The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga Book 1) Read online

  “People will find out you’ve left Dortam if you do any work.” Florence leaned back into the sofa with a small grin. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”

  Arianna glared in the girl’s direction. But unlike the ones she regularly cast Cvareh’s way, this look was light and playful. He’d begun to wonder as the nights slipped on what the real relationship between the two women was. They shared the narrow sofa while he took the upper bunk at night. Florence was too old to be Arianna’s daughter. Sisters, perhaps?

  “I’m going to heed my needs before I get all strapped in,” Arianna announced, donning her mask and slipping out the room—careful to not let the door open wide enough that Cvareh would be visible.

  “What will she do?” Cvareh asked. Florence looked at him, confused. He’d found a friend in the girl—that was undeniable. She listened to his questions and did her best to answer them. As a result, Cvareh picking her brain had become a quickly adopted ritual whenever Arianna left the room. “For work.”

  Florence made a noise of comprehension. “If we’re lucky, just some pick-pocketing. But I don’t think Ari has limited her skills to just that in ages, if ever. I’m sure there will be whispers of the White Wraith expanding her hunting grounds before we board for Keel.”

  Cvareh waited a long moment for Florence to expand in more detail, but she didn’t. For once, he decided against probing further on the topic. There was a worried cloud hanging over the girl’s head as she engaged in a staring battle with the tools of Arianna’s trade. It was as though she silently accused them for the habits of their master. While Cvareh found the woman abrasive, rude, and hideous, Florence saw beauty. He wondered where he’d have to stand to make sense of the White Wraith the way the young Fenthri did.

  “You two are close.” His observation wasn’t a question, so Florence didn’t answer more than nod. “How did you two meet?”

  “I was running.” Florence didn’t pull her eyes away from where they had fallen on Arianna’s gear, but she was no longer seeing anything in the small compartment. “There was a group of us…we all decided we would leave the Ravens together. We would strike out for freedom. But we were caught. Most were killed, some imprisoned.” The girl’s knuckles turned white from where they gripped the seat. Cvareh could hear her heartbeat quickening, the tension in her breath. She was nervous saying just that much. “I happened along Ari on the way and I begged her to take me with her. She agreed.”

  Florence pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at him with a forcefully brave smile. The crawling unease he felt at the sight of flat Fenthri teeth was beginning to subside. He stared at Florence’s rounded cheeks and delicate nose, her small ears and dark gray skin. She wasn’t pretty by any stretch of Dragon logic. But a little kindness was helping him no longer find her repulsive.

  “I guess she has a habit of helping people who need to get places.”

  Cvareh snorted at the girl and flopped back into his prior spot, knowing the woman in question would return shortly. “She’s helping me because she wants her boon.”

  Ari returned before another word could be said on the matter. Cvareh watched her work as she began to don her harness once more. He was beginning to have more questions than answers when it came to his boon holder. And, while Cvareh usually found unknowns challenging and thrilling, he looked at Arianna and only saw danger. Judging by the woman’s glares, she didn’t want him looking at her at all.

  Ter.5.2 had surprising splendor despite its uninspired moniker. Trains created a patchwork of raised rails across the condensed city. Smaller city tracks bumbled along, weaving in and out with open-style boxes filled to the brim with people. Busy streets hummed below them, their occupants unconcerned with the new travelers the vessel was going to impart upon them.

  Women wore corsets, tight around their torsos, which accentuated billowing blouses. Fitted jackets adorned with intricate embroidery and rope embellishments matched plumed hats and wide skirts. Overall, it was a sea of muted colors and industrial practicality. But Cvareh caught glimpses of brightness here and there. A crimson feather, a sky-blue lapel, a bright mint under-sleeve ruffle. Against the demure palette, these snatches of color seemed to shine like jewels in a mine.

  “You should begin wrapping up,” Florence reminded him.

  Under the weight of Arianna’s disapproving stare, Cvareh obliged.

  The train steadily lost speed and the station engulfed them. Metal ribs stretched glass between them, supported by stone columns on each platform. Men and women bustled along the stretches of concrete between trains, heading to and from their destinations.

  Cvareh stared in wonder. It felt like the apex of a world he had never so much as considered in all his years of life above the clouds. Six trains were lined up, two more platforms vacant. Conductors shouted and soot-covered workers hastily moved all the necessities required to maintain and fuel the metallic creatures. These were the vessels carrying the lifeblood of the Fenthri to and fro.

  “Stay with us.” A hand closed around his forearm.

  Cvareh followed the gray fingers up to Arianna’s covered face, cast in a plum shade as a result of the goggles he wore.

  “And keep your head down,” she commanded.

  He obliged, letting her lead him in tow. Cvareh swallowed his pride, reminding himself that this was not the time to worry about his rank and dominance compared to hers. There weren’t any Dragons to witness him deferring to a Fenthri, at least.

  Or so he thought.

  “Bloody cogs,” Arianna hissed. “Florence, stop.”

  Cvareh looked ahead, where the crowd thinned enough between them and the station’s exit to see what gave Arianna such cause for concern. Four Riders lined up along the exit. Each of them had a long strand of hair falling over their ears, every bead signifying a victory in a duel for their position. The shortest was ten beads long, which was nine beads more than Cvareh could boast had he decided to become a Rider at that moment.

  They were all shades of red—elite of House Rok, he had no doubt. He snarled instinctively under the tightly bound mask over his face. It was nepotism at its finest and a statement of where House Rok stood. No half measures, they said; Dragons were either for the House or against it. Those against didn’t last long.

  “Get yourself under control.” Arianna tightened her grip on his forearm, startling him back to reality.

  Cvareh relaxed his face and his magic with it. He would give them away with his hatred for the Dragon King’s House and it would no doubt play into Yveun Dono’s ploy with sending all his own.

  “Florence!” Arianna had taken her eyes off the girl only for a moment, but it was too late. Florence had approached the customs line with them a few steps behind.

  “Tickets,” one of the Riders demanded of her. Florence produced them—Cvareh watched as they quivered in her outstretched hand before the Rider snatched them away. “From Dortam? Your traveling companions?”

  “Are here.” Florence motioned to Cvareh and Arianna. “Though, I wouldn’t get too close. They have the onset of Necrotizing Fasciitis. I wouldn’t want you to catch it.”

  “Do they?” The Rider seemed unconvinced. Cvareh’s heart pounded. “Where are you headed?”

  “To Keel.”

  “Home of the Alchemists?” The Rider’s scowl deepened. He seemed to look only at Cvareh.

  Other travelers continued to go through the line of Riders without problem, a couple questions and they were off. The rider before them was suspicious. Cvareh could practically smell it on him.

  “If anyone can help the condition, it will be an Alchemist.” Florence took a step forward and the Rider blocked her path.

  “You smell like Dragon blood.” He looked straight over Florence at Cvareh.

  “Likely my fault.” Arianna lifted her goggles without missing a beat, showing her magenta eyes.

  “Chimera.” The Rider spat. “Filthy thief.”

  The Rider had no idea how right he was. Chimeras had a
poor reputation on Nova, especially since half of them got the required organs through illicit trade. Trade that Arianna engaged in and clearly took pride in, as her smile was nearly visible from under her mask.

  “Get out of my sight.” The rider waved them on in disgust and Florence took an eager step away.

  One of the other Riders called over to the man who had been interrogating them, asking what the holdup had been. The words were likely lost on his companions, but Cvareh understood the Royuk clearly.

  “Invalids and Chimera,” the Rider answered. “That’s what reeks of foul blood.”

  “How can you be sure it isn’t Cvareh, then?” the other Rider jested back in Royuk.

  Cvareh ground his teeth together at the use of his name without any titles. He could learn to live with the slight from Arianna, who hated everything, and Florence, who meant well but didn’t know anything. But these were Dragons. This was intentional. It was personal.

  “Inept and dirty blooded, sounds like House Xin all right.” The first Rider roared with laughter.

  Cvareh twisted and Arianna grabbed for him. But he was too far gone mentally and physically. No one would slight his House like that to his face, not while he drew breath.

  The satisfaction of ripping out the Rider’s throat was deep and true, but short-lived. Golden blood poured between Cvareh’s fingers, his magic preventing the rider from healing. The heart would die shortly, from lack of air and blood-loss, but by then the other three Riders would have Cvareh on the ground and vivisected.

  He could see Petra’s face, he could hear her words scolding him as though she already knew what he’d done and was magically whispering across worlds to him. His pride had blinded him and he’d lost sight of the long game. In defending House Xin’s honor now, he’d thrown away the possibility for his family’s glorious future.

  A dull thunk reverberated up through the Rider’s body and into Cvareh’s hand as a dagger plunged into the man’s heart. Cvareh felt Ari’s magic pulse through the Rider; the dagger twisted, pulverizing the heart before it retracted into her waiting palm. It was the first time he had ever been relieved to see one of those blades.

  “You idiot,” Arianna muttered, before she started on one of the other Riders.

  10. ARIANNA

  Dragons could not be trusted.

  She’d known this much to be true all her life. When the first Fenthri broke through the clouds of Loom and uncovered the Dragon homeland, it began a chain of events that proved Dragons were opportunists and liars. From the Dragon King promising equality between Loom and Nova, then enslaving her people, to the Guilds being overthrown and turned into a mockery of their former glory, to what happened the last time a resistance stood against them. At every opportunity, Dragons acted in their own self-interest, pursuing their own goals at the expense of others.

  Dragons could not be trusted.

  Arianna’s magic pulsed through her fingertips as she commanded the dagger at the end of her line like a barbed whip. It cut through the air with a sharp whizzing sound that rang louder and more true to her ears than the cries of the other Fenthri at the fight that had broken out among them. She managed it like a cat and a tail. It was part of her, but moved seemingly with its own mind.

  Her other dagger in hand, she launched at one of the remaining three Riders. Three Riders, and two of them—Florence wouldn’t be much help. Arianna loved numbers, but she hated those odds.

  Cvareh moved for the third Rider. His claws flashed in the sunlight that flowed unfiltered through the glass ceiling above. Her ears picked up the sound as they locked against the Rider’s, bone grating on bone.

  They had been through the line when he attacked. It made absolutely no sense. They were free and clear and there had been no reason for it. He had willingly endangered them all for nothing. If they made it out of this scrap alive he would have some serious explaining to do—assuming Arianna didn’t just get on the next train back to Dortam and leave him to fend for himself.

  That was an appealing thought, the idea of taking Florence and running from the fight. But Arianna didn’t give it too much heed. There was no time to think that plan through and besides, she was already committed to the struggle. At the very least, she’d get to slay some Dragons, and it was always a good day when that happened.

  The Rider before Arianna spun, kicking through the air. He moved with deft precision and a speed that spoke of no movement wasted. Arianna turned and ducked, the kick passing over her head. With an outstretched leg she tried to hook the heel that still supported the majority of the Dragon’s weight.

  The Rider hopped, shifting weight to the foot he was previously kicking with and—in one motion—bringing up his other foot into Arianna’s face. Her nose sounded like celery snapping; Arianna thanked every stroke of luck she’d ever had for the thick cotton covering her face, hiding the blood that no doubt exploded from it. She tumbled back, twisting the dagger in her hand to a saber grip, then lunged forward again, targeting the Dragon’s chest.

  A swipe of her dagger, a parry from the Dragon’s claws or a twist for Arianna’s blade to hit a shoulder, a forearm, a hand. The Rider took all forms of punishment in order to protect his heart—the one organ whose destruction would prove a fatal injury. The Rider caught one of the jabs of her blade and with a swift motion, snapped Arianna’s wrist with ease.

  Arianna cried out and retreated. She switched the dagger from one hand to the other, giving the bones in her right wrist time to knit. The Dragon didn’t want to relinquish the hard-earned upper hand and continued to strike. A blow to the chest knocked the wind from Arianna, almost rendering her twist to avoid the talons closing in for her throat useless.

  The hits racked up. Arianna struggled to avoid any significant blows. Punches she could take, but there were too many people around to take a hit that broke skin. As loath as she was to admit it, Arianna was outclassed. Her eyes wildly scanned the room, looking for alternative solutions, trying to formulate a plan.

  A familiar explosion burst out from behind her shoulder. It was the worst thing she had ever felt. It meant Florence had joined the fight.

  With a cry of rage, she ducked under the Rider’s open palmed jab. A claw caught on her shoulder, tearing through the white fabric and nicking Arianna’s skin. The Rider’s eyes widened, looking at the superficial wound that was already quickly healing itself. Arianna took the distraction as an opportunity and plunged her dagger into his heart.

  Two rose colored hands closed around hers and the Dragon’s stormy blue eyes stared into Arianna’s goggles. They were open, unfiltered. The moment before death could only beget clarity.

  “What are you?” the Rider rasped.

  “The White Wraith.” Arianna twisted her dagger and felt the last of the Dragon’s heartbeat fade against the blade.

  She pivoted. Her golden line wrapped itself around the neck of the Dragon approaching Florence in a rage, no doubt from the shot she’d just landed and which his skin was still knitting to repair. Arianna pulled her hands back, yanking on the line. Her magic did the majority of the work, but the physical movement was instinctual, like a mother wolf defending its pup. She wanted to feel the tension in the line, the closing of the loop around the Dragon’s neck.

  The refined steel cabling was nearly unbreakable, and though the Rider clawed at his skin, seeking purchase on the slowly tightening tether, it was futile. She felt his magic pulse against the line; it shuddered, the tempered gold refusing his command. Arianna pushed her magic a little further, dredging it up from her toes and drawing it out through her hands. The loop closed, decapitating the Rider cleanly.

  With a flick of her wrist, the dagger at the end of her cable twisted and reared back, stabbing into the Dragon’s heart for good measure. Severing the head from the body was good enough to merit a kill, but anyone who attacked Florence earned death twice over.

  Florence missed no opportunity. Arianna wanted to be proud, but the girl was worrying her half to death with t
his sudden bout of recklessness. It reminded Arianna of herself in the worst of ways. Flor popped open the hinge of her revolver and decided on a new canister with expert ease. She was a Rivet through and through, no matter what was tattooed on her cheek.

  Arianna had found the best teachers for her, and it showed. Despite having never been in a fight, Florence moved with the precision of a trained Revo. She kept only one revolver chamber loaded at all times so she could hand select each canister based on the changing needs of the conflict.

  Tracking the muzzle of the gun over the Rider that was still engaged with Cvareh, Florence planted her feet and pulled the trigger. It was a smaller version of the canister she’d given Arianna on her mission at the refinery—small enough that it required no extra magic besides what Arianna had stored in the gun with a flare of Alchemical runes. A beam of pure magic shot straight and true, punching a hole through the shoulder of the Rider that loomed over a bloody Cvareh.

  She stumbled, dazed. Arianna knew that look: glazed, dull eyes sent reeling from a sudden surge of foreign magic. She’d inflicted it on enough people to know it well and had seen it in Cvareh’s eyes when he’d imbibed from her.

  This was their chance.

  Arianna sprinted over to Cvareh, pulled him off the floor and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The man was built like a bag of bricks and even Arianna’s muscular legs strained against gravity, pulling him to his feet. If she could run against the slowing of time, she could run and support him—or so she told herself repeatedly. With a magical command, her line retracted, the gears in her winch box whirring.

  “Time to go!” she called to Florence.

  Her apprentice nodded. With a jerk of her hand, she snapped her revolver closed, another canister loaded in the chamber. Florence looked at the Rider, nearly recovered from her last shot.

  “Filthy Fen,” she sneered.

  Florence lowered her gun slightly, her aim changing from the Rider’s heart to her feet. Arianna gave an approving nod and Florence pulled the trigger. They had no canisters on them that could sufficiently destroy a Dragon’s heart. Their chest cavities were practically made of diamond. And even if they did, it would need to be Arianna shooting it in order to give the canister enough magic to be lethal.