The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga Book 1) Page 5

  A rumble shuddered through the world, rippling outward from the man at her side. The Dragon was quivering, his focus wavering. Ari pulled them into a side alley, then down a smaller, narrower walk. She got them out of sight before he lost his fragile control of time.

  The Dragon collapsed against the wall as every clock crashed back into motion around them. Sound assaulted her senses as though it were the first time she’d heard it. Smells were sharper, light was brighter.

  He slumped, coughing. Golden blood splattered the ground. It was going to mark, Ari noted, willing her senses back under her control. The Riders would know where they’d come from. Magic strong enough to send an organ into failure from one use would leave a trail, and the blood would set the Riders in the right direction. There was no going back now. They had to find Florence and get out of Dortam.

  “Here!” Ari thrust her hand into his mouth. It raked against his teeth, their razor points cutting into her flesh and drawing blood. The Dragon shook his head in protest. Arrogant beast, he didn’t even want her magic when he was so exhausted that his own was struggling to keep up the healing his body required. “The Riders will come. They will sense this magic. You knew that from the start.” Gold streamed down over her wrist and onto the ground from his mouth. “We have no choice now but to get to Mercury Town so we can get Flor and leave. So imbibe.”

  And he did. The lump in the Dragon’s throat bobbed as he finally swallowed the blood that had been filling his mouth—her blood. Ari felt her magic leaving her, flowing into him. She felt it being leeched from her body, fading before it became his.

  She’d understood the principle of imbibing before, but she’d never done it. His hand went up to hers, holding it to his mouth ravenously. His tongue was smoother than she expected as it lapped against the side of her thumb. His eyes met hers, seeking out validation for the understanding she was giving him—an understanding of her that was raw and base, impossible to gain from any other method.

  Ari wrenched her hand away, covering it with her other palm. Golden blood still trailed down his chin as the Dragon panted softly, staring at her. The wound under Ari’s fingers healed, leaving no remnant of his teeth on her flesh.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered. A threat lay under the words that warned if he were to speak about what they’d just done, she would make sure it was the last thing he would ever say.

  The Dragon wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing away the blood that evaporated quickly in contact with the air. He stared at her with eyes the same color as that blood. Eyes that now seemed to look through her.

  Ari felt exposed, mortal—even in her white coat and harness. It was terrible, and she hated him all the more for it.

  There was that same slipping sensation as he took her hand again. This time, Ari was ready for it. She let the world pass through her fingers as the seconds slowed and everything stilled. Cvareh had that same faraway look on his face, one of brow-furrowing focus. Ari only waited long enough to know he had the magic under control before they were off again.

  Just shy of eight minutes had passed when Arianna and Cvareh stepped into Mercury Town. They collapsed once more against a wall in some forsaken storage area packed with crates and barrels. She waited cautiously, until he coughed blood again, before shoving her hand into his mouth. The Dragon was no longer shy. Like a babe to a nipple he latched on, drawing life and magic alike from her veins.

  Ari bit the insides of her cheeks, keeping herself focused when her eyes met his again and that same sensation took over. A sensation of seeing him as more than a Dragon, as more than a person—of seeing more than blue, and gold, and orange. It was as if skin and eyes and hair were blending together to make someone with as much will and heart as she possessed herself.

  She would never let him imbibe from her again.

  Footsteps, faster than a Fenthri’s and closing in, echoed in her ears. Ari ripped her hand from Cvareh’s bloody mouth and quickly hid it behind her back, grabbing a dagger while the marks from his teeth healed.

  “Found you.” A mint-skinned Dragon skidded to a stop at the entrance to their alley. He grinned wildly, flashing every one of his teeth.

  Ari returned the expression, pushing her goggles over her eyes. Almost nonchalantly, she pulled cabling through her gearbox, clipping the end to a small loop at the end of the hilt of her dagger. “Yes, you did.”

  Her blood and half her organs might have been stolen from Dragons, but when Ari moved, it was like they had never belonged to anyone but her. The dagger flew out toward the leafy-colored monster at her mental behest. The Rider jumped, anticipating her attack.

  Vaulting through the air, he swiped for her face and neck. Ari ducked and reached for her other dagger, then spun upward, slashing in reply. The gold of her dagger rang out against a bracer over his wrist as he twisted and fell behind her.

  Bloody corona.

  The Dragon’s skin shone brightly as his magic was transformed into a barrier atop his flesh, keeping out her attacks. The one benefit of him activating a corona was that he could no longer expend mass amounts of energy on anything else. But when it came to removing it… There were only two options when a Dragon activated a corona: wait for it to exhaust on its own, or force it to exhaust with attacks.

  Ari wasn’t the most innately patient of women.

  Her dagger flew back toward her as the cord retracted. She arced it through the air and it rang harmlessly against the Rider’s shoulder as he continued to advance on her. Ari flipped her grip on her other dagger, crouching for a flurry of small attacks designed to tire her opponent.

  With a growl, Cvareh lunged past her. The two Dragons tumbled on the ground, blue and green. They were a jumble of claws and teeth, like two wolves fighting for the alpha position in the pack. There was no regard for etiquette or honor. Only the base desire to dominate.

  Cvareh recovered on all fours, his claws scraping against the ground as the two broke apart.

  “Cvareh Xin’Ryu Soh.” The Rider’s voice had gone deep and harsh, guttural. A heavy Royuk accent that wasn’t there before bled into his vowels as he spoke. “More like Cvareh Xin.”

  Arianna only knew the overview of why titles were important on Nova. She had chosen to study other things than the hierarchy of Dragon nobility and the suffixes attached to every rank. She knew enough to know that it would annoy the Dragon when she’d dropped the ranks.

  But Cvareh had clearly been making allowances for her as a Fenthri. When another Dragon chose to do the same, the rage was sudden. He roared and attacked faster than Ari’s eyes could process. Golden blood exploded as Cvareh’s hand plunged into the other man’s chest and straight through the corona her steel had been useless against moments earlier.

  The Rider coughed and sputtered, but Cvareh was more ruthless than Arianna had ever imagined—more than she had given the Dragon credit for after their first encounter. His hand closed, twisted, and pulled. In one motion, he ripped out the Rider’s still beating heart, raised it to his mouth, and bit down with a snarl.

  The Dragon Rider died instantly, the gaping wound in his chest still oozing gold that glittered and faded in the air. Cvareh stood and threw down the chewed remnants of the heart. “Dan Tam.” He spit on the Rider’s corpse. “All things were not made equal this day.”

  As if suddenly remembering she was there, Cvareh turned. This was the creature she had been expecting all along. Golden blood glistened on his face from where he had feasted on the heart of his fallen foe. He stood over the corpse like it was a prize—a trophy that illustrated what he was capable of. He was finally the monster she had been expecting.

  But expectations had shifted, and they both looked at each other with new eyes. The Wraith and the Dragon had shared blood. It was a step toward something she hadn’t expected—and certainly didn’t want.

  5. FLORENCE

  Instinctively, she pressed herself into the nearest doorway and glanced up to see the rainbow of color arcing down toward t
he other end of Mercury Town. Florence felt like she’d sprinted a hundred peca. Her heart raced and her breathing quickened.

  Fight or flight. Ari had explained the instinctual response time and again, but Florence hadn’t felt it much. Now, her mind was already clouding with the choice to stay or run. A glider landed on a rooftop in the wake of her indecision.

  The irony of Dragon gliders had never been lost on Florence. Dragon magic, inherently, couldn’t be used to manipulate anything tangible. But the moment the Alchemists and Rivets had expanded the refining process for steel, the whole world turned differently. Everything focused on the importance of gold: steel refined a final time with the presence of reagents—Dragon organs and blood. Steel transformed into gold was magic given form, and could be manipulated by Dragons and Chimera alike. It wasn’t long after that discovery that steam engines were replaced with magic ones, and the first of the Dragons’ gliders began to traverse the clouds.

  The gliders were shaped to give Dragons the wings of their namesakes, a surprisingly poetic choice by Loom’s standards. True, the Dragons themselves looked nothing like the mythical creatures in storybooks of old. They weren’t much different than the Fenthri in general form. But their gliders had wide, fixed, pointed wings like a bat’s, connected by a platform upon which the rider could stand and steer the mechanical monster with a combination of handles and mental—magical—commands.

  Harnessing enough magic to use a glider was something not every Dragon could do. Even Chimera—Fenthri outfitted with Dragon blood and organs—stood no chance of using them; too much magic was required. That fact had been one of many that kept the Fenthri effectively grounded in the land below the clouds, solidly underneath the oppression of Dragon rule.

  Florence was inclined to believe that even the strongest Chimera stood no chance of piloting a glider when the first Dragon Rider dismounted. Sparks of raw magic glittered into the air from underneath the contraption, fading into the haze that was Mercury Town’s omnipresent tenant. Pure power seemed to ripple under every sculpted muscle.

  It was easy to assess the Rider’s physical prowess, as the woman hardly wore clothes. Her breasts were wrapped with a sash tied from shoulder to waist. Her midsection was on display for the world, the same bright vermilion as the rest of her. More wrappings around her legs disappeared under a short skirt made of fur that left little to curiosity other than wondering what animal had died for her to have it.

  Her eyes shone like sapphires as they surveyed Mercury Town through her long bangs. A thick braid ran down her back and a single beaded strand dangled by her right ear. As if sensing Florence’s stare, she turned suddenly; Florence pressed closer into the alcove.

  The Rider issued some commands to the companion who landed next to her in the guttural sounds of Royuk. Florence leaned out once more and watched them with careful regard. They began walking along the rooftops with their long Dragon strides. She’d thought Cvareh had been a large creature, but these Dragons were virtual giants, nearly two times her size.

  Fight or flight. She had never been in a scrap before and she didn’t want her first experience to be with a Dragon Rider. She might be able to threaten some alleyway scum into leaving her alone, but a Dragon Rider would skin her alive. Florence stepped down out of the alcove and began to hurry for the nearest side alley that would lead out of Mercury Town. She wished she’d worn a shorter top hat.

  “Fen.” The Rider spoke the shortened slur for Fenthri with her thick Dragon accent to the assembled masses beneath her. “At the request of the Dragon King, we are looking for any who have knowledge of a Dragon that descended to Loom illegally earlier this morning. Those with information leading to his capture will be rewarded handsomely.”

  She’s talking about the Dragon Ari brought home. He was on the run from the Dragon King? He didn’t seem half as intimidating as the woman who addressed the alley beneath her. If it were true, it was no wonder he needed Ari’s help.

  The street slowed. Florence was forced to stop her flight so she didn’t draw attention to herself as the only one not gawking at the Dragon addressing them from the rooftop.

  “Permit me to rephrase.” The Dragon tensed her hands, claws shooting from her fingertips. “Come forward with information, or I will extract it from you with necessary force.”

  Mercury Town was the lowest rung in Dortam, a small corner serving the necessities of many, though only a few would admit to traversing it. It would be a playground for the Riders, a place where they could reap whatever havoc they so chose without consequence. No one would come to the aid of illegals and dealers. The Riders could be as vicious as they wanted and hide behind the curtain of self-defense or upholding the law should any try to call them to task on the matter. They all knew it, and the Dragon wasted no time as a result.

  The woman leapt from the rooftop, landing heavily on the ground. Crimson waterfalls poured from her fingertips, from the hearts she had ripped out of the two nearest Fenthri. Shocked onlookers wore masks of fight or flight for a brief moment, instinct surpassing all training. Half turned tail, fleeing. For the other half, conditioning won out as they boldly stood their ground.

  Men and women reached for weapons concealed underneath their frock coats. Gun-barrels of varying sizes were hoisted parallel to the ground, aimed at the Dragon. The rider brought her wrists together, banging them with a sharp metallic noise.

  The volleys would be useless against a corona. Florence knew it, and everyone else must have known it, too. But that didn’t stop them from firing anyway.

  Gunshots echoed over her hasty footsteps. She ignored the fighting and Dragons, focusing instead on turning down one narrow street, then another. Out of the flow of people, Florence tried to catch her breath and figure out her next move. She didn’t want to risk going home. The chances of a Dragon actually following her specifically out of Mercury Town were infinitesimally small—a number Florence had no doubt Ari would have calculated in an instant and told her not to worry over. But any risk that would put Ari in needless danger as a direct result of her actions was too much for Florence. That woman was way too good at finding her own danger—she didn’t need Florence’s help.

  The Dragon Ari had brought home didn’t seem evil, not in the way Ari had painted him. Florence was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, which meant these Riders were likely hunting him for some nefarious purpose. Florence constructed the story in her head and found it supported her decision not to go home.

  That meant she had to head to the bunker.

  The ground rumbled and the buildings shook with the crack of an implosion. The way the mortar and stone groaned was a symphony to Florence’s ears, destruction of an epic nature the likes of which only pure Dragon magic could reap. It conveyed a clear message: the Riders had no qualms about leveling Mercury Town on their hunt for Cvareh.

  Judging from the echo of the sound, Florence would have ranked it among one of the best implosions she’d ever heard. She was so enamored by it that she had to remind herself to be afraid. Her mental reminders were only partly successful, as she now harbored a secret desire to see one such implosion before they were done.

  Florence pushed off, her breath nearly caught.

  Ari had only taken her to their tiny safe room in Mercury Town once. It had been late at night, a time when oil burnt low and most seedy occupants were high on whatever the substance of the day was. Florence didn’t have Ari’s photographic memory; her muscles didn’t remember every twist and turn as Ari’s could.

  But her mentor knew how Florence’s mind worked. She had taken care to describe every step as they were taking it, utter every street name and point out every building flanking the alleyways on the way to the small room known to them as the bunker. The chaos and noise faded away and Florence focused only on where she was and where she was going. There was enough distance between her and the Dragons now that she didn’t need to be worried.

  Or so she thought.

  An emerald-skinne
d Dragon seemed to fall from the sky just before her. Men and women scattered in all directions like rats from a flame. Florence skidded to a stop, shifting her weight from foot to foot to prevent herself from taking one more step closer to the Dragon or falling backwards.

  Her hand found the grip of her pistol as her heart raced. The option of flight had been taken from her. Now she could only fight or roll over for the Rider—and Florence, student of Arianna the White Wraith, would never roll over. Not for a Dragon, not for anyone.

  “You’re the one.” The Dragon looked right at her with a sinister sort of smile. Even though he had the same elongated canines Cvareh had, they looked ten times sharper and more malicious in the Rider’s mouth. “Girl—”

  “I am not a girl.” Her palm was too slick to get a good grip on her pistol.

  The Dragon laughed. “You smell like Dragon.”

  He inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering closed. Florence toed a step away before they opened again. The Dragon’s eyes drifted to Ari’s bag, so recently occupied by reagents.

  “At least, that does…”

  Florence finally got a grip on her pistol as another implosion rang out from afar.

  “But whatever you had there wasn’t his. Yet you still have that pungent scent of House Xin on you.” The Dragon inhaled deeply. “Little organ trader, tell me, you wouldn’t happen to know of the Dragon we’re seeking, would you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That much was true. She didn’t know anything about a House Xin. “But I wouldn’t take another step closer.”

  Florence drew her pistol and targeted the man. She held it out with both hands, the skin on her fingers straining with the tightness of her grip. She wished her arms would stop shaking long enough for her to make a convincing threat.