Serpent's Blood (Snakesblood Saga Book 6)

by Beth Alvarez

  Vicamros closed the distance between them and clapped him on the shoulder.

  Rune returned the gesture. “I’ll tell you the whole story another time.”

  The king chuckled, though his eyes remained pinched. “That much of a story?”

  Grimacing, Rune said nothing.

  Vicamros nodded and let him go. He turned to face Firal and his expression grew cool, the practiced neutrality of a leader. “Welcome to my palace, Firal of Elenhiise. Would that you were visiting under happier circumstances.”

  She made herself smile. “Politics are rarely happy circumstances.”

  “True enough,” he agreed, motioning for her to select a seat. He rounded the table to take his place at the throne while the councilors drew back their chairs.

  Three of the mages slid into the hallway without needing instruction. The guards positioned themselves around the room as another pair stepped out and closed the door. No one else would be joining them, then. Firal chose her seat and sank into it as Vicamros settled into his. The rest of the councilors sat.

  “As I am sure you’ve heard by now,” Firal began, lacing her hands together to keep them from trembling, “Ilmenhith has fallen. I seek asylum in the Triad.”

  “Asylum is granted,” Vicamros said as if it were a given.

  “Thank you.” She straightened in her chair. “This morning I was attacked in my throne room by a mage who has freed herself from the bonds of affinity and warped her physical form. My people are in danger, but from here, I cannot act without assistance.”

  “What makes you think they are in danger?”

  She blinked at the question.

  Vicamros raised a brow and continued. “A kingdom is useless without its inhabitants. An empty country isn’t worth ruling. Keeping the people beneath her happy and healthy is in her best interest. Why would she put them in danger?”

  Alira cleared her throat. “If I may, Majesty?”

  He granted permission with a wave of his fingers.

  “We have no reason to believe she is of sound mind.” Alira cast a sidewise glance at Arrick. “She once led Kirban Temple. Despite leading it, she tried to destroy it.”

  “Worse still,” Arrick added, catching the cue, “we have reason to believe she was involved in the movement that began the Aldaanan war and ended with the downfall of Eyrion Tolmarni.”

  “You are familiar with her?” Vicamros asked.

  “I served penance as a mageling in the college alongside her.” Alira bowed her head. “I served under her once, before I had reason to believe she was mad. I thought she had the temple’s best interest at heart, but I know now I was mistaken.”

  The corners of the king’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t allow himself to frown.

  “She was exiled from Elenhiise for treason,” Firal said. “She ignited a war that nearly destroyed us, all for self-serving reasons.”

  Vicamros regarded her evenly. “Which were?”

  She hesitated. “She wished to seize power—”

  “You wish to seize power,” he interrupted. “Right now, she has it.”

  “It’s completely different,” Firal protested. “Elenhiise is mine by right!”

  Rune turned away.

  The old man in the blue robes coughed. “May I speak, Majesties?”

  Vicamros opened his palm in invitation. “Of course, Councilor Parthanus. I wouldn’t have requested your presence only to have you remain silent.”

  The councilor rose halfway, his hands on the table. “I am aware of these issues, somewhat. The old blood runs in my family, as you know. Relatives of mine were sent to Elenhiise centuries ago to aid the founding of the temple. The woman they speak of—Envesi—was never well liked by my family, even those who remained beneath her in the temple. They spoke of a conniving woman with dangerous methods. One letter I received from a cousin spoke of atrocities of magic, though he was unable to say more. If this truly is the same woman, then the temple mages very well may be at risk. Without them, we have only the permanent Gates. Trade would be throttled.”

  Vicamros leaned back in his throne and drummed his fingertips against the table.

  “The temple is within her jurisdiction now,” Garam said quietly. “We don’t have to like it, but it’s the truth.”

  “If I am to be candid,” the king began, still tapping his index finger on the tabletop, “I should let you know I’ve already spoken to an emissary of this woman. Lord Kaith had already told me of your situation, so I was surprised, but the woman was pleasant. She expressed a desire to keep connections between the Triad and the island, taking the mantle of allies without altering any terms.”

  Firal glanced at the councilors present. Aside from Rune, they all appeared troubled. His head was down, his eyes closed and his face solemn.

  “What did you tell them?” she asked.

  The king shrugged. “That I appreciated their consideration and would ensure our trade agreements remained healthy, for the benefit of both our kingdoms.”

  She felt a chill and tried not to shudder. “You were a sworn ally to me.”

  “And I cannot do anything that will hurt the Triad,” Vicamros said.

  “Is trade really so important to you?” she asked.

  He hesitated, glancing toward Rune. He still sat unmoving, not looking. Vicamros’s shoulders sank and he exhaled. “Important enough that I sent a friend to his death on your behalf.” There was ice in his gaze when he looked at her. Bitterness, as if accusing her of stealing from him.

  Her stomach tied itself in knots.

  “We can’t remove her from power without an army,” Alira murmured.

  “And I can’t act against the Triad’s lifeblood on the basis it’s been conquered,” Vicamros said. “Ours is a business arrangement. First and foremost. If they have no reason to eliminate that agreement, there is no reason for me to raise a finger against them. Better for my people if I don’t.”

  “And if they strike against the college?” Arrick clearly worried about just that. He wrung his hands and didn’t bother trying to hide them beneath the table.

  Vicamros didn’t bat an eye. “Then we address the issue when that happens.”

  The Archmage sighed. “The college—”

  “The college answers to the crown,” Garam cut him short. “You can’t act without the king’s permission. After your predecessor’s war, I’d think you’d know a thing or two about following orders.”

  “The college will wait for direction,” Vicamros said. “Unless the island acts against us, we cannot risk a mistake.”

  Firal’s heart sank and though she struggled to stay composed, tears pricked her eyes. She tried to understand his position. If the situation were reversed, she too would hesitate to raise a finger. But it wasn’t just the crown at stake. It was her family, her friends, everything she’d ever known.

  “I am sorry,” Vicamros added, softer. “My hands are tied.”

  “In the meantime, I imagine we’ll need to call a meeting of council to discuss the drafting of another trade treaty.” Councilor Parthanus stroked his beard. “She can’t simply take up the agreement without signing something, herself.”

  “In time, yes,” the king agreed.

  So simply as that, everything went on without her. Firal squeezed her eyes closed.

  Wood barked as a chair’s legs dragged across the floor. Her eyes snapped open again.

  Rune was halfway across the room before Vicamros spoke.

  “I have not dismissed council.”

  As if he hadn’t heard, Rune stalked out without a word.

  Firal turned, expecting the king to be angry. Instead the man looked startled, dazed, and glanced to his councilors as if unsure what happened.

  “He can’t possibly want us to strike them,” Councilor Parthanus said, almost as surprised as the king.

  Garam frowned. “Forgive him, Majesty. His life has been... difficult... since we departed from the Triad.”

  “Of course,”
Vicamros murmured, bemused. He sank against the back of his throne. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and exhaled before he returned his attention to Firal. “I am sure it has been a difficult day for you, as well. I am sorry I can offer you nothing more than hospitality, but you are free to make yourself at home in the Spiral Palace. Or anywhere else in the Triad you choose.”

  For now, she thought bitterly. After how easily as he’d turned Rune over to her, how could she expect he’d do anything less if Envesi asked for her to be returned to Elenhiise?

  “Thank you,” she made herself say, adding as an afterthought, “Majesty.”

  After all, she was no longer a queen.

  “I am sure you are ready to retire.” Vicamros beckoned one of the Masters closer. “One of my mages will see you to your quarters.”

  The woman bowed and crossed to Firal’s side.

  Firal pushed herself up. “Of course. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  Ordin followed her to the door, as silent as ever.

  The resplendence of the palace was a blur before her eyes. The mage droned on about their surroundings as they walked, giving directions and sharing history, but Firal didn’t hear more than snippets. Her thoughts hummed too loud, whirling pools of dismay that spun hard enough to make her sick.

  Her husband was gone. Her child, her kingdom. How could she save them when she couldn’t even set foot on the island in safety? She’d only dealt with the Archmage directly twice, but the tales of the woman’s disposition were legendary even before this new rise to power. The only way Envesi would let Firal back into Ilmenhith was if she crawled in on her belly, begging for it. And even then, that promised nothing for reuniting her family.

  As the mage opened the door to a private suite, she turned to Firal, seeking approval. Tending a guest was below most Master mages, but this woman knew Firal had been a queen and powerful ally. Perhaps that warranted some measure of respect, even now.

  “Thank you,” Firal managed with an incline of her head. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  The mage smiled, dipped in a curtsy and backed away to let Firal explore the suite in privacy.

  It hosted a sitting room with a small cot for a guard, reminding her Ordin still walked at her heels. A wide door at the far end of the room led to a separate bedchamber, no doubt. At least she could have that space to herself.

  “Give me peace,” she said to the captain as he closed the door. She never looked to see if he nodded or bowed. She paced across the front room and shut herself in the bedroom before gravitating to the glass doors that opened onto a private balcony.

  The Royal City spread for miles, the rooftops a blur through the tears that brimmed against her dark lashes. Firal sank to the stone balcony and hugged her skirts to her knees. She gulped for air as her control unraveled, and all the emotion she’d held back for days bubbled to the surface and spilled over.

  Crimson lit the sky as the sun set. It stained the clouds pink as the sun fell below the horizon and dusk swallowed the city.

  The wash of shadow felt like the death of all hope. Tears emptied her of pain and helplessness, leaving nothing but despair. Firal knew what was left in her power, but it crushed her to think of submitting herself to that woman. Had it been anyone else, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. To save her family, she’d do anything. But this was her mother. The one person she should have been able to count on, instead of the first person to use and discard her.

  Quiet footsteps made her sniffle and rub her nose. She hadn’t heard the door open, but over her crying, she couldn’t have heard anything. With the way she’d blubbered through sunset and dusk, it was a wonder Ordin hadn’t come to check on her sooner.

  Except it wasn’t Ordin who joined her. She blinked tears away, as if they were responsible for tricking her eyes.

  Green-scaled feet stopped beside her and shifted a moment before Rune eased himself to the floor. He didn’t look at her, his eyes trained on something in the distance, though she couldn’t imagine he saw anything clearly in the dark. Despite his lack of power, his eyes still held some of the otherworldly glow she remembered. The soft violet luminescence was more evident in the shadow of night.

  Without looking, he offered a handkerchief.

  Firal stared for a long moment before she took it and forced herself to turn away. She sniffled and scrubbed tears from her cheeks with the cloth.

  His presence was strangely comforting. He just sat there, gazing at the lights of the city without expecting anything from her. She sniffed and dried her eyes again, then offered the handkerchief back to him.

  He took her hand instead.

  Her heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed hard to put it back where it belonged. He didn’t say anything, just twined his fingers with hers and gently squeezed.

  Color rose into her cheeks and she turned away. “Now I know how you feel. Losing everything that was important to you.”

  “At least you can go back,” he murmured. There was no bitterness in his words, just resignation.

  “And face that woman.” She snuffled, wiped her nose with the kerchief and crumpled the cloth in her hand.

  He squeezed her fingers. “Don’t give up.”

  She fell quiet and watched the city. There were enough lights that the stars overhead were almost invisible, but the city lights flickered and winked the same way.

  “Will you fight for them?” he asked quietly.

  She snorted her annoyance. “Why? Hoping to learn by example?”

  His hand twitched in her grasp and she quashed her heart’s first response. She refused to feel guilty. She’d felt enough already.

  “I know I’m a coward. You don’t have to tell me.” His claws rasped against her skin, tracing absent shapes.

  The evenness of his response startled her. She couldn’t think of any way to give her words teeth so she let it be, falling short of scathing and instead reminding herself how different he’d become.

  He studied their linked hands for a while, then turned his attention to the city beyond the balustrade. “The first year was a nightmare. What money I had didn’t go far. I didn’t know the language, so I couldn’t communicate. Couldn’t barter. I had to hide what I was so I wouldn’t be hunted.” His claws grew still against her skin as a troubled look grew on his face.

  “Foraging was hard. I didn’t know the plants. Didn’t know how to hunt anything but rabbits and other small game. Turns out they’re harder to hunt when they aren’t trapped inside the walls of the ruins. Things were better when I made it to the Royal City. For a little while.” His mouth twisted with a wry smile. “Until Garam’s men arrested me for thieving.”

  Firal wrung the handkerchief, working it into a ball in the palm of her hand. “Rhyllyn told me about the Arena.”

  He grimaced. “It was nowhere near what he made it sound like, I’m sure. It was sheer luck that got me out alive. Turns out I wasn’t very good at fighting, either.”

  She didn’t reply.

  Sighing, Rune let go of her hand and raked clawed fingers through his shaggy dark hair. “I always thought I’d be able to go back. I didn’t know how. Everything I did was just to survive, scrape through another day, piece together more of an idea how I’d make it home. Then the war ended and the alliance with Elenhiise was established. I thought that was my chance. I stayed by that Gate all day, waiting for you to reply to that letter. When it closed, I...” He trailed off and turned away.

  Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “What Gate?”

  Puzzled, he frowned. “The one in Lore. When the Triad’s councilors went to negotiate trade of food and the establishment of a formal alliance.”

  She remembered that day as clear as anything. How could she forget? It had been her first victory, the famine solved, her people saved, peace established between Ilmenhith and Core. But a letter? She stared at him blankly.

  He searched her face, understanding slowly dawning in his expression. His shoulders
sank. “You didn’t get it.”

  What was she supposed to say? She swallowed.

  Disbelief mingled with disappointment in his eyes. “All these years—I—” He couldn’t finish.

  She couldn’t blame him. All these years, she’d thought he’d abandoned her. She’d forced herself to accept it and move on, letting her hurt fuel her desire for a new and better life. Knowing that he’d tried to contact her, that he’d been so close... Her heart ached anew and she lifted the handkerchief to her chin, sure she’d need it. But her tears were exhausted, and though her eyes burned, she was too weary to cry anymore.

  He buried his face in his palms and exhaled heavily. Slowly, he wiped his face and lifted his head to stare at the horizon again. In a moment, everything had changed. All the seething anger she’d sensed in him seeped away, leaving an air of deep and bitter regret burdened with deeper disappointment.

  She said nothing. No words she had could have given him peace.

  “I sent it with Redoram,” he murmured after a time. His head hung between his shoulders, his elbows resting atop his knees. He was deflated, defeated. “I told him to make sure it got to you. I asked him later if he’d remembered it needed to be delivered. He said yes, then never mentioned it again. I thought...”

  “That your answer came in silence,” she said softly.

  He let out a single humorless laugh.

  “I thought the same thing, you know. I kept hoping for contact. I...” She forced a smile. “I tried to open a Gate to you, but it failed. Then you never responded to my Calling, and I... well, I gave up.”

  A faint crinkle formed between his brows. “Calling?”

  She searched his eyes, but his uncertainty seemed genuine. Something inside her ached, and a strange tightness took her throat. Hadn’t he felt it? That he might not, that the magic-based summons might not work over a great distance, had never crossed her mind. She swallowed hard.

  “I tried twice,” she said. “After so many months of silence, I was no longer sure you lived.”

  That line between his eyebrows only grew deeper.