Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  Instead, Vahn had helped the enemy rescue his friend and then turned toward Ilmenhith. The Underlings had sworn Ran would survive and forbidden Vahn from accompanying them into the underground. He'd insisted until they'd named Firal as their healer.

  The door banged open. Vahn shouted and scrambled to cover himself.

  “Oh please, boy, you've nothing I haven't seen before.” Edagan swept into the room, the skirt of her robes swirling about her ankles. She closed the door as forcefully as she'd opened it, dragged a stool from the corner and stood it at the foot of the tub. The old mage dropped onto it with a thump.

  “What are you doing in here?” Vahn drew up his knees, still shielding his nakedness with both hands. He sank into the soapy water until it covered his shoulders.

  The white-robed woman sniffed. “No one enters or exits our headquarters without the Masters knowing. Anaide and Nondar are both out. That leaves me to deal with the matter.” She pursed her lips. Her face looked like a withered prune. “I understand you know the whereabouts of one of our lost magelings?”

  His eyes darted from her to one of the folded towels on the shelf. “Firal? Kytenia said she was expelled. I assume that means she's no longer part of the temple?”

  “The temple is no more,” Edagan replied dryly. “She was expelled by an Archmage we no longer serve, and it was done without input from the Masters of the Houses of affinity. We wish to recall her immediately.”

  Vahn struggled to absorb everything he'd just heard. The nonchalant way she spoke was startling enough, never mind the information she'd shared. They no longer followed the Archmage? If the temple had dissolved, that explained why Ilmenhith's chapter house was bursting with mages. He drew a long breath and spoke slowly. “There's a colony of people inside the ruins.”

  “Yes, yes, the Underthings, or whatever it is they call themselves. We know about those.” Edagan waved a hand, scowling. “The girl. Firal. Where is Firal?”

  “She's with them,” he said. “Acting as their healer.” How long had the Masters been aware there were people living just beyond the temple's grounds? If Ran hadn't told him, he never would have known.

  “And was Lomithrandel with her?” The question came as though she'd heard his thoughts. His mouth worked without producing words for a time before the old mage added, “I was present when the poor wretch took his first breath, boy. We know where he goes and who he sees.”

  “Yes.” Vahn winced at how fast he answered. “He was injured. Before they turned me out of the ruins, I was told Firal would see to his care. The king will want to know he—”

  “The king will be told. And you're right, he'll certainly want to know the whereabouts of his child. They've been apart for far too long.” Edagan stood with a surprising grace, given her elderly frame. “Good boy. Clean yourself up and stop blushing.”

  He grew redder at the suggestion and sank until his nose nearly touched the surface of the water. The moment the Master was gone, he scrubbed as fast as he could manage. He'd only just stepped from the water and wrapped a towel around his waist when someone knocked.

  “There's no peace in this bloody place,” he grumbled, slinging another towel around his shoulders. He braced himself for another onslaught of questions and opened the door.

  At sight of his state of undress, a flush rose into Kytenia's cheeks. “Ah,” she breathed, looking away, though he was modestly covered. “I brought you a fresh outfit. It isn't much, but it ought to fit.” She held out the folded clothing for him to take, her eyes exploring the ceiling as if she'd never noticed it before.

  Vahn sighed. “Thank you.” He inspected what she'd brought as he took it from her hands. “I'll be right out, if you'll give me a moment to dress.”

  “Of course,” she said, her eyes still turned toward the heavens.

  He pushed the door closed and dressed. The clothing she'd provided wasn't much, but even the coarse cloth of the dark trousers and ivory shirt seemed fine after his filthy uniform. She hadn't brought fresh socks. He considered his for a moment, his nose wrinkled. Deciding he was better off without them, he gathered his soiled clothing under one arm, his boots under the other, and stepped barefoot into the hall.

  Kytenia glanced over her shoulder and offered a faint smile when she saw him. “I suppose Master Edagan's already wrung everything out of you?”

  “Did you tell her why I was here?” He turned to look down the hallway. There wasn't another soul to be seen.

  “Not on purpose.” She ducked her head. “I was so excited. I ran into Rikka in the hall and told her you were here and had news. I didn't even know Edagan was listening until she shook the rest out of me.”

  “When did the mages break away from the Archmage?” The question made something prickle unpleasantly between his shoulder blades, though he felt better for having it out. The look Kytenia gave him was guarded at best.

  “We haven't been in Ilmenhith long, but we're not supposed to talk about it.” She kept her voice low, as if she expected to be scolded for speaking at all. “Did Master Edagan...?”

  “She told me a little, but I got the sense the Masters don't want anyone to know much.”

  Kytenia offered a halfhearted smile. “They haven't told us much more. Here, this way.”

  Vahn nodded, letting silence fall between them. Kytenia led him back to the entryway of the chapter house. It was a comfortable sitting room, where a handful of familiar-looking magelings waited on the couches. He recognized them as the group of girls he'd seen Firal and Kytenia with, but he couldn't recall their names. A small girl with her hair in dark braids was the first to rise, the redhead short to follow. The third girl did not stir, merely looking at the two of them expectantly.

  “Well?” the redheaded girl asked. What was her name, again?

  “Well what?” He frowned.

  “Where's Firal? Can you bring her to us?” The girl with braids clutched the ends of her hair and stared up at him with hope in her eyes.

  Vahn glanced between them, uncertain. “I don't know if I should say. I've already spoken with one of the Masters, and—”

  “If Edagan didn't want you to talk about it, she'd have said so,” Kytenia said.

  He inched toward the couch across from where the oldest girl sat with her arms crossed. Her eyes weighed on him, sharp and serious, and he decided he couldn't refuse. He cleared his throat and sat, his belongings still in his arms. “She's safe, I can tell you that much for certain. She's with... an acquaintance of mine,” he said, neatly skirting any real mention of Ran. “They're in the ruins.”

  All four of the girls regarded him with blank expressions. Finally, the mageling with the braids sank into her seat, her eyes round as saucers.

  The girl with red hair plopped down on the couch and kicked up her heels. “Oh, this is going to be quite a story.”

  “And he's going to tell it all. Right, Vahn?” Kytenia gave him a stern look.

  “Of course,” he agreed. He wasn't likely to escape, anyway. He put his uniform and boots on the floor and rested his elbows on his knees. “I guess it started when we received those orders telling us to leave Kirban Temple. I thought it was odd, but it wasn't my place to question it. It must have been a sudden decision, or my father would have sent me word. In any case, we stopped in Wethertree for supplies. While we were there, we were told to carry orders to mages stationed near the border. On our way, one of the scouts spotted a band of armored men...” He continued the story in as dry a fashion he could manage, mindful not to use Ran's name.

  Kytenia hung on every word and as Vahn spoke, a light grew in her eyes. He tried to pay her no mind, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as the rest of the story flowed. He didn't dare meet her eyes. For some reason, the way she looked at him made a flush rise into his cheeks.

  18

  Severance

  Daemon read Davan's notes a third time before he put them aside and forced himself to his feet. His men had long since left him in Lumia's meeting rooms and he w
as grateful no one was there to see him struggle. More grateful to have a positive report on his friend's whereabouts, but he hadn't thought Vahn would be mistreated. Davan had personally escorted him to the edge of the ruins and made careful note of the travel supplies they'd sent with him. Daemon would have to remember to pass along his thanks.

  For Vahn, thanks hardly seemed enough. How many times had Vahn saved his hide? Daemon didn't remember, no more than he remembered what started the fight when they'd first met. He remembered that first shove and the way he'd answered with fists. They'd scrapped and tumbled in the palace gardens for some time before the chain holding his amulet had snapped, and when Vahn saw the scales and claws for the first time, the fight stopped.

  Vahn hadn't said anything. He hadn’t shrieked like the few nursemaids who had seen him, hadn't fainted or tried to run. He'd simply stood there, mouth agape, until Medreal whisked Daemon back to his quarters in the upper floor of the palace.

  The following day, the boy appeared outside the royal living quarters, looking for a playmate. From that moment forward, Vahn had been there. Present. Dependable. The only friend he had—at least, until the temple.

  Daemon grimaced at the thought of Firal. There were bigger things to worry about than whether or not Core's healer was still angry at him. That was all she was, he reminded himself. All she could be. Even if she forgave him, what future could they have? He tried to force her from his mind as he departed the meeting room and crept through the dark corridors toward more private spaces.

  He'd planned to visit his office near the barracks, but when he reached the top of a flight of stairs, he reconsidered his destination. He'd been back on his feet for a single day and the long tunnels ahead seemed an insurmountable distance. Instead, he turned toward his chambers.

  Exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders by the time he reached his door. Though the wound in his side had been healed, he could have sworn it was still there. That was normal, Firal said, and it would take time for the afterpains of healing to subside. He pushed open his door and paused. The tallow candles were already lit.

  “You look tired.” Lumia slid from behind the door with all the grace of a viper, a gleam in her eyes.

  “Recovery tends to take a lot of energy.” Daemon rested a hand over his side and let out a hissing breath as she glided behind him. The door clicked shut, the snap of the lock reverberating in the room like the closing of a prison gate.

  Lumia frowned. “Yes, I heard you were injured. I couldn't bear to see you in such a state. I've missed you, my pet.”

  “How did you know I'd be here?” He forced himself to lower his hand.

  “I didn't.” She shrugged. “I was just going through your things.”

  Daemon made his way to the bed and leaned against a bedpost as he scanned the room. His quarters in the underground were well-furnished, with the desk, chairs, bed and wardrobe carved from fine, dark wood. Thick furs on the bed served as blankets, and colorful rugs lay spread across the cold stone floor. Nothing looked out of place. “Find anything interesting?”

  “Yes.” She smirked. “I found you.”

  He unfastened the ties of his mask and dropped it to the bed beside him. He said nothing, knowing the silence would agitate her.

  “Is there a reason you never came to tell me what happened?” Her tone was deceptively calm, her eyes cold. She moved toward him with a predatory step.

  “I wasn't in much of a position to go anywhere. I'm only just now able to walk.” He pushed away from the bedpost and straightened, grimacing at a stab of pain in his side. “And not very well, at that.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you?”

  “Jealousy is unbecoming, Lumia.” He didn't have to look to know the response angered her. He might have sworn the air grew colder.

  “Jealousy!” She laughed bitterly and shook her head. “Not jealousy. Anger, and it is rightly deserved. You forget yourself. You think it coincidence the mageling ended up here? You're indebted now. The mages will sink their claws back into you any way they can.”

  “She's the best healer we have. If it had been up to you to save me, I'd be dead.”

  “Better dead than a slave to their cause,” she said. “Do not forget all I've done to free you from the temple.”

  Daemon's gaze darkened. “Leave. Now. I'm tired and I wish to rest. I don't have the energy to deal with you tonight.”

  Her blue eyes flashed fire. “Remember who you’re speaking to. I am your queen!”

  “In name only,” he replied. “What have you done to lead these people? In all the years I've been here, I've never seen you lift one finger to ease their struggles. They finally have enough food, a trade economy that's beginning to thrive, a parcel of land to help them grow more self-sufficient, and none of it was your doing.”

  Lumia's hands clenched to fists. “I signed the treaty to give them that land.”

  “Only because I didn't have the authority to do so.”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “What are you saying?”

  “That you don't lead these people,” he said coolly. “I do.”

  A growing scowl shadowed her face and her fists tightened until they trembled at her sides. The candles flickered as a surge of energy rippled around her. “How dare you? After everything I've done for you, after all the promises I've made to give you power—”

  “I don't need you to give me power,” he interrupted. “I already have it.”

  Golden curls spilled forward over Lumia's shoulders as her jaw clenched and she tucked her chin into her chest.

  The sensation started as a prickle in the back of his hand and grew to a low, pulsating heat in the lines of the scar she'd given him. His fingers twitched; he curled them into his palm. The heat intensified, pain lancing through his scarred left hand. “What are you doing?”

  “You swore yourself to me,” she hissed. “I own you.”

  The scar burst, shooting searing heat up his arm. Black ichor welled in the open wounds, smoke rising as it began to sizzle on the back of his hand. Daemon spat a curse and scraped frantically at the oil-black blood that scorched his scales, sending spatters across the furs and floor. Plumes of smoke spiraled from the edges of each drop as they began to glow red-hot and eat into everything they touched.

  “Stop this!” He clutched his arm as the heat moved upward. The veins in the tanned flesh of his upper arm and shoulder swelled beneath his skin, forming dark lines that traced the flow of foul magic.

  “I own you!” Lumia screamed, the air around her crackling with power.

  Daemon gritted his teeth, his snake-slitted eyes flaring with reddish light. He lashed out on instinct and grasped at the air beside her head. He felt the catch of energy flows in his hand and snared them unconsciously with his own. He turned his hand, let the gesture guide his power, and twisted the flows tight.

  She squealed and struggled to take back her power.

  He wound the energy tighter, pulling hard against her influence. The black pollution in his veins receded, the blistering ichor rolling freely from his hand suddenly cool.

  “Stop!” she shrieked, grasping desperately at his outstretched arm, clawing at his hand as tendrils of her energy battered against his hold on the flows.

  “You own nothing,” he spat. The ties to her power drew tight and strained against his pull. Then, one by one, he tore them away. The strands of energy snapped like threads.

  Lumia screamed. She fell to her knees and lifted trembling hands to cradle her head. The air around her went dead, the tingling presence of her Gift extinguished like a candle's flame. Power snapped back to him and Daemon staggered. It surged into him, restoring, replenishing. He grabbed the bedpost for support. The black blood that trickled from his wounded hand grew icy on his scales. His head spun, but not from weakness. The pain and exhaustion was gone. He straightened and looked down at her, though it took a moment for his eyes to focus.

  “And you cannot control me,” he rasp
ed. His legs grew steady beneath him. He let go of the bedpost and made for the door, leaving her crumpled on the cold stone of the floor as her agonized screams echoed through the endless hallways.

  Kytenia sat at the edge of the street with her chin cupped in her hands and her elbows propped on her knees, watching the workers go by. Expansion of the chapter house was well underway, merging the new headquarters for Ilmenhith's mages with what used to be a noble's home next door. She and a handful of other magelings watched idly through the day.

  Things hadn't settled enough to let classes resume. With all the construction afoot, she doubted it would settle soon. The changes were necessary, as the chapter house was not equipped to hold the number of mages that now occupied it. Things would only get worse as mages trickled in from the countryside.

  The new construction would double the size of the chapter house. Kytenia imagined it had cost the Masters a considerable sum to oust the nobles from the tall stone building next door, though the king had probably offered leverage. It would be good to have better sleeping quarters but, with luck, the first thing they built in the new addition would be a proper dinner hall. If they couldn't have lessons, Kytenia at least wanted a decent meal.

  She kicked a pebble as she rose and put a hand to her grumbling stomach. The mages didn't go hungry, but sharing a dinner hall with the king's military was not the best arrangement. With strict shifts to keep, the soldiers and city guards couldn't afford to defer to hungry magelings, which meant mealtimes for mages always came late. It was closer to evening than midday, though, and she was unwilling to wait any longer for the crowds to thin. If she had to compete with soldiers for food, then so be it.