Serpent's Blood (Snakesblood Saga Book 6)

by Beth Alvarez

  She shook out her skirts as she walked and huffed beneath her breath. Thinking about it replaced her tears with anger. The force of her steps kept both palace staff and wandering nobles at bay.

  Though she didn’t know the layout of the palace well, it wasn’t hard to find a doorway that led to the courtyards and gardens. Unlike the sprawling gardens of the palace in Ilmenhith, the Spiral Palace hosted spaces that were attractive but functional. The city crowded the palace from every direction, which meant the gardens along the sides were split by narrow cobbled streets that led to the stables and barracks hidden behind the massive, twisting structure.

  Firal had tried to look at the palace once before, but against the backdrop of fast-moving clouds and brilliant blue sky, it had proven so dizzying she’d almost toppled over. She was mindful not to look up this time, at least until she found a stone bench at the mouth of the garden and settled. From there, it was easier to observe the spire.

  The Spiral Palace didn’t twist the way she thought it might. There were no defined corners, but it wasn’t quite cylindrical, either. Now that she looked at it against the backdrop of the night sky, it reminded her of a narwhal’s tusk. She’d never seen such a creature herself, but they were one of many oddities that populated the books she’d enjoyed in her youth.

  The tower’s twisted form was dotted with windows and balconies, some lit and creating the notion it wanted to blend into the stars, as if it could. Aside from the twisted, ridged shape, the palace also resembled a narwhal’s tusk in color. Pale ivory, it almost glowed in the night sky. As tall and bright as it was, Firal imagined it would be visible from every corner of the Royal City. If she were staying there as long as she’d begun to think she might, perhaps she’d find out.

  She didn’t have time to contemplate that before a burst of energy in the courtyard in front of the palace made her skin rise in gooseflesh. She thought nothing of a Gate opening until a figure in soot-stained white fell through and landed hard on the stone.

  Firal jumped up and half ran to help, but the mage lifted one ebony-dark hand in signal for her to stop. The Gate was still open and he looked back at it, tense and waiting. She’d only met him once, but he had a commanding presence she couldn’t have forgotten. She’d wondered where Stal was during the banquet. Evidently, the war had begun without them.

  Long moments dragged by. The Gate closed without anyone else following, and he slumped back onto the pavement. It wasn’t relief that made him collapse, but defeat. He rested his brow against the stone, his eyes squeezed closed.

  Firal knelt beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t know whether to check him for injuries or get him to his feet. Instead, she opted for a question while guardsmen ran from the palace doors to join them. “What happened?”

  Stal lifted his head, his icy eyes somber. “The Collective has been shattered. Umdal’s outposts have burned.”

  14

  A Time for Action

  Firal followed on the heels of the men, biting her tongue to keep from chastising the Archmage.

  Stal could barely walk and needed the support of both guards that walked with him, but he refused to sit for even a moment so she could tend his injuries. Had he stopped to think, she was sure he would have realized he’d be able to move faster after sacrificing a minute or two for recovery.

  She was inclined to let him suffer, but the healer in her wouldn’t allow it. Not that she was sure she could do anything, considering the barrier over the city, but she was compelled to try. So she followed as the guards half-carried him to the banquet hall she’d just left. Stal would have to sit once he made it there. She’d help mend him then, assuming she could find a mage with an access stone among those gathered, and that she could still join power with another mage without having a stone of her own.

  With so many people coming and going, most of the mages at the banquet table were indifferent to one more person clouding their senses. The guards were harder to dismiss, though, and when one person at the table caught sight of them, everyone else turned to stare as well.

  Sera all but leaped from her place at the table. She flew across the room, wrapped her husband in a hug and buried her face in his sooty robes. A pang of sadness and perhaps envy hit Firal. When had she last seen Vahn? She’d lost count of the days.

  Stal pulled an arm free of his support, draped it around Sera’s shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. He balanced on one foot, which Firal noted with a frown. She suspected a sprain, since he could walk with assistance, but she supposed a fracture was possible. If it was a fracture, perhaps he’d been right to hurry to the banquet hall. She wouldn’t be able to repair a fracture as fast, but a proper examination would let her determine how severe it was.

  “The children?” Sera asked in a trembling voice.

  “Scattered to the winds. They will join us here when the mages with them have rested long enough to safely open another Gate.” Stal cupped her face in one hand and kissed the tip of her nose. “You know I would not have left until they were safe.”

  Sera nodded and hugged him again.

  Stal winced when she squeezed his ribs and Firal slid close to lay a hand on Sera’s shoulder. “Your husband’s been injured. Let’s get him settled. Archmage Kytenia and I can provide healing, if someone will work with us.”

  “I must speak to King Vicamros first,” Stal insisted.

  Sera snorted and slapped his chest. “Vicamros is right there, foolish man. You can talk while the mages tend you. I’d heal you myself, but...” She didn’t need to finish. Stal and Firal both knew the use of magic was discouraged during pregnancy. The new life inside her was too delicate, too easily disrupted or damaged by the fluctuations of power. No mother would risk stillbirth for sake of reaching power when another could tend what needed it.

  Stal looked as if he wanted to complain, but he allowed the guards and women to escort him to the table.

  Vicamros took the man’s arm and shooed the guardsmen away. He helped Stal to the chair Rune had abandoned, then drew Sera’s empty chair close beside it.

  “Your appearance bears no good news,” Vicamros said. He moved aside as Kytenia rounded the table with one of the Royal City’s court mages and joined Firal at the Umdal Archmage’s side.

  Kytenia was the stronger healer and Stal’s equal besides, but the court mage looked at Firal as if she expected to be led. Not allowing herself to be surprised, Firal accepted the silent offer of power the court mage extended.

  Access to her Gift came rushing back when their power linked, their Gifts twisted together like coils in a rope. Firal laid her hands on the sides of Stal’s neck and closed her eyes. Skin contact wasn’t necessary for her to investigate his condition, but she always found it made things easier.

  He relaxed and let his body accept the intrusion of her energies. It was an odd connection, unlike what she held with the court mage. It was more of a temporary link that let her probe the flow of life through his body with a sort of sixth sense. Healing was difficult for mages with other affinities, but as a natural healer, Firal found it almost as easy as breathing.

  “Bruises, mostly,” she concluded after a moment. “A severe sprain in his left leg and knee, as well as some scrapes. A burn of some sort. Lacerations on both knees. His palms, as well. Caught yourself on the stone, Archmage?”

  “You might think that,” Stal grumbled. “I was thrown more than I would like to admit.”

  Vicamros eased himself down into his seat. “I take it your negotiations did not go well.”

  “There were no negotiations. She demanded I give her the whereabouts of the rest of the Collective. I told her honestly that I did not know where they were. She asked after places they may be and refused to accept that our mages have no permanent stations.”

  Firal pretended not to listen as she gently snared threads of Stal’s energy and trained them on his injuries. She fed them with her own strength, coaxing bruises to fade and scraped skin to mend.
<
br />   Knowing Envesi had attacked the leaders of the Grand College and the leaders of the Umdal Collective in the same day made her ill, but worse was knowing the woman had left her vigil over Elenhiise.

  It felt like a wasted opportunity. If only they knew what to expect on the other side, she’d have mages help Gate her directly to Vahn and her daughter. The idea had occurred to her a dozen times, but each time, Firal had been certain Envesi was with them. Gating straight into the woman’s grasp could spell certain death for any normal mage. If they could unravel the seal on Rune’s power, it would change everything. He wouldn’t have to risk Rhyllyn’s safety, his ability to open a Gate on his own restored. Though he’d Gated them out of the throne room with the seal still in place, she knew she couldn’t rely on that as certainty.

  Even if he could do it again, there was a real chance that without his power, Envesi would kill him before he got that far.

  Stal quietly recounted the evening’s events, from Sera’s departure to the moment he’d escaped and the mages who aided him failed to emerge through the Gate they’d opened. Dead, no doubt, swallowed by the ruins of the burning chapter house.

  Vicamros nodded, absorbing everything without comment. In his silence, Firal felt her anger grow anew.

  No one told her Sera’s presence had been because Envesi had been to see them. Had they, she would have seized the opportunity to send Rune and Rhyllyn to rescue her husband and daughter. They couldn’t stand against Envesi, but the two of them could surely hold against Kirban’s rebel mages.

  “Do you want me to finish?” Kytenia asked softly.

  Firal started. Anger stirred power in mages, but rarely for the better. Stal had said nothing, too occupied with conversation to pay attention to the way her energies bubbled over and thrust against his, draining more of his reserves than necessary to heal the damage done.

  She swallowed hard, released the flows and withdrew her magic. “I think it’s all in order now, but please do check my work.” She kept her tone light and pleasant, like that of a proud student asking a teacher to confirm a job was well done.

  Kytenia took her place in the link with the court mage and inspected Stal’s condition.

  Shrinking back, Firal cast a furtive glance at the other nearby mages. Only one seemed to have paid her any mind. Even the mage she’d linked with was otherwise occupied in conversation. The sharp, judging weight of Sera’s gaze made her want to squirm.

  “I should go,” Firal murmured to Kytenia.

  “Wait a moment, if you would,” Sera said. Her voice was bright and cheery, betraying none of the hard calculation Firal saw in her eyes. “Rune went to his room with complaints of bruising and muscle spasms after the barrier threw him. He might appreciate a healer. Perhaps we should see to his injuries before we retire. Stal and I both have access stones, so we can assist you. We can inform him of these new developments, as well.”

  “Please do,” Vicamros said, rubbing his eyes. “He is to be among the mages that will sweep the southern continent to find the surviving pieces of the Collective, which must be done before we can push back against this woman’s forces. He will need to know what they may face. And be in proper condition to face it, too.”

  Firal fought a grimace. After this evening, tending Rune’s injuries in his private quarters was the last thing she wanted to do. There was little room to object, though, and she knew it. Until something was done about Envesi, Firal had little ground to challenge Vicamros. Though if the self-appointed Archmage had already turned against him, perhaps that had changed. Overturning Envesi’s rule of the island meant putting Firal back on the throne. Tragic as the attacks on the Grand College and Umdal were, they had the potential to be the best thing that had happened for her since this whole disaster began. Vicamros needed an ally to rule Elenhiise, for sake of the Triad’s prosperity.

  That ally was her.

  Garnering her strength with that knowledge, Firal did not protest when Sera beckoned her. She fell in step behind the two Umdal mages and the servant that led them. Before she could leave the room, Kytenia grabbed hold of her hand, and Firal paused.

  “Do you need my help?” Gentle and supportive, Kytenia would be her friend to the last.

  Firal mustered a smile. “I’ll be fine. I know you’ll be up all night working on that barrier puzzle. Just worry about that.” She tried not to think of her ulterior motive, though it danced across her mind. The sooner the barrier was taken care of, the sooner Rhyllyn and the rest of the mages could start trying to unravel the seal on Rune’s power.

  Kytenia gave her hand a squeeze. “Just call if you need me.” She let go and gave Firal one last meaningful look before she retreated to the cluster of mages gathered near Vicamros to receive further instruction for the night.

  Though the servant led them through the service passages to save time, they still walked far enough to make Firal’s legs ache. Sera said nothing, but she did lean on her husband for support and her pace slowed with time.

  “How much longer until your little one arrives?” Firal trailed her hand along the wall as they turned into another narrow passage. She would have liked to have someone to lean on, herself.

  “Twenty-two days, according to the midwives,” Sera replied with a hint of pride.

  “Not that she’s counting, as you can see.” Stal chuckled.

  Firal chuckled too, recalling those days too well. “Longer than I expected, if I’m to be truthful.”

  “Yes, this one has grown fast.” Sera grinned over her shoulder. “That’s why I am sure it’s a boy this time.”

  A boy. What Firal would have done for a son. “You’re blessed to have so many. I hoped for more, but Lumia is my only.”

  Sera made a soft, sympathetic sound in her throat. “My mother bore the same struggle. Like me, she wished for a large family, but ended up with only me and Garam. And the two of us many years apart, at that.”

  “One of many ways our Gifts are blessings,” Stal said. “You’re young yet, Queen Firal. There’s still time for that.”

  Assuming she was reunited with her husband, that was. Firal smiled politely and said nothing more.

  At first glance, the door the servant stopped at appeared no different than any of the dozens they’d passed on the way up. Then the man bowed and left them, and Firal caught the small details carved into the ivory stone around the doorway. Flowers and patterns graced the stone, so faint it was less a relief and almost more of an etching. A glance over her shoulder showed the door behind them bore a different pattern.

  She much preferred the halls of her own palace in Ilmenhith, where there were only a handful of rooms off each hall and the halls themselves were decorated in different colors. The palace here twisted on itself in a writhing mass of confusion, as hard to navigate as the ruins outside Kirban Temple.

  Giving her head a twitch of a shake, she reminded herself why they were there and straightened as Stal knocked.

  Long silence crawled on.

  Stal knocked again, harder. “Ruali!”

  Firal leaned closer to Sera. “What does that mean?”

  Sera raised a brow and whispered back. “Rune. It’s his name in Umdalan. The school is named after the region. I’ve always thought it funny. There he is Ruali Dreamhunter and here he is Rune Kaim-Ennen. No matter where he is, his name is a mixture of tongues.”

  “I suppose it fits him,” Firal said. “He’s always been a curious blend.”

  Just when Stal raised his fist to pound on the door, it opened. Rune rubbed one of his eyes with the side of his hand and glowered. He wore no shirt and Firal’s eyes were drawn downward like a magnet. She’d not seen him in any state of undress since their life together ended. His body was as chiseled as she remembered, but the slim silver ring through his left nipple was new.

  She turned red from head to toe.

  “Seems you’re not dead yet,” Rune remarked, giving Stal a once-over as if the news was disappointing. “Let me get a shirt.”

/>   Sera planted both hands on his chest and shoved him back. “How am I supposed to see what we can do about your injuries if I can’t see them? Go lie down, lizard.”

  He staggered back a step before he caught himself and braced against her shoves. “I was lying down. What happened?”

  “A great deal in a short time, I’m afraid,” Stal said. “I apologize. I know you need your rest. Vicamros told us he means for you to leave tomorrow. We thought it best you know what’s happened before then.” He motioned for Rune to make way and Firal was surprised when he did.

  “Of course,” Rune sighed, pacing back. “But why is she here?”

  The edge in his tone made Firal’s blood run cold. Every time she felt herself soften toward him, he grew icy again. Did he truly hate her so much? If he did, she had no one to blame but herself. She’d said the words first, brandished them as a weapon instead of the defense her feelings were. He hadn’t repeated them back to her, but she didn’t know what to think. His behavior ran hot and cold, one minute tempting her to fall into his arms again, and the next making her wonder if he had any feeling left at all.

  Right now, it was the latter.

  “The chapter house in Gand has been destroyed. The witch burned it. You will need to Gate in from somewhere else, but I can assist with that.” Stal spread his hands in a gesture that fell short of a shrug. “The Collective is scattered beyond the trade kingdoms. You will find none of them there. I expect there will be some in Nura, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell you. But you won’t be looking alone. The witch will be there, too.”

  Rune sighed. “So we start in Nura.”

  “Are you really going without a fight?” Sera asked.

  “I never said that. I have somewhere else I’d rather be.” Rune climbed onto the bed and turned face down in the pillows. “That’s not a fight I’m picking tonight, though.”

  He’d prefer to stay holed up in his mansion with his whiskey, Firal was sure. She stifled the thought and bit her tongue to keep it still. No matter how frustrating he was, riling him was never wise.