard clarified.

  “Just so,” Arianna affirmed. “Eva noticed that her reagents didn’t deteriorate in the presence of the flower.”

  “Why?” Of course the Vicar Alchemist would be the one to inquire.

  “I confess . . . I never fully understood it,” Arianna admitted. “But, together, we found a way to temper gold with this particular flower.” She withheld the name for now; it was too early yet to give them key details. She and Florence still held power as long as they held pertinent information.

  “And how does all this relate to the box?” Dove asked.

  “Don’t you see?” Willard couldn’t stop himself. “A metal that purifies the blood by merely being in its presence.” He looked back to her. “Do the qualities imbued by tempering wear off?”

  “They haven’t yet.” Arianna saw his somewhat confused look and knew it was time to elaborate. “It was critical for all blood to pass through the box continually, to be purified and prevent rot. All blood passes through one location.”

  Arianna brought her thumb to her chest.

  It was a dark sort of amusement seeing who in the room could follow the relatively simple logic she was presenting them. Willard was the first to get it, followed by the other Rivets. Dove seemed the first, and one of only two, to get it on the Ravens’ behalf. It gave her some faith that all the vicars seemed to put it together.

  “Eva performed the surgery, both to implant the box and the subsequent organs to test that I would not fall.” Arianna drew the sharper of the two daggers crossed at the small of her back. “Naturally, I cannot show you what the box looks like at this moment, as I vitally need it where it is. But I can assure you that the operation continues to be a success.”

  Arianna wrapped her fingers around the blade and drew
it quickly across her palm. She held up her hand for the room to see. Blood, the color of molten gold, dripped from her palm and, in true Dragon fashion, quickly evaporated when exposed to the air. Her wound magically healed over; just like that, all signs of her being the Perfect Chimera disappeared.

  All signs, excluding the shock in every set of eyes around the room.

  “Traitor to Loom!” One of the Revolver journeymen was on his feet, finger pointed at Arianna.

  That certainly wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting.

  “You had this weapon and kept it from us? We could have been fighting the Dragons all along.”

  “I do not think a Revo should point fingers about concealing weapons from Loom.” Helen’s biting remark was thrown from the back corner but echoed throughout the whole room.

  “Do not speak of what you don’t understand, little crow,” a master Revo cautioned.

  “I kept it from Loom because I did not think we had the capability to unite together to use it effectively.” Arianna didn’t need to defend her decision, but she couldn’t stop either. She looked to the vicars, rather than the boy. She didn’t care if some little pistol understood, but the vicars must.

  “And look at us proving you right . . .” Her Dragon ears picked up Powell’s murmur. She was liking him more and more by the moment.

  “Furthermore, Perfect Chimera would mean war—something I didn’t think Loom could stand more of.”

  “That shouldn’t have been your call to make.” Vicar Ethel gave her a wary stare. “It should have fallen to the vicars.”

  “And what tribunal? I created the box following the One Year War. There was no effective communication among the vicars, especially none that wasn’t monitored by Dragon ears.” Arianna met the other woman’s gaze. “Furthermore, the Dragon we worked with . . .” Arianna couldn’t bring herself to say Finnyr’s name. And she wouldn’t, not so long as there was any likelihood that they would need to work with House Xin. She wouldn’t taint the relationship out the gate. “He was working for the king all along. We had spies from every angle, and that was before the box was even well known.

  “He was the one who infiltrated the rebellion and brought the Riders upon us. It was the dying wish of Eva, of Master Oliver, of every other Rivet, Revo, Raven, Harvester, and Alchemist involved that the research we produced be destroyed, rather than sequestered by the Dragon King.”

  The room was silent, an instinctual mourning toward the mere idea of destroying information.

  “But you didn’t destroy it?” Willard asked hopefully.

  “I did.” Arianna stared down at them all. She was only midway up through the room, but felt as though she stood from the parapet of judgment itself. “I torched it. My work, theirs, every last bit of it is gone. And then, before they could fall from over-exposure to magic from imbibing to fight off the Riders, or before the Riders could get their claws on them… I killed them. Every last one.”

  The air in the room was changing. It was charged with their shock and fear. And Arianna was the conduit for it all. She fed off it. She gleaned power from it.

  Below her, Florence wore the smallest of smiles.

  “And the box?” Willard seemed to be the only one who could find his voice.

  “Just the one.” Arianna tapped her chest. “And the schematics for it are here.” She moved her fingers up to her temple.

  “You’re a monster,” the Revolver from earlier whispered.

  “I am.” Arianna made no effort to deny it. Let them be so fearful of her that they left her to the shadows and obscurity she much preferred. “I am not Fenthri and not Dragon. I am not limited by the confines of what Loom knows as a Chimera, either. I am a creature of my own creation, and that is why, if I am to share this knowledge with Loom, it will be when there is a plan for how it will be used.”

  “What do you have in mind?” It seemed Vicar Dove had come around.

  “I—”

  “There’s only one.” An Alchemist was on his feet, a journeyman of little importance, judging from his seating placement in the back row. “There’s only one box and it’s in her.”

  “Leo—” Vicar Ethel gave a cautioning tone.

  “We just cut her open and see how it works.” The Alchemist looked to Willard. “You Rivets can take it apart. If she won’t give it to us, we take it from her.”

  Arianna was not about to feel threatened by a child who looked no older than Helen and had half the manners.

  “We are not going to take it by force.” Willard defended her. Arianna didn’t know if it was because of his instinct as her vicar out of respect for her work. Either way, she appreciated the gesture.

  “He has a point.” Vicar Gregory finally spoke up. “There is little time before we can expect whatever the Dragon King has next for us, especially grouping like this. We need to defend ourselves.”

  “A defense will be planned.” Florence reminded them all that she was there, raising her voice above the din. “It is why we are here.” She turned to the Alchemist journeyman. “Now, take your seat.”

  “You can’t command me.”

  “Take your seat, Leo,” Vicar Ethel ordered with a glare that almost swung to Florence after, for ordering one of her students.

  “No, he has a point.” The Revolver from earlier stood. “I say we kill the traitor to Loom.” He drew his gun, leveling it at her.

  “Let’s say you can kill me. Which is hard. Trust me, it’s hard. And you can quickly reverse engineer the box.” Arianna tilted her head to the side, her mouth curling into a grin. “I haven’t told you what type of flower you need from Nova. I haven’t told you the process to temper gold to get its properties. I haven’t explained the principles of the box. How long do you think Loom will last?” She held out her arms. “Fire, if you think you can discover those things before the Dragon King kills us all.”

  The journeyman’s hand shook, the barrel of the revolver making tiny swings through the air.

  “Or sit down, and let the adults figure out a way to make sure there is a Loom for you to inherit.” She dropped her hands to her sides.

  For a brief moment, the Revolver had sense. But Arianna gave the situation too much credit. She now lived in a bent and broken world, where tensions where high and trigger-happy Revo initiates were elevated to journeymen before their time out of sheer necessity.

  The boy took his shot.

  Her ears rang, magic quickly healing the hearing damage from the gunshot in the small room. Dust plumed from a pockmark in the stone of the tier behind her. Arianna opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was the sound of another revolver firing.

  Smoke disappeared from the barrel of Florence’s gun as the Revolver journeyman’s body hit the ground hard, blood pooling around his face from the bullet hole between his eyes. The entire room was silent. Arianna looked at the young woman who had been her apprentice. The girl she had pulled out of the Underground.

  One shot, and those images were gone.

  She didn’t know the woman who stood where Florence had been a moment ago. This woman moved the same as Florence, dressed the same as Florence. She even sounded the same as Florence. But Arianna saw her as if for the first time, and couldn’t help but wonder how long she had been there.

  “Now is not the time for dissension,” Florence spoke softly, holstering her gun. “We stand together, or we don’t stand at all.”

  No one spoke. No one moved. It seemed the whole room held its breath.

  “Do you agree, Vicar Gregory?” Florence turned to the vicar of the man whom she had just slain in a blink.

  “I do,” Gregory spoke after a long pause. “The Revolvers need to remember that for every shot we take, there should be two we hold back. With the power to kill comes the responsibility to protect life.”

  “Well put.” Florence looked back to the room. “And protect life is just what we will do, with the power of the Perfect Chimera. But first, I believe the Vicar Harvester wanted to cov
er some matters of supplies . . .”

  “Y-yes, thank you, Florence.” Powell cleared his throat, and launched into a lengthy discussion on their current resources.

  Everyone else seemed engrossed, but Arianna’s focus was entirely on Florence. She was avoiding Arianna’s stare, even though she must have felt the weight of it.

  Arianna hadn’t questioned the idea of throwing her loyalty entirely behind Florence.

  But for the first time, she wondered just what, and whom, she was supporting. For the first time, she didn’t feel like the most dangerous person in the room.

  CVAREH

  He’d somehow managed to avoid Finnyr for the rest of the evening following his brother’s arrival. Cvareh didn’t make himself too scarce, at least not obviously so, but the gods looked after him and put his brother elsewhere at all times. When dawn came, he soaked in his bath until the water was cold, changed his clothes several times, and took the longest breakfast he could out on his terrace.

  But just as Lord Xin came for all men in time, he eventually had to make his way to his brother.

  Cvareh wasn’t sure if he was surprised that Finnyr had yet to send for him. Surely, they had much to speak on. Petra had been the brave one of the three of them, the one who tackled problems head on—no situation too uncomfortable or frightening. Now, it was Cvareh’s turn to be brave.

  So, adorned with bronze pauldrons and a swooping blue cape that covered his left arm as he walked, Cvareh made his way to his brother’s quarters.

  Servants eyed him cautiously along the way, clearly not sure what to make of the youngest Xin sibling heading for the Oji. He could tell by the wariness in their eyes that they wanted him to challenge, while the hurt and betrayal there revealed that none of them expected him to do so.