Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  He'd treated her as an equal since her arrival in Core, but they'd never been on the same footing at all.

  She followed him through winding tunnels into hallways she recognized, the pathway packed with people who shuffled to make room for the two of them to pass. They bowed to Daemon and offered her respectful nods. Firal nodded back and held her skirts close so they wouldn't be stepped on.

  Ahead, the din of voices flooded the great hall. People filled the vast room from wall to wall, perched atop the unlit iron braziers and held back tapestries that hid more corridors, where yet more people waited for the announcement to come. The crowd stepped aside for Daemon, letting him move toward the throne where Lumia waited. But the crowds closed up behind him, swallowing Firal and trapping her in the crush of bodies as he swept forward.

  “Daemon!” she called. The rising roar of the crowd drowned her small voice. She strained on tiptoe to see him. He came into sight again when he stepped onto the throne's dais to stand beside Lumia.

  The Underling queen's face twisted with displeasure and she obscured her mouth with her fingers, hiding her lips to match the way the crowd hid her words. Daemon whispered something back before he turned to face the great hall. A hush swept over the room.

  “Children of Elenhiise!” His voice was strong and clear, carrying throughout the room and silencing the last murmurs of those gathered. He drew himself up as Lumia reclined in her throne. He was a tall man, and the way he stood with his chin held high made him look like he, rather than Lumia, was leader. Firal rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill.

  “The years you've spent underground have been harrowing. The struggle for survival reaches back farther than anyone here has lived.” His luminescent eyes skimmed the faces before him as he continued. “But those struggles will end. It will not be an overnight process. It may take years. It may not happen in your lifetime. But they will end, and the time for change is now. Tonight you may sleep in caves, but tomorrow, a treaty shall be signed. With it, we regain our right to the surface.”

  The sound that rolled through the crowd was an unsettling mix of cheers and startled murmurs, excited faces paired with just as many thoughtful frowns. Firal’s stomach twisted at the idea of dissent. She folded her arms tight across her chest and swallowed against worry as Daemon went on.

  “This is the first of many strides we must take to reclaim what is rightfully ours, but it begins our journey. The peace treaty with King Relythes has already been drawn, and with it, a contract to buy a parcel of land bordering the eastern ruins. These agreements only await confirmation from Her Majesty, Lumia of the people who shall no longer be called Underlings.”

  Snorting a laugh, Lumia rested an elbow on the arm of her throne and propped her chin on her fist. “What, then, shall we be called? Ruin-folk? The ruins do not yet belong to us.” The biting edge in her words drove the room to dead silence.

  “Why should we name ourselves anything?” Daemon let his gaze rove over the great hall. “We are people like any others on this island. Children of Elenhiise, people of the earth and sea and sky. Why should we be made to distinguish ourselves?”

  Lumia's crystalline blue eyes weighed on him for a moment before she smiled, though a shadow ghosted over her features. “So those who have wronged us know who seeks revenge. Tomorrow, we take back the edge of our ruins from Relythes. Afterward, we will take back the rest from Kifel. But for now...” She rose from her throne and spread her arms wide. “Let us revel in what we have accomplished. We have cast off the shackles of the surface. Our freedom begins now!”

  This time, the people roared with enthusiasm. The excitement rolled through the crowd like a wave as people spilled through the doors in a rush to spread the news.

  Firal hugged herself and let the movement of the people carry her; it was easier than fighting to stay in one place. More than once, she looked over her shoulder in vain hope of catching a glimpse of Daemon. Instead, she saw the faces of hundreds of strangers, and not everyone glowed.

  Lumia herself did not appear thrilled, though the queen's somber face grew harder and harder to see as the throng pushed Firal to the door.

  The news was unsettling. Though the greater response was clearly joy, not everyone shared in the delight of their newfound freedom. Stormy faces dotted the crowd and arguments broke out beneath the sound of celebration. Firal couldn't blame them. Core had a distinct culture, a way of life that still seemed odd after her lifetime on the island's surface. The underground city was calm, placid, warm. There was structure. Everyone knew their place and what was demanded of them, and the benevolence she saw toward children and the infirm was heartwarming after the cold mentality at the temple, where everyone was disposable. It hurt to be cast aside. Leaving Core would mean an upheaval of their traditions.

  There were other issues with leaving the underground, besides. As Core's newfound healer, she was not certain all the city's inhabitants were equipped to be moved. Re-integration with the surface meant exposure to unfamiliar illness, and Core's inhabitants had been all but isolated. Though she was confident in her healing skills, she was only one mage. She could not hope to contain an outbreak of disease on her own. Had she been given time to consider such difficulties, she could have discussed it with Daemon before all this. Instead, she'd been caught up in her own selfish concerns and her fears of becoming entangled in someone else's web.

  The crowds spilled into the wide marketplace cavern and thinned enough that it became bearable to walk among them. The distant sound of music already flowed from the spiral pathway that led to the heart of the ruins. Firal turned toward it, the pulse of the drums beckoning her as it did so many others. She climbed to the clearing where the herb garden grew, and the rhythm hummed in her bones.

  Bonfires flared to life all around the mouth of the inverted tower. Embers twirled and shimmered in the air over the heads of those who gathered to celebrate, the glittering light reminiscent of stars. Musicians perched beside the growing flames, the earthy sounds of their instruments joined by dozens of cheerful voices in an unfamiliar folk song.

  The excitement in the air didn't touch her. Instead, the cadence of the drums turned her heartbeat into an uneasy rhythm and put a nervous flutter in her throat. Firal's feet carried her toward the open space at the far end of the herb garden she'd come to love, toward the fire that blazed beneath the serpent's-tongue trees. It was quieter there. People circled the fire in graceful dances and Firal watched their steps until she grew dizzy. She eased herself to the grass a few paces away from the dancers and their fire, and watched instead as women wove the white tree blossoms into their hair. The sight reminded her of the flower left to dry between the pages of her herbal, the way Daemon had poked it into her hair with gentle claws.

  She forced the thought away and instead focused on the heavy, almost primal rhythm of the music. The movement of the dancers and the flickering of the fire beyond them was mesmerizing, and Firal was happy to draw her knees to her chest, drape her arms around them, and let herself be hypnotized.

  “You're welcome to join the dance, you know.”

  Firal glanced up as Daemon sat beside her. His sleeve brushed her arm, the warmth of his skin radiating from underneath the coarse fabric. She turned away and shifted to put a few more inches between them. “I'm not so good at dancing.”

  “You did fine in Ilmenhith.” He picked a fallen flower from the grass and twirled it between his claws. “Or is it that you don't have a partner?”

  “It's that I don't feel like dancing,” she said, a little more hotly than she intended.

  His gaze seemed as devoid of expression as his unadorned mask. “I see.”

  Music filled the silence that fell between them. The joy in the sound seemed distant now; separate, not for her. No matter how welcoming the people of Core had been, the sense of being an outsider still lingered. It grew worse in Daemon's presence. This triumph was his, earned through means she couldn't pretend to understand. Exiled or no, a mage
had no place here. She'd thought she was supposed to be Core's healer. After their trip together, she no longer understood her role.

  She plucked blades of grass from beside her feet and picked them into pieces as she broke the uncomfortable still. “So you'll escort Lumia to Alwhen for the official treaty to be signed?”

  “I must,” he replied. “The treaty isn't just with Lumia. It's also with me. She just doesn't know that.”

  “How long do you expect the two of you will be away?” She tried to sound nonchalant. A white flower lay close by. She picked it up and slid her fingertips over its ruffled petals.

  “Why, will you miss me?”

  “I just wanted to know how long you plan to shirk your lessons.” Firal sniffed. “You can't neglect your studies for long. Your skills are not yet refined enough to allow you to neglect them.”

  “I think I'd prefer it if you missed me,” Daemon muttered. “We won't be gone long. Now that I've been to Alwhen's palace, I can use the Gate-stone to get us there and back. But I can't say how long our conference will take, or how long it'll take me to get Lumia to agree to everything I've worked out. She didn't agree with all of this plan to begin with.”

  “Then why pursue it?” She cast the rumpled flower back to the grass.

  “Because it's the right thing to do. All of the ruins should belong to these people, not just what's underground,” Daemon said. “I know it will stir some dissent at first, but it won't be that way forever. We'll eliminate my people's fear of the surface world as we establish cities. Our settlements up here will slowly merge with Core, underground. One home, one people. It will just take time.”

  She frowned. It made sense, though there was always the possibility the adjustment would be harder than he thought. “I don't see why you don't just claim the ruins and build here anyway, regardless of who owns the land. No one comes in here.”

  “Aside from you,” he said.

  “Regardless,” she replied, ignoring the flush that rose into her cheeks, “I'm not sure I follow your plans. You say you want to give the ruins back to your people, but you also want to ally with both surface kingdoms. What if Kifel refuses to part with the ruins? It won't matter what Relythes has given us, you'd be stuck with half of us here and half of us there.”

  Daemon shook his head. “Kifel won't care if I take the ruins, as long as we pose no threat to the rest of his kingdom. This land is useless to him. Relythes was the hard part. That's why we started with him.” He reached for a flower in the grass. “But now he thinks he can play us off against Kifel.”

  “Because he knew you.” Firal studied the way the firelight glinted on his mask.

  He hesitated. “It's good for one involved in politics to be familiar with leaders they may, at some point, do business with.”

  “I mean the real you,” she said. “The one who isn't hiding.”

  “Masks come in many varieties. What I wear sets me free.”

  She bridled her irritation and struggled to keep her voice calm. “But if he already knew you, there was no need to do things this way. You could have gone with Lumia instead of me, signed all your contracts and treaties ahead of the announcement. You could have gone alone. He already knew you. He'd know all about your court mages or what have you, too. So why was I there? Why, really? I would have been more useful here in Core.”

  “I told you. I enjoy your company.” He studied her with a level gaze, his violet eyes bright in the eventide.

  The answer was so calm and simple that she couldn't believe it genuine. He'd taken her because he wanted something, she was sure of it. Yet the only reasons that came to mind skirted answers he refused to give. There was a reason he'd removed his mask before she left the room. He'd allowed her to hear the surprise in the king's voice. He'd allowed her to wage her speculations, and he had not denied them. But his mask was still on, and the metal mask that shielded his face was not the only one he wore.

  Firal pushed herself up from the ground. “Well, I apologize that I must deprive you of my company now. The trip has left me rather worn out. I believe I will retire for the evening. We shall resume lessons upon your return.”

  Daemon rose to follow her. “I won't be absent long. A few days, at most.”

  “I can find my way back to my house on my own, thank you. Or is my company so enjoyable that you're compelled to follow me?”

  “Is mine so deplorable that you're eager to escape?” His tone was only half jest.

  Firal didn't reply. She cut through the gardens and down the spiral pathway into the underground. Daemon trailed not far behind.

  “Why is it you suddenly won't speak to me?” he asked, exasperated.

  “Why is it you're suddenly so determined to speak to me?” she countered.

  “You've been my mentor for weeks. I thought we'd established enough of a relationship that speaking would be easy.”

  She hurried down the corridor, anxious to reach the shelter of her home. “I'm not sure we should have a relationship at all.”

  Daemon quickened his step, closing the distance between them. “What do you mean?”

  The doorway to her house waited just ahead. Reaching it gave her no relief. “I can't imagine Lumia appreciates you spending so much time with me. The last thing I want to do is end up on the wrong side of the queen.” She heaved back the door. The stiff hinges gave a long groan of protest.

  He snorted. “What does it matter what Lumia thinks?”

  Though he didn't block the door, Firal lingered in the hall, unable to make herself cross the threshold. Her feet refused to move, weighted down by her heavy heart. “Before the trip, when you called me to the great hall. I didn't intend to interrupt you. I don't mean for Lumia to misunderstand. You're a good student. I enjoy our lessons, and I've become quite fond of you, Daemon. But I don't mean to come between the two of you.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” he asked incredulously. “She is my queen, nothing more.”

  “But you are her lover.” She slipped through the shadowy doorway of her dark, quiet house.

  “Not anymore.”

  “That's not what it looked like,” she murmured.

  “But I wasn't—you think that—” He cut himself short with a growl of exasperation and stepped inside after her. The door slammed shut behind him, darkness enveloping everything but his eyes.

  Firal opened her mouth to protest, and her voice failed her as he cradled her face in his hands. His mask dangled against her shoulder with its strings looped over his fingers, and when he turned her face upward, the brush of his lips against hers drove all words from her mind.

  Warmth blossomed in her cheeks and chest. His fingers curled in her hair to draw her closer and she melted into his touch as he kissed her again, so desperate and deep with passion that it left her weak in the knees.

  “You have no idea what it's like,” he whispered when he finally pulled back, “spending every day wanting something you can't have.”

  She struggled to find her breath as he slipped away, his claws a tender caress on her cheek. Stunned to silence, she reached after him as he opened the door again. Her fingertips brushed his sleeve as he settled his mask in place once more.

  Then he was gone.

  15

  Unmasked

  If a better way to move the loyal mages from Alwhen existed, Nondar was sure he would have thought of it by now. The building they'd been given was impressive by the standards of eastern architecture, but its grounds lacked the open air courtyards they were used to. They could have opened a Gate in one of the offices, but it would have been small and harder to defend.

  They'd tried to make their gathering as inconspicuous as possible, the Masters conversing lightly about that night's drills and practices to disguise their intentions. No one would know what was happening until—hopefully—it was too late to stop them.

  Casting one last look around his quarters, Nondar found himself somehow relieved that the temple had burned. He had little left
in the way of possessions, which meant there was no need to transport things in addition to people. All could be replaced—and would be, once they settled in Ilmenhith. He closed his door and resigned himself to the fact he would not see the room again.

  The last of the loyal mages trickled past him in the hallway and slipped out the front door with solemn faces. The magelings had been divided into groups, each group paired with a Master to lead them.

  Their gathering had not gone unnoticed. Nondar saw a number of Masters he knew were not on their side. None attempted to join the groups, but plenty lingered and watched. Anaide stood with a Master he didn't recognize, tittering something about not having room indoors for proper exercises. They weren't fooling anyone, but if nothing else, at least they hadn't drawn the attention of the Archmage.

  “Are we ready?” Edagan fell in step beside him, her stride smooth and graceful, a sharp contrast to his limping gait.

  “As ready as we ever will be,” Nondar sighed.

  Edagan lifted her chin as they moved into the gathered crowd. Anaide murmured some sort of parting excuse to the Master beside her and joined the two of them at the front steps. Her group of magelings clustered at her heels.

  “Is everyone present?” Nondar glanced across the crowd. Some carried mage-lights and in the dead of night, the illumination drew more attention than he liked. The glare hurt his eyes, but his vision slid out of focus as the strange, prickling sensation of the Calling rolled through him.