Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  They passed four landings, each of which branched off into winding pathways of their own. Firal gazed down the meandering tunnels and couldn't help but wonder if one of them led to Ilmenhith. She didn't know where they were going or why she was going along with it, really. All she could think of was having somewhere dry to rest.

  Her body ached with fatigue, but the stairway stretched ever farther into the earth. With one hand on the wall to aid her balance, she crept down the steps at as slow of a pace as she could manage while still keeping Daemon in sight. The longer they traveled, the more she wondered if they would ever reach the bottom.

  And then, without warning, the stairway ended. A smooth-walled hallway stretched on at length, and at the far end, a dim glow beckoned them onward.

  Daemon never looked back, but when they reached the end of the hall, he paused. When Firal reached him and saw what waited ahead, she couldn't help but gasp.

  The corridor emptied into a natural cavern, its walls so steep and smooth she might have thought them man-made, save the way they tapered to the ceiling some hundred paces above. The entire cavern bustled and roared with the noises of life. Wide stalls with colorful cloth tops created a market that spread almost from wall to wall, its narrow avenues packed with people.

  A shallow river intersected the cavern, splitting it into two distinct halves. Children played along the riverbanks while women washed laundry against the rocks. At the mouth of the river, far to the right, a towering waterwheel turned lazily against the cavern wall.

  “Come on.” Daemon jerked his head to the left and started into the throng of people. He led her downstream, where matching flights of stairs descended on either side of the river. A deeper pool waited below the wide waterfall, where children splashed in the foam.

  Firal's eyes traced the water and then scaled the walls. Doorways, walkways, and windows were chiseled into the stone walls beyond the market, some of them glowing with candlelight. The sense of awe that washed over her made her feel as if she'd shrunk. “I can't believe there's an entire city down here.”

  Daemon made a sound of displeasure. “Where did you think we lived? In a dirt hole?”

  “I just didn't think it would be like this.” She hurried to close the distance between them. “There are so many people.”

  “Our numbers aren't as small as the stories tell,” he agreed.

  The stairs tapered and then flattened into a narrow path that meandered alongside the river. Some distance ahead, a sheer, black stone wall rose to block the way. Narrow archways in its face allowed a thin stream of people to pass farther into the underground. The crowd parted with warm smiles and bows of deference as Daemon led her that way.

  “You certainly are well respected,” Firal said.

  “I am their general and the right hand of their queen. If nothing else, they would respect the title.” He sounded indifferent, though the stiffness of his shrug implied otherwise.

  “Are we speaking now?” she asked.

  “You're speaking.”

  And he was angry at her, she concluded. No surprise. She wasn't thrilled, either, but at least she was out of the rain. “That man in the ruins above,” she began quietly.

  Daemon paused and turned an ear toward her.

  She swallowed. “He said you promised them a mage. What did he mean?”

  He stood still for a time, not seeming to notice the stream of people who flowed around them like a parting river. Eventually, he resumed walking. The stiffness was still there. “I would have thought you'd take the time to learn at least something about us before returning.”

  “How was I to do that?” She lifted her chin. “The temple's library burned, remember?”

  He grunted. “What you heard is everything you need to know. I promised the Underlings a mage. Though when I promised that, I meant me.”

  Firal stopped dead in her tracks as they stepped through the archway. Narrow shafts of sunlight spilled in from far overhead, illuminating a wide avenue that ringed what she could only describe as an underground tower, the railless walkway spiraling both upward and down in perfectly spaced tiers. To Firal's right, a graceful stone bridge spanned the river. The water poured off a ledge beneath the bridge without a sound, the noise of the waterfall lost somewhere below. The wide central shaft of the tower plunged so far into the earth that the bottom could not be seen. Suddenly weak in the knees, Firal staggered back against the wall.

  Daemon snickered at her terrified expression. “Don't worry. You'll get used to it. Walk beside the wall, you'll be fine.”

  “Walk? I can't even stand!” she cried as her legs tried to buckle beneath her.

  A man with a rough wooden cart passed between them. As if to torment her, Daemon stepped backward, toward the edge. He watched the cart go by, then moved to assist her. Or, she'd thought it was meant to be assistance. There was nothing kind in the way he grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet.

  “Keep a hand on the wall,” he said. “Even if heights make you dizzy, a hand on the wall will keep you grounded.”

  Firal clutched his arm with one hand and draped the gown she still carried over her shoulder with the other. When her free hand found the wall, the black stone was glass-smooth beneath her palm.

  Daemon led her downward through the tower's counter-clockwise spiral. Hallways branched from the main path at regular intervals. Glass-paned lamps dotted their walls, though few were lit. The foot traffic grew thinner as they traveled, revealing the reason so many halls were dark.

  “Where are we going?” Firal shuffled along with both hands on the walls and tried to retreat into each dark hallway they passed. Daemon refused to let her, and she found herself scowling before long. Dark was infinitely preferable to the pit, especially when she could make her own light.

  “To your new home,” Daemon said. “As Davan said, I promised them a mage.”

  She sniffed. “And you never thought to ask me whether I wanted to live here before abducting me?”

  His head rolled back in the most exaggerated gesture she'd ever seen. “No one is forcing you to do anything. You were free to go from the moment Davan let go of your arm. You chose to come with us. You walked here and followed me into the underground of your own accord.”

  Her cheeks heated. He was right; she'd come willingly, had not so much as questioned her own decision. And why not? Why, after everything that had happened, did she immediately feel so comfortable with Daemon and his men? She eyed him, suddenly ill at ease. “Why are you the one bringing me here? Why not the man who suggested it?”

  “Because I am the one with the authority to allow you to stay here. Davan is free to offer his home, but there are only two who can allow you into Core. I don't imagine you want to try your luck with the other.”

  Firal swallowed. She remembered the frigid hate in the Underling queen's eyes too well. “Where will I be staying? With Davan?”

  “For now. There are empty rooms all throughout Core, but nothing ready for occupants. Davan's family will be glad to keep you, for the time being. They'll be pleased to meet a mage in person, I'm sure.” He paused and turned, his snakelike eyes raking her from head to foot. “You'll have to do.”

  The insult made her breath catch and a heated response burned on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back and let it burn in her belly instead. Whether or not she liked it, she'd gotten herself into a precarious situation. If Daemon was being truthful and she was there of her own free will, then it was an opportunity she couldn't lose. The market beside the underground river presented a valuable chance to gather supplies for the trip to Ilmenhith. She had little to barter with, but if the Underlings truly desired a mage's presence, perhaps that was enough.

  Of course, if they kept creeping downward into the belly of the earth, she wasn't certain she could bear to return alongside that dreadful chasm. “How much farther?” she asked.

  “The home you'll be staying in is on the third ring down from the waterfall,” Daemon said. �
�If you moved faster than a snail, we'd be there already.”

  Firal leaned to the side to see past him and groaned when she spotted the waterfall just ahead. They'd not even made a full revolution around the cylindrical pit. Frustrated, she hurried forward and attached herself to his arm. He twitched in surprise and his step faltered.

  “If I fall, you're going with me.” She set her jaw and held tight, half expecting he would shake her off. Instead, he responded with an almost imperceptible shrug and continued down the spiral.

  They drew curious looks from the passers-by as they walked. Firal stared back at them with a frown. “I don't understand why all these people are here,” she murmured. “They all look human.”

  “What is there to understand?” Daemon asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “They look human because they are human. What did you think Underlings were?”

  “I... I don't know,” she admitted as she glanced up at him. He'd been the first she'd seen. She'd assumed the rest of their kind would be like him. Foolish, in retrospect. Lumia had been human. Or at least human enough.

  He gave her a sidewise look. “And what are the Eldani but humans with longer lifespans?”

  “Humans can't use magic,” Firal protested.

  The light of his eyes flickered behind his mask. “Of course they can. Anyone can use magic, but they have to believe in it, first.”

  She couldn't resist an eye roll. “Believing in something doesn't make it exist.”

  “No, but when people stop believing in things, they eventually stop existing.” His shoulders rose in another faint shrug. “Myths remain, but nothing else. Stories of things like dragons persist, yet they stopped existing long ago. How long until things like magic and the Eldani join their ranks?”

  Firal scoffed. “People would never stop believing in magic.”

  “Do you believe in fairies?”

  A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “No.”

  Daemon gave his head a grim shake. “Well then, I hope you realize you're contributing to their extinction.”

  The absurdity made her grimace, but she thought better of challenging it. “In any case, I've never seen a human who was Gifted.”

  “Half-bloods, even humans, can make perfectly adept mages.” Daemon turned to lead her into a hallway. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the halls. Firal scanned the walls in search of markings like he'd shown her before, but saw nothing. How did he know where to go? The curve of the central walkway meant there were no turns to keep track of, no clear markers to show how far they'd gone.

  “Half-bloods are uncommon, though,” Firal said. “Their numbers are so minuscule they hardly account for anything.”

  “And yet, if they're so rare, how come you know several? There's even a half-blood Master, is there not?”

  “There is, but...” She gave him a sudden suspicious glance. “And what about you? You're Gifted, and you're certainly no half-blood.”

  “Prying won't get you far. I'm not entirely sure what I am, myself.”

  Her brows lifted, then knit together in confusion. “You don't know?”

  “It's difficult to explain.” His shoulders moved; she thought he winced behind his mask. “I'd rather not discuss this now.”

  Despite the new questions that itched in her mind, Firal didn't press.

  They walked for some time before Daemon stopped to rap on a door. The entire corridor was lined with doors that looked the same, though each bore an etching of a different symbol just above the latch. She could not read them, but it was little wonder he could.

  The door swung open without a sound and the woman behind it caught Firal off guard. She was small of stature and kind-faced, with rosy cheeks and dark hair. Fine lines skirted the corners of her eyes and mouth, but she didn't look old, merely worn.

  “My Lord Daemon,” she gasped, giving a deep bow. “And a stranger! Oh, goodness. Please, come in, both of you. I am honored. Please, I've just set water on for tea.”

  “I believe I owe you an extra set of hands, since I've had your husband with me for the last several trade runs.” Daemon gestured for Firal to precede him. When she hesitated, he shoved her through the doorway.

  The room beyond was little larger than the temple's dormitory rooms. Two beds filled half the space, crates and boxes stacked cleverly around them. The rest of the room was cramped with a narrow table and chairs, a washstand, and a small couch before a recessed fireplace. Unfazed by the lack of room, Daemon settled on the couch before the hearth.

  “Oh, Davan told me he'd be needed for some time before he left. I know his place, as I know mine. We all do what we must.” The woman fastened the door's latches as she closed it behind them. “Ah, but where are my manners? Excuse me, my lady. My name is Minna.”

  “A pleasure to meet you. I'm Firal.” She twitched her skirts in her hands and stepped back, uncertain what to do.

  “She's a mageling from Kirban,” Daemon added.

  “A mage!” Minna gasped. “And my lord general, in my house at the same time! Goodness me. Please, sit, my lady mage. Make yourself at home. Lifetree's mercy. What have I done to deserve the honor?” She clicked her tongue as if to scold herself and hurried across the room. A moment later, she placed a tea tray before Daemon, complete with tin cups, a battered kettle, and a jar of something amber-colored.

  “Oh, no.” Daemon raised his hands in protest. “Not on our account, please.”

  “Now, my lord, you know right well molasses isn't fit for sweetening tea, and it isn't very often that I have such respectable guests.” Minna settled on the floor beside the tray and poured a thin stream of hot tea into each cup. She beamed as she opened the little jar, spooning the half-crystallized honey into their cups while adding none to her own.

  “Where did you get honey?” Firal padded to the small couch to sit, though she perched on the end, as far from Daemon as she could manage. In the king's palace, honey wouldn't have seemed out of place, but its price was higher than what even the temple's Masters could afford.

  “It was a wedding gift, near a decade past, now. That's the wonder about honey, it is. It'll turn to crystals, but it'll never go bad.” Minna stirred their cups before she held them out in offering.

  Firal took the warm cup with a grateful smile. “I thought honey had to be imported.”

  “It does,” Daemon grumbled. “Almost all of it comes from the mainland. There are hives in the ruins, but they're hard to find, even for us. Aside from that, there's practically nowhere to get it on Elenhiise.” He only took his cup when it was clear Minna wouldn't allow him to turn it down. He muttered a dour thank-you as she settled it in his hands.

  “And for all that land out away from our little island, here we are fighting just to stop living in caves.” Minna shook her head, though she laughed.

  Daemon said nothing, staring down at his tea.

  “Oh!” Minna exclaimed. “Begging your pardon, my lord. I completely forgot.” She hurried to a box by the fire and fished in it for a time before she produced a thin reed from the kindling. She rinsed it at the washbasin, shook it dry, and finally presented it to Daemon with an apologetic smile.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. He dropped the reed into his cup and slid the free end of it beneath his mask. “Regardless, I'm sure the surface will find the island is big enough for all of us.”

  Firal sampled her own tea and licked her lips. The drink was good, the mellow flavor of the honey better than she'd imagined. She studied Daemon as she took another sip. “Why don't you just take that off? It'd be easier to manage without it, wouldn't it?”

  “A mask is a small price to pay for anonymity,” Daemon said.

  “There won't be a need to hide yourself forever, my lord,” Minna said.

  Daemon shot her a harsh look, a flicker of red lighting his eyes.

  The Underling woman winced. “Forgive me, my lord. It's not my place.”

  A long, uncomfortable sile
nce passed before he spoke again. “In any case, I have scouts I must speak to, and I'm sure the two of you have much to do. I trust there's a house free that she can take over?”

  Minna nodded. “Aye, Lord Daemon. I'll see that she's looked after. Don't be a stranger whenever you're at market. You're more than welcome in my home.”

  Daemon handed his near-empty cup back to her as he rose. “I'll let you settle, then. Thank you, Minna, for your hospitality. I'll be back to speak with Firal tomorrow afternoon.” He stepped around the couch to let himself out without waiting for a response. The door clicked firmly shut behind him.

  “He's a kind soul, that one.” Minna nodded toward the door. “A good mate, he'd be.”

  Firal choked on her tea.

  “Oh!” Minna lifted her hands and laughed. “Begging your pardon, my lady! I mean nothing by it. It's only that he reminds me of my Davan, when he was younger. All business and responsibility, but a good heart underneath.” She grinned and held out a hand to take her cup.

  Firal downed the last sip of tea before she handed it back. “Davan is your husband? I met him in the ruins.” She chose not to mention the man had caught her trespassing. “I traveled with some soldiers on the way here. Is he away often? If I may ask, that is. I don't mean to intrude on your family.”

  “It's no intrusion, my lady, rest assured of that.” Minna chuckled. “Yes, he is away from us quite often. He's with the army several weeks at a time. The duties all rotate, so it stays fair, but it does get a bit lonely for us women-folk. I'm fortunate, at least, having Tobias.”

  “Your child?” Firal guessed.

  “My son, aye. Out to play with his friends, or I'd have introduced him already. He's a good boy, but he's only eight. Not much company for a grown woman, my lady.”

  “Just call me Firal, please.” She grimaced. “I really don't deserve any such title as lady.”

  Minna shrugged and carried the dishes to the washbasin. “Very well, then, Miss Firal. But begging your pardon, I'm sure you'll have high honors on your name among our people, being a mage and all.”

  “Being a mage is far from being noble.” Mages were certainly respected, but aside from the highest-ranked Masters, Firal had never heard any of them referred to by title.