The Rebels of Gold Read online

  Arianna tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting her breathing slow and her skin mend. In so many ways, she was her best in moments like this: alone, working for what she needed, taking odd jobs with a clear beginning and end.

  But that would mean leaving Florence adrift in a rising sea of chaos. It would mean never seeing Cvareh again. Arianna didn’t want to admit why that fact put such a profound ache in her chest. A life of crime and obscurity would have to wait, at least for now.

  Arianna opened her eyes and kept moving.

  The doorway opened onto a walkway above a large track. As she crossed the threshold, a trike came whizzing around a far corner, speeding underneath her in a blink. She couldn’t even make out that a person was driving the machine, and for that reason alone she was confident there was no way the Raven would’ve seen her as anything more than a rogue guild member wandering the halls.

  The Ravens’ Guild had a helix of two tracks spiraling around a central core. The only way to get up, according to Louie, was by driving one of those chaotic machines to the desired level. Down the curving track, a large yellow “2/1” was painted on the far wall.

  Well, that’s convenient. She didn’t have far to go. The item Louie had asked her to procure could supposedly be found on level two—the main train terminal for the guild.

  In the distance, another catwalk loomed above the track. She waited for two more trikes to pass before casing her line and perching on the railing. The drivers may not notice a random person on the catwalk, or a relatively thin golden line, as they no doubt focused more on not dying in a splatter on one of the curving walls . . . but they would likely not be able to miss a woman swinging from walk to walk.

  The sound of an engine in the distance announced the impending arrival of another rogue trike. Four more sped by, then there was a brief stint of quiet. Arianna took her chance, jumping off and using her magic winch box to pull her to the far walk.

  It only took three more leaps to arrive at the landing for level two. Steam billowed out from a large archway, half-blocked by a heavy steel door that hung partially closed. The tinny screech of train brakes echoed through the halls.

  Arianna watched as men and women flowed in and out of the entryway. Louie hadn’t warned her of this.

  The Ravens’ Guild managed the shipping and transport for the world, often using their guild hall itself as a key hub. It made sense there would be only one entrance—an entrance that could be locked down in the case of a nefarious force trying to gain entry.

  Arianna did the only thing she could think of: wait and watch. Ravens pulled up in their various vehicles, parked them, and went about their business. There was seemingly no order to their comings and goings.

  If only I’d brought my grease pencil. Etching the guild’s mark on her cheek would have made things easier, but she was hardly dissuaded. It was almost mechanical now, seeing different ways to gain access wherever she wanted to go.

  Arianna fastened the toggles on her white coat as high as they went, obscuring most of her face to the nose. She reached under the catwalk and ran her hand along the thick layer of exhaust grime that coated the wood and iron from years of use by all manner of vehicles. As suspected, her gray skin was turned black; Arianna rubbed it on both hands and applied it to her cheeks, then to her coat.

  She had three more requests of Louie. If she had one to spare, she’d spend it on demanding the man wash her coat himself, just for the sake of seeing the king get his hands dirty once.

  Goggles down, hood up, covered in soot and grease, she might be able to pass as a Raven. Between racing trikes, Arianna descended quickly using her golden cable. She scampered up to the parking area, crouching as one odd-looking four-wheeled vehicle pulled away.

  By the time another Raven approached, all they would see was a grime-covered woman hunched with her eyes on the floor, striding with purpose into the most important terminal in the world.

  She may not agree with the Raven mindset or methods, but Arianna couldn’t deny a cathedral of innovation when she saw one.

  Fifteen tracks, neatly lined and almost all occupied, sat underneath a vaulted ceiling high enough to stack half the trains on top of each other with room to spare. There were passenger vessels and cargo transports alike. One engine made Arianna do a double-take.

  It was no doubt experimental. Arianna had never considered that placement of gold before to help drive thrust. Half of it made sense, but the other half would likely result in inefficiency. Unless . . .

  She pried her eyes away. That was not what she was here for. She refocused on the windows that lined the wall opposite the end of all the tracks—the terminal offices.

  It reminded her of the last time she’d broken into an office for shipping information. Back then, she’d been ferrying a particular Dragon.

  “Watch where you’re going!” A Raven threw her a rude gesture as they narrowly avoided a collision.

  Arianna put her head down and kept moving forward. She had to get what she came for, and get out. She was allowing Arianna the Rivet and Ari Xin to exist where there should only be the White Wraith.

  It was amazing how little mind the guild members paid her. They continued along with their duties, oblivious to the intruder in their midst. There seemed to be fewer than she would’ve suspected, however. Perhaps they were thinned as a result of the shifting efforts due to the budding rebellion?

  Up two flights of stairs, Arianna found herself in another empty hall. This one was lit—a far significant improvement over her earlier wandering.

  Every office, save the first she passed, was quiet. Almost unnervingly so. Low numbers of initiates and journeymen, desks without people to man them . . . This was supposedly one of the busiest stations in the world. Why was it so quiet?

  Arianna made quick work of the door lock, easing herself into the dimly lit office. A single light for which there was no switch glowed overhead. A beacon perpetually shining, waiting for the trains that never stopped, even long after people stopped tending them.

  There was nothing particularly special about the room. But every detail was exactly as Louie had described. The desk—suspiciously wounded with a deep notch in its right corner—faced the doorway. Two bookshelves stood on her right-hand side, three on her left. Arianna went to the shelf in the farthest corner.

  19.32

  The innocuous number was imprinted on the second-highest shelf. Binders of identical size, shape, and color were slotted side by side along its entire length. Each bore a number on its spine in ascending order, the last marked 1081.

  This year.

  This was where Louie’s dictation had ended. All his careful instruction had taken her to this shelf, to the records all the way to the right. This was what he wanted her to steal.

  She opened the unmarked folio. A sort of Raven’s code was scribbled across from dates. Numbers and symbols, nothing more.

  Louie had no doubt assumed she couldn’t decipher the meaning. And, without more time, she couldn’t. But he was underestimating her, a mistake that many found harmful to their health.

  Arianna might not know the Raven’s code offhand, but she knew she was in the main terminal for the transport of all goods and peoples across Loom. She knew that 19.32 was a very specific number, identical to a certain density. And she knew one alchemical symbol that continued to appear across the pages: a circle with a ring around it.

  The symbol for gold.

  “All right, Louie,” she whispered. “I got your book.” The only linger question was what exactly Louie planned to do with it.

  CVAREH

  “Say it again.” Cain’s voice was the first to break the silence. “Say it again!” Never before had a Dragon growled with such rage. It would be enough to startle the Goddess of Warriors herself.

  “In light of these events,” the Rider continued, ignoring Cain, “Yveun’Dono, in all his generosity, has been gracious enough to allow Finnyr’Oji to return to these halls as your House’
s leader.”

  “Gracious enough?” Cain snarled. “Gracious enough? He likely killed her himself!”

  “Cain Bek, I will let this slide without a challenge, seeing as House Xin is currently in a time of transition—” The Rider would not even say grief. He wouldn’t give them that decency. “—But your Ryu is still present and, in such a case, can authorize a duel.”

  The mention of Ryu brought Cain’s eyes swinging back to Cvareh.

  Cvareh wasn’t ready for all the emotions and demands wrapped up in his friend’s gaze. He could barely handle his own emotions; how would he handle another’s? What did Cain think he could do?

  Petra had trained him to be her right hand, to function as she needed. He was a vessel for his sister and without her . . .

  “Are you really going to let them get away with this?” Cain demanded. It was a verbal slap across the face, a violent tug out of the ocean of his grief and onto the beach of reality. It was what he needed. But what he wanted was to sink into those forever depths that had the same chilling embrace of Lord Xin. “If Petra is dead, then—”

  “Enough, Cain.” Cvareh grabbed for the other man’s wrist the moment he saw the tension ripple down Cain’s bicep. If the man unsheathed his claws now, a duel would be inevitable. Even if Cain won, it would just throw the situation with Rok into further chaos.

  All eyes had turned to the altercation between the two men. The brother, and the would-be lover of the woman who had led them fearlessly toward a vision so many generations had never even dared to whisper, let alone desire. Cvareh didn’t know what to do with their attention.

  Petra would have known what to do.

  He cleared his throat and spoke words he never thought he’d say. “When will Finnyr’Oji—” his brother’s name tasted of bile “—be arriving?”

  The Rider’s mouth curled back in a triumphant smile. House Xin had always been the lowest in Dragon society, but this was a new feeling.

  “He will be sent within the day.” The Rider stepped leisurely down from the pedestal. “I hear the duel was fearsome. He’s taking time to recover.”

  Cvareh remembered Finnyr’s last altercation with Petra. That had been fearsome. He had seen it with his own eyes: his sister atop his brother, knees digging into chest, blood from his shredded face up to her elbows.

  “Recover under a Rok roof,” Cain mumbled, not quietly enough.

  “Well, he does feel quite at home there,” the Rider goaded easily. “After all, he’s lived under the generous care of the Dono himself for years. I couldn’t imagine actually wanting to return to these bleak halls.”

  “I chall—”

  “Cain’Da, silence!” The echoes of Cvareh’s voice seemed to resonate from half the open mouths in the room. Even his friend was stunned to silence. “The Rider had quite the trip here, and will have another long journey home. I suggest we let him leave with haste.”

  It was phrased to Cain as a suggestion, but it was a poorly veiled demand.

  The Rider flashed his canines to Cvareh first, then Cain, and then every Xin assembled at the manor on his way out.

  “You shouldn’t have let him walk out alive.” Cain’s bloodlust was insatiable. Cvareh expected it would be for some time.

  “Dueling him would serve little purpose.”

  “Petra would not have let him leave after such disrespect.” Cain found the spot and pushed hard.

  “Petra is not here!”

  Silence, again.

  The two men squared off, huffing short breaths that could just as easily become tears as they could become screams of anger. Cain’s magic ballooned to three times his size. Cvareh’s claws itched for extension.

  But Cvareh took a breath and stepped away.

  “Petra is not here,” he repeated, softer. “Fighting that Rider will not bring her back and neither will fighting me.”

  “So we are to tolerate disrespect now?” Cain motioned as though he was somehow speaking for the whole of House Xin. “We are to let them walk on us?”

  “We are to survive.” It’s what she would’ve wanted. Cvareh didn’t have to speak the thought to know the entire room was in agreement.

  All eyes were on him. They looked to him for answers he didn’t have, for plans he had yet to formulate. He didn’t even know what Petra had intended, all the moving parts that only she had kept track of.

  “This is what Yveun wants.” Cvareh didn’t know if it was pain or loathing that made him drop the Dono’s title in that moment. But he prayed it wouldn’t become a habit, and that the Rider was far enough away not to hear. “He wants us weakened, divided. He is doing to us what he did to Loom.”

  “Loom?” Cain was at him again. “You bring up Loom now? Are you Cvareh Xin, or have you given up your name like a Fen? What next? Will you paint your skin gray?”

  “I said silence, Cain.” Cvareh’s voice had gone quiet. He didn’t want to fight Cain, but the majority of the House didn’t know where he had spent the past months. They didn’t know who Ari Xin really was. “And yes, I bring up Loom . . . because they are the one chance we have to fight our way out from under Yveun’s thumb.”

  Cain eased away.

  Without the immediate threat, Cvareh could properly appreciate the confused looks on the faces of the other members of the House. Was now the right time to tell them? When would Petra have said it?

  “I will explain, in time.” The fewer people who knew right now, the better. Powers were shifting, and the world was changing around him. “For now, I need your faith.”

  “You have it.” A man Cvareh did not recognize spoke up from the crowd. Agreement was slowly voiced from all around him.

  Cain continued to glare.

  “Then we shall prepare for the arrival of my brother.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “Finnyr’Oji,” not just yet. “See that his quarters are cleaned and properly appointed.”

  Cvareh waited for someone to move, to execute his order, but all bodies in the room remained eerily still, all eyes trained on him, expectant. Finally, a woman spoke.

  “Prepare his chambers?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t see how he’d been unclear on the matter.

  “But Cvareh’Ryu . . . Will you not challenge him? Will you not fight to be our Oji?”

  Cvareh would have given anything to not have to answer that question.

  COLETTA

  The Rok Estate housed the most wonderful dining room in the entire world. It had a table made entirely of iron that stretched long enough for forty people to sit underneath a ceiling of frescos, lit by a thousand candles. It was a room of pure magic and power that would make even the finest Dragon blush at its decadence.

  That was not the room where she and Yveun dined.

  Instead, they sat at a basic wooden table, barely large enough to seat four comfortably. The windows were simple rectangles, the mullions made of pine. There were no adornments here, no paintings or carefully sculpted statues. Carved into the only entrance and exit was the symbol of House Rok. It took up the top half of the doorway: three triangles supporting a crown.

  Coletta looked down as the servants delivered their food from the kitchens. Her flowers would take over during the second half of dinner, when discussion actually began. For now, she’d let the average man and woman see her as the weak Ryu they all expected her to be.

  When the servants retreated, Yveun raised his glass first to his lips, then toward her. “You picked as stunning a vintage as ever, my Ryu.”

  “This is a new one I wanted to try.” Coletta watched how the crimson liquid coated the inside of the glass, trickling down in tiny lines. “It’s grown here on Lysip.”

  “On Lysip? Where?”

  “To the north. The rocky earth and claylike soil give it that mineral taste.” Coletta set down her glass. Putting her fingers on either side of its stem, she swirled it around thoughtfully. “It’s about time viticulture came to Lysip. While I appreciated the irony of House Xin making a crimson beverage I
think it’s far more fitting for this to be an area of Rok expertise.”

  “I never thought of the color.” Yveun copied Coletta’s motion before setting the glass aside.

  Coletta did the same, and the atmosphere shifted.

  “Fae is to your liking?” She phrased it as a question, but they both knew better.

  “More so than Leona, even.”

  That was the answer Coletta wanted to hear. “I believe she will be good for us.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Yveun chewed his food for a long moment. “She will be the ideal asset to finally hunt down the Perfect Chimera. Truly fitting.”

  Coletta hummed thoughtfully.

  “You disagree.”

  “Let the Chimera be.” Like always, the Dono was narrow-minded when it came to things that eluded him, things he felt entitled to. Ah, to have the mind of a man, and have the world rendered as such a simple, linear place. “She has already made a fool of you too many times.”

  “Which is precisely why—”

  “Why we will not allow it to happen again.” Coletta did not appreciate being interrupted. She inhaled. Yveun made no motion to speak, so she continued. “The next time you see the Chimera will be when her death is assured. For now, we must keep Fae here to secure order on Nova.”

  “On Nova?” His pores practically oozed sex at the idea.

  “She will go with Finnyr.”

  Yveun paused mid-drink, then slowly lowered his glass to the table. He ran the pads of his fingers over the rim of the glass. She could almost see him working out how quickly a boco could get to Ruana and back.

  “Would it not be better to keep her here? It will be hard for her to earn the respect of the other Riders if she is off in the Xin Manor. How will she win beads?”

  “She has enough beads for three strands of hair.” Coletta took a small bite of the meal. The flavors were well balanced.