Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  “You keep saying that. That you promised them a mage.” She rubbed her arms and shifted closer to the fire. “When Minna's husband said it, I feared you meant... well, something else. Revenge. But your people have been nothing but kind to me. I don't understand. I thought our people were enemies.”

  Daemon's head tilted ever so slightly to the right. She recognized the movement as a frown, even with his mask on. “The ruin-folk have never thought of the Eldani as enemies.”

  “But we were at war,” Firal said.

  “The Eldani were at war. The ruin-folk were—you mean to say you don't know any of our history?” His tone shifted up a note, both surprised and incredulous.

  She shook her head.

  Daemon sighed, finally returning his attention to the half-plucked chicken on the table. “The Eldani were settlers who came to Elenhiise from the north. I'm sure you know that much. They sought wealth through sea trade, starting with the island's inhabitants.”

  Firal shook her head again. “We were settlers, but the island was uninhabited. There were only the ruins to show anyone had ever been here.”

  “Elenhiise was not uninhabited,” he said, though his tone was that of correction and not argument. “The Giftless were already here, and they were not pleased with the idea of sharing their prosperity. That was what began the war between the eastern and western factions, Giftless men against the Eldani. Not everyone agreed with the war.”

  “There are always dissenters.” She stood and stretched her stiff legs.

  “But their punishment isn't usually so harsh. The Eldani brought magic, and with it, healing. There were those among the Giftless who thought it a blessing. When the Giftless king called for a hard stand against the mages, the dissenters were cast out.” Daemon stepped to the side and motioned for her to take over.

  She cringed, but joined him at the table. She grasped a fistful of feathers and looked to him for instruction.

  He continued instead. “They sought asylum with the Eldani. The Eldani refused, and the Giftless would not take them back. They were caught between the two factions, rejected by both and caught at the border between two warring kingdoms. Where do you suppose they went?”

  Firal's mouth fell open. “You're saying the Underlings wanted to ally with us?”

  “They saw the benefit of magic,” Daemon said. “They still do. That was one of the reasons I promised them a mage.” His eyes drifted back to the fire and he gazed at it with such longing that it made her heart ache.

  She glanced toward the hearth. Tingles of energy still lingered there, betraying her use of magic. “Do you still want to learn?”

  “Do you still want to teach?”

  She lifted her chin and forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. “Teaching is what I thought I was meant to do.”

  He nodded, and the words he whispered gave her chills.

  “Show me.”

  7

  Dissent

  “Hurry up. At this rate, it'll be noon before we get up there.”

  Firal pressed her back to the wall and forced her eyes open. “Isn't there another path to the top?” She shuffled along the spiral path, her fingers searching the wall behind her for handholds. Though the avenue was easily fifteen feet wide, her heart hammered in her chest as if she stood at the edge.

  “No, and if you're going to be working up here every day, you're going to have to get used to it. Come on!” Daemon didn't try to hide his exasperation anymore.

  “I can't walk next to that!” she cried. “What if I fall?”

  His head tipped to one side and he heaved a sigh. “You're not going to fall. Nobody falls.”

  Firal slid her leading hand farther along the wall. When she found nothing to cling to, she inched after it. “You're lying.”

  “I am not lying. Nobody falls. I have never, in the entire time I've lived here, heard of anyone falling. Never.” He put a clawed hand to his chest in sincerity.

  “You'll have to excuse me if I find that hard to believe.” She glowered at him, but the sight of the pit at his back made her sick. She turned away.

  “It's perfectly safe.” Daemon took a step backwards.

  Her pulse soared. “Don't you dare!”

  “Don't what?” He took another step. “Stand at the edge?”

  Firal tried to look in every other possible direction, but her eyes snapped back to him no matter what she did. “I will not attend your funeral!”

  He spread his arms and inched backwards, until he teetered at the very edge of the chasm. His cloak fluttered over the void.

  “Daemon!” she shrieked.

  His arms dropped back to his sides and he rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He strode forward and grabbed her arm. She yelped as he hauled her away from the wall and set a brisk pace for the top of the inverted tower.

  Firal supposed that name made sense for the place, though she would have given it a title befitting the dread it put in her belly. The abyss, perhaps, or simply the pit. The drop beside them hovered in her peripheral vision and she tried to focus on Daemon's back instead. Gradually, his grip on her arm eased, and his hand slipped down until his scaled fingers wrapped around hers.

  As eager as Firal had been to see the gardens, both Daemon and Minna had insisted it best that the visit wait for clear weather. Daemon had been at her door nightly for lessons in magic, and she'd received lessons of her own in between. Minna took time each morning to teach her a bit more about cooking and how to manage a household. By the third night, the remnants of the chicken Daemon brought her had become a proper soup, and she'd started a small collection of culinary herbs, beginning with several small vials of seasonings Minna had presented as a gift. Firal hoped she would find more in the garden. If they ever made it to the garden, that was.

  “Do you think I'll have to tend the plants every day?” Her voice quavered. It was hard enough to move beside the pit with Daemon holding on to her. She didn't know how she would make it up and down the ramp on her own.

  “I'm sure once you see the garden, you'll want to.” He kept her close to the wall, though she doubted it was for her comfort. The closer they were to the wall, the faster she walked.

  “Because it's beautiful?” she asked. “Or because it needs care that badly?”

  Daemon did not reply.

  A steady stream of people worked their way down the spiral. Many had dirt on their hands and knees, and some carried baskets of produce. The passersby studied the two of them with everything from curiosity and smiles to narrowed eyes and thoughtful frowns. The latter made Firal uncomfortable, but she was new to Core and could not blame them for having reservations. Between Minna's visits and Daemon's, she'd had no reason to leave her new house, and that meant no time spent with the rest of Core.

  Not that she had time to spare. Minna always arrived soon after Firal finished dressing and pinning up her hair. Sometimes she came with Tobias in tow. Those days were Firal's favorites. She grown fond of the boy's ready grins, and of the stories Minna recited for her son.

  Both in between and during stories, the Underling woman taught Firal to mend and sew, cook and bake. As mouth-watering scents from cook-pots began to fill the hallways each night, Daemon would arrive with a satchel of some supply she hadn't yet realized she needed.

  After the first two nights of lessons, she had stopped being self-conscious about the open door. Spectators were few and far between, but Daemon had cautioned her the first night. The number of gawkers would increase as word spread there was a mage in Core.

  “Dragging your feet will only force you to look down there even longer,” Daemon said.

  Firal squeezed his hand in response, a silent plea that he not let go.

  It grew brighter as they walked and eventually, blue sky showed overhead. She didn't realize how much she'd missed the wind until a gentle breeze stirred her skirts and tossed her dark curls. The fresh air promised freedom, and she hurried to escape the walkway and its awful pit. Firal let go of Daemon'
s clawed fingers and ran ahead, blinking hard as she emerged into the blinding morning light.

  The top ring of the underground tower was level with the garden walkway and rimmed by tall black stones with jagged tops. Four wide arches opened in the black wall, one at each of the cardinal directions. People came and went through three of the openings, though the fourth arch hung over the gap where the walkway emerged from the earth.

  Beyond two of the arches, narrow pathways wound through tall grasses until they disappeared behind a line of trees. The third arch gave way to a trail that was edged with stone and more manicured than the others. All along the hard dirt path, people stirred among rows of carefully cultivated plants. Fat purple coneflowers bobbed in the sunlight. Firal paced between them with a sense of awe. She drew her fingers over their petals and turned back to face Daemon. “I thought this was a vegetable garden!”

  “There are gardens throughout the ruins for growing food. Some of these require more care, so we keep them here.” He shrugged his cloak back over his shoulder and hooked one thumb under the strap of a satchel she hadn't realized he was carrying. “Most of the women know enough about herbs to get by, but none of them are really experts.”

  “Well they certainly could have fooled me, what with everything they have planted here.” Firal scanned each section as she walked. “I see valerian. Comfrey, too. And this is feverfew, isn't it? How did all of this get here?”

  Daemon shrugged as followed her, his head bowed against the sun. “The garden was here before I joined them. I think they've been nurturing it for a long time. Look there. Those trees mark the edge of the clearing. The walls begin just beyond them.”

  She studied the treetops that loomed above the tallest walls she'd ever seen in the ruins. “What is this place?”

  “We're right in the heart of the ruins. That's why they named the city Core.”

  Firal couldn't help but turn her eyes toward the south. This far into the ruins, she knew she wouldn't see anything, but she envisioned the Archmage's tower on the horizon just the same. Not even a week past, she'd been collecting herbs from the ruins of the infirmary and ruminating on how valuable they'd be. It seemed almost too serendipitous that she'd find herself collecting them again. She frowned. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “You wanted to see the gardens. You also need something to keep you busy. And besides, I figured you'd want to keep some of these herbs on hand. You're a healer, aren't you?” He cocked his head in a manner that reminded her of a bird.

  “I am,” she replied cautiously.

  Daemon prodded at a coneflower with one claw. “Out of all the elements and affinities, that's the one that I can't seem to work with. I'm no good with healing. My people needed me to be, but I just... I can't.”

  She raised her brows. “I think that's the most sincere thing you've said to me yet. But I think I understand.” Her hand drifted back to the flowers, to the familiar prickly heads and fuzzy-textured stems. They were a comfort, if only because they reminded her of home. “Herbs are useful to any healer. I'll teach you what I can, but it's no substitute for magic.”

  “I don't need it to be,” he said. “I just want to know enough to fill in the gaps. The brunt of the healing work will be on you, especially once word gets out that it's your specialty. You'll have visitors wanting remedies and healing every day. Even if I weren't involved, you'll need to have herbs on hand.”

  Firal crossed her arms and cocked her hip to the side. “What makes you think I'll be here long enough to have visitors?”

  “Won't you?”

  She didn't want to admit she hadn't thought about it. Initially, she'd imagined Core as a stepping stone to Ilmenhith. Things had changed as soon as she'd met Minna. She was fond of the woman, fond of Tobias, and in a few short days, Minna had become the mother figure Firal had always lacked. She rubbed her arms and did not reply.

  Daemon's eyes flickered. “Or are you trying to get out of our arrangement again?”

  “I don't think I'd have visitors every day.” She sidestepped the question and turned her attention to the flowers again. She'd already spotted a few to cut and hang to dry.

  “You'd be surprised,” he said. “These people have needed a proper medic for a long time. You're the best fit for the job. If you take it, you'd surely be well compensated.”

  “Compensated?” Her brow furrowed.

  “Everything is based off barter, remember? You heal someone's injured leg, let them return to work, and they bring you part of the fruits of their labor. That's the way it works down here.” He slid the empty satchel from his shoulder, drew a knife from his belt, and offered her both.

  “I can just take anything I need?” Firal asked as she accepted them.

  “As long as that’s all you take. We don't have the means for excess.” He looked across the fields, and his eyes darkened. “You go ahead and cut what you wish to dry for your remedies. We'll have no lesson tonight.”

  “You're leaving me here?” She cast a nervous glance back the way they'd come. “How am I supposed to find my way back down?”

  “I'm sure anyone you ask would be happy to help you find your way. Besides, it's best you get comfortable going back and forth on your own, especially if you plan to visit the garden often.” Daemon shrugged his worn cloak forward over his shoulders and lifted the hood so that it framed his mask perfectly. “I trust you can find your way around an herb garden on your own?”

  “Of course.” She forced a smile.

  “And you'll be in Core when I get back?” he asked, softer.

  Her smile faded. Why did he care? He made it sound as if she were eager to go. Maybe she would be, if she had anywhere else she could go. There was still Ilmenhith, she supposed, but that was a gamble. In Core, she had a space of her own, a service she could provide, even a friend.

  Two friends, she corrected herself as she met Daemon's eyes. Or, she hoped he was a friend. Not that long ago, she'd still held him as an enemy in her heart. She didn't understand why he hadn't harbored the same resentment.

  “You owe me more lessons,” he said.

  The moment shattered, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I'll be here when you return, but beyond that, no promises.”

  Daemon chuckled and held up a finger. “We'll work on that.”

  She scowled as he disappeared into the tall grasses that ringed the garden's edge.

  “No promises,” she repeated.

  Lumia stiffened as the door creaked open behind her and the too-familiar rasp of claws against the stone floor filled the silence. Her shoulders bunched and she tried to ignore the sound. Her grip on her ivory-handled comb tightened until her knuckles turned white.

  “Didn't feel like sitting on your throne today?” Daemon turned a disinterested eye around her bedchamber. She wasn't sure she still considered him welcome. It had been a long time since he'd set foot there. That he'd entered without knocking smacked of arrogance.

  Lumia lifted her chin and stubbornly drew the comb through her golden curls again. She didn't turn to face him, though she spared a glance for his reflection. “Oh, I thought you'd be keeping it warm for me. Goodness knows you've been making enough decisions without direction.” Her tone was goading, but Daemon didn't rise to it. He stood unmoving, staring at her from behind that infernal mask, begging her eyes to wander. He so seldom wore it in when they were in private. That he wore it now dug at her like a nettle. She refused to look at him again and stared at her own face in the mirror, instead.

  “I've done very little that needed direction since we last spoke.” His voice was infuriatingly level. “Direction is why I've come.”

  “And is that the only reason you've to come to me? To ask direction? Permission?” Her lip curled with disdain. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned at last to face him. “Nothing more?”

  “You are my queen and I am your general. There should be nothing more than that.” His slitted eyes locked with hers, all ice and formality.


  He had been cold toward her since the temple burned. She liked his newfound confidence, though she hadn't imagined he would turn it against her. Anger prickled beneath her skin, but the last thing she wanted to do was show she was upset.

  She stretched her arms languidly overhead and sighed when she dropped them. The front of her dressing robe fell partway open. She left it. Her wiles had worked on him before, and his response would make a good measure for how far her hold on him had slipped. “A queen ought to have what she wants, when she wants it. What do you want?”

  “A queen's job is to see to her people,” Daemon said. His words were sharp, and she raised a brow. Seemingly thinking better of his tone, he continued in a more subdued manner. “I'm sure you've heard by now that the temple is leaving Eldani rule. Relythes will be the new power over the island. I want to speak with him.”

  Lumia frowned. “What reason do you have to speak with the Giftless king? It's not his throne we're after.”

  “This is an opportunity we shouldn't pass up.”

  Her brow furrowed. The eastern half of the island was just as densely populated as the west, but the settlements clung to the coast. Relythes left his borders unprotected and contributed next to nothing to the temple, which meant Underlings and Giftless men rarely crossed paths. Establishing communication after centuries of silence seemed absurd, but Daemon went on before she could object.

  “A shift in power could put us at risk, but Relythes would be pleased to have us recognize his new position as chief power over Elenhiise,” he said. “And the visit would open new opportunities. Our mines line our pockets with gold and gems that are precious to others and worthless to us. If we take a small sampling of our riches as a gift, he may be open to an alliance. We have money. He has the temple to feed. And if we make ourselves agreeable, he may not mind when we finally move our people out of this hole in the ground.”