The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga, #1)

by Elise Kova

She’d been eager for this job; the pay was astounding. But that hadn’t been what drew her to it. No, she loved the challenge of it, the way it dredged up patience and planning and calculation from her like rare minerals from a mine.

When Ari felt the tattered flaps at the bottom of her white coat hit her booted calves, she felt like a bloody god.

me when i wear a cool coat

She pulled a small canister from her belt, three notches marring the otherwise flawless exterior. Ari drew her revolver from its holster on her left leg and popped the canister into one of its open chambers. Malice. It surged through her, the will to destroy—the desire to burn and crash. The want to explode things into a million tiny pieces that could never have any hope of being put back together. Alchemical runes on the outside of her gun shone white as she pulled the trigger, and let go of it all.

very interesting alchemy having an emotional/will component

On one shoulder, there was a very sensible little version of herself reminding her that this was not her prey or her job. She’d done what she came into the land of Dragon dogs to do. She should leave and collect her handsome pay. In short, she should stick to the plan. On the other shoulder was a different tiny version of herself. This version was screaming bloody murder. Cut out his heart! It demanded over and over. It cried for her to do what she was made to do: slay Dragons. It wasn’t hard to pick which one to listen to.

The agreement was an ugly smear of magic across her tongue as the boon was formed. It tasted of disgust peppered with loathing.

The walking rainbow twisted off his ankle-length patent black boots and crossed over to the table in the corner of their flat by the small kitchen.

slay

“I have another job for your master.” “My master has already accepted something.” He gasped in mock offense. At least, Florence hoped it was pretend. “Who is the White Wraith cheating on me with?”

It was as pleasant to look at Louie as it was a hairless anorexic cat, almost as bad as looking at a Dragon, and he had an equally appealing sense of humor. But the man paid on time, never backed out, and never wavered on the terms of the job. It made everyone’s lives easier when Ari didn’t have to go on any collection trips. The woman could hold a grudge.

In less than twelve hours he had managed to find Ari’s last nerve, rip it out, step on it, throw it from the window, light it on fire, and bring it back to life, only to repeat the process twice over.

It betrayed everything she stood for, and everything she worked for. But Ari had learned, the hard way, that fighting for an ideal meant nothing if the people it was meant to benefit died in the process. She was not a proud creature. She was a creature that did what must be done. Her coat was on now, and she was again the White Wraith. A Wraith was above nothing.

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.

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.

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.

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?”

Arianna stared at him with her stolen eyes. Cvareh wondered what Dragon had given them up. Had they been killed? Or were they harvested and left to suffer as the organs grew back in their empty sockets?

hell yeah

He sighed again, growing even more tired of the woman. He avoided her questions, and she throttled him. He was smart with her, and she drew her blades. He told her the truth, and she acted like he’d told the most boldfaced lie she’d ever heard. There was literally nothing he could say or do around her that didn’t end with her maiming or insulting him.

Cvareh took a sharp inhale, overwhelmed by her scent as she took one step closer and crossed the threshold into his personal space. Her magic assaulted his. It made him hungry for her. He’d had a taste of this woman and now all he could think of when she was so close was the feeling of her, the rush of power as her magic encapsulated his. Yes, there were so many reasons why imbibing from the living was an awful idea.

Cvareh struggled to focus on her words, to focus on anything other than the urge to grab her and sink his teeth into her flesh again.

A hand floated under her chin. Leona lifted her face at the unspoken command, his fingertips hovering just over her skin—never touching. She should be thankful he avoided making contact. His hallowed flesh was above hers. And yet, by every God in the pantheon, she yearned for it. He owned her mind with his decree. He owned her soul with his very presence. She had nothing more to give him if he gave her his touch as well. He looked down at her, and she up at him. Leona reveled in the silence, in the feeling of his attention on her. It was that feeling that pushed her to victory in every duel she’d ever fought as the King watched on.

The woman had challenged her own father at thirty and consumed his heart in its entirety to gain his rank and title. They said she didn’t even flinch as she imbibed her sire’s still-beating strength.

She also had a knack for being more annoying than a no-title upstart determined to gain rank through a back-alley duel.

Her eyelids felt heavy as he ran a claw up the line of her spine. They were so close she could feel the air shifting from the movement, a hair’s width from her flesh. He still withheld his touch from her. They were nothing. But he was her everything—and what made them dangerous was that he knew it. His breath was warm on her cheek, the only thing he let touch her skin as his face hovered over her shoulder. She waited for him to say something more. The silence held ciphers of truths that lingered between them, written in a script that neither knew yet how to decipher. This would not be the moment they were given sound.

She had no choice but to scream and cry and shout and snarl, because she was the Master Rider. She was a dog let off its chain. She was the untamed storm. And she had been unleashed upon Loom below.

“Arrogance and confidence are not the same, but both will get you killed.”

He sunk his teeth into her eagerly. He fought to keep himself from tearing out strips of her neck in his zeal for her power. Cedar and honeysuckle flooded his mouth, mixing with the smoky musk of his blood spewed on her shoulder. It was pure power. It was the essence of life. More than anything, it was her. He invaded her through her magic, pillaging and rummaging through every dark corner. He could smell the tang of regret harrowing her behind every shadowed awning of her memories. He could hear the echoes of longing crying out through the lonely hallways of her daily consciousness. He could feel the heat from the flames that consumed her waking moments whole, a pyre in the lighthouse of her wayward morality that burned for one thing alone: vengeance. She was an enigma, a strange creature of contrasts. And, for the briefest moments when he imbibed off her living flesh and blood, she was his.

A Fen in white. No, no that wasn’t a Fen. That was a Chimera of a different variety. That was the source of the odd blood smell Leona had been tracking across two territories. The woman had a strange and cataclysmic sort of power about her. The madness and blood lust that surged through Leona’s veins seemed to cry out in recognition of an equal. An instinct that, even despite being faced with a Chimera, Leona heeded.

The rush of the chase was beginning to get to Leona’s head. She wanted to run down her prey. There was no darker glee that lit up her heart than the notion of a well-earned kill. And now she had two, Wraith and Dragon.

But the darkness that pressed in around her, eager to cut her off already from the light of the torch despite being only a couple peca behind, was hungry. It was cruel, and it didn’t have the sentience to know mercy. The only things that thrived in it were creatures who cast aside everything but the will to survive.

The Guild wasn’t known for their building skill or logical city planning—however good they were at cartography and public transportation. The Underground was mazelike at best, hellishly backward at worst—from all the different “builders” adding on at their own discretion. If that wasn’t enough, the deepest parts were said to be occupied by some of the most wretched creatures found anywhere on Loom.

She had never wanted Florence to endure the pain and danger of becoming a Chimera. She had never wanted the girl to feel the draw of magic, the lust of possibility for one more organ, one more scrap of stolen power.

The Wraith stepped away, reaching for Leona’s chest. She was going to eat her heart. Leona wheezed. She clung to life, clung to her duty. It was the best death a Rider could hope for, a death while serving their King. She clung uselessly and weakly to the woman’s forearm as the White Wraith ripped the remnants of her heart from her chest, bit into it, and ended the life of the King’s Master Rider.

Her mouth was eager to consume the sensation, to consume him before her mind caught up with the conscious awareness of who he was.

But a soul driven by vengeance was a selfish soul. A soul driven by vision was a generous one—one that bore itself before others and put the needs of the many before the needs of the few.