Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  “By the blessing of Brant, I give you my all. To love and to honor, through all things that are. By embrace of the Lifetree, take my heart and body. As all seeds grow strong, let us two be one. Until earth reclaims what was borrowed, and our lives shall be done.”

  21

  New Foundations

  A single beam of warm sunlight streamed in through the small opening at the tent's peak, casting a pleasant patch of light across the blankets. Firal stared at the blue sky on the other side of the opening for some time before she shifted, stretching amid the comfortable collection of pelts that served as bedding on the ground.

  Daemon glanced in her direction and offered a smile she dared say was almost timid. Then he looked away, his snake-slitted eyes returning to the unadorned mask he held in his hands.

  Rune, not Daemon. Not Ran. She reminded herself silently of the new name she'd assigned him, the name she'd taken to calling him in private. “You don't need that anymore.” She lifted a hand to touch his shoulder. The slim band of gold that decorated her finger still looked odd and felt odder, even after wearing it for days. The exchange of rings as a wedding gift was a practice she'd heard of, common on the mainland, less so on Elenhiise. But it was popular among nobles, so it wasn't strange that he'd insisted. Firal had been content enough with the traditional exchange of seeds.

  They'd spent their first afternoon as a wedded pair in Core's marketplace, choosing just the right gifts to exchange. It hadn't taken long for them to agree on rings; a plain gold band for Rune, and one with a polished purple gem for Firal. It was a curious stone, with a star of light that flashed in its middle whenever the sun struck it.

  “They call them serpent's tears,” Rune had told her, while the goldsmith looked on in approval. “There's a myth that says they fell from the eyes of a beast when it wept.” Then he'd laughed as he slid the ring onto her finger. “I don't know about that, but Brant knows I've been teased enough with the idea of crying gemstones.”

  Rings had been easy, but choosing the seeds to present to one another had taken hours. Firal finally settled on a pouch full of furry aspen catkins for Rune, a treasure imported from the cooler northern continent. He had presented her with a single lotus seed, a choice which Minna had approved of profoundly when they'd gone to tell her of their bond.

  “It's strange,” Rune said at last, laying the mask in the furs and shifting to gather her into his arms. “I've spent so much time hiding, I almost don't know how to be myself anymore.”

  “You'll do fine.” Firal wrapped her arms around his neck and met his lips for a kiss that promised a most enjoyable morning.

  When they finally emerged from their tent, she hefted her satchel of dwindling supplies on her shoulder and walked the construction site while Rune and the other men broke camp. As buildings began to take shape, fewer tents went up each night. Even without the roofs completed, many families were eager to move into their new homes.

  Those who needed Firal's attention found her as she walked. Their split days between Core and the new village made her work difficult, but no one had complained about her dividing her attention between the two locations. By the time she finished distributing herbs and checking bandages, Rune had packed away their things and slung their bags against his back.

  “Ready?” he asked as he intercepted her at the village's edge.

  She smiled coyly and led the way.

  When they reached the ruins, he caught her hand and twined his fingers with hers. Such displays invited teasing from the ruin-folk, which they didn't mind, save that it sometimes grew old. There was a measure of truth in their ribbing, Firal supposed. They were newlyweds and behaved the part.

  “We won't have to walk between the outpost and Core forever,” Rune said as he led her through the twists and turns. The corridors in this side of the labyrinth had grown familiar, but not enough to give her any real confidence. “I intend to use the Gate-stone to build us a permanent Gate between the outpost and Core's market soon. I just want to be sure about where I'm putting it, first.”

  “Wouldn't it make more sense to wait?” She slid a thumb under the strap of her satchel to adjust it. “I'd think we'd want the Gate to reach as far south as possible.”

  He shrugged. “It's a straight shot up from the coast, so the main purpose of the Gate is just to get through the ruins faster. If I have my way, Core will be most important. The city still has a lot to offer, which is why I'm not worried about how many want to remain there.”

  Firal made a soft, thoughtful sound in reply. The vast majority of the ruin-folk did remain in the underground city, which was the primary reason they traveled back and forth between the underground and the new outpost, as Rune called it. Core could not be left without its healer for long.

  When they reached the underground city, a line of patients had already formed outside her infirmary's door.

  “I'll be with you shortly,” Firal said as she let go of Rune's hand and braced herself for the work ahead.

  The squeeze he gave her shoulder was a mild comfort.

  “I'll need more supplies soon,” she murmured as they slipped inside. “I'll take tomorrow to work in the gardens.”

  Rune glanced at the clusters of herbs that lined the walls. Most of the time, multiple cuttings hung there to dry, but several pegs were empty. “I don't think I can help. Even if I were a competent healer, I'm to meet the army for drills. We need to establish new squads and determine their roles in the new settlement.”

  “Fine, but at the very least, you'd better carry a list to Minna. She keeps her own stash of herbs now that she's my assistant. She may have some of what I need.” She crossed to the table where she kept her quills and inks.

  “I can do that much,” he agreed.

  Firal pressed the finished note into his scaly palm and stole a kiss before she waved him away. Instead of heeding her gesture, he caught her hand and pulled her into a long embrace.

  “I'll be late,” he murmured into her hair.

  “Then you'd best go before all your dilly-dallying makes you even later.” She nudged his side and kissed his chin. Then she pulled away. “Send in the first to be healed on your way out, if you would, please.”

  “How do I decide who goes first?”

  Clean water waited in a kettle by the fire. Firal hefted it into place over the logs and summoned a flame with a wave of her hand. “You ask them. If you can't tell what's urgent and what isn't after hearing their complaints, then you really are hopeless as a healer.”

  Rune flashed her a grin. “I think we already knew that.”

  She shook her head and chuckled to herself as she scrubbed her hands and arms with soap.

  Beyond the initial healing of the gravely ill when she'd first arrived, none of the day's complaints had been unusual—though knowing people had to wait to have injuries or illnesses seen to while she traveled between the new village and Core left her with a brooding discomfort. They had been fortunate thus far, but sooner or later, an emergency would arise and she wouldn't be there to see to it. The permanent Gate Rune wanted to establish would help, but only to an extent. She couldn't be everywhere at once, which led her to the uncomfortable knowledge she would have to petition her new husband to press for more alliances.

  They needed mages. And that meant negotiating with the establishment that had shunned her—and ruined him.

  The thought alone made her stomach flutter with nerves. Dealing with the temple mages seemed frightful enough to her, and she'd only been expelled. Regardless of what it would do for their people, how could she expect him to work with those who had scarred him so badly?

  For that matter, how could he negotiate? They'd spoken little more about his identity and his role in the palace after his injury—not because questions hadn't burned at the tip of her tongue, but because they simply hadn't had time. The subject arose now and then, but what time they did have was spent pushing forward, growing comfortable with one another, creating a bond.

&nb
sp; His role in the temple, however, had never crossed her mind.

  Regardless of where his skill lacked and what his role in Kifel's household was, Rune was a Master mage, subject to the Archmage's rules and whims. Firal didn't know how he'd escaped her clutches this long, but returning to ask that mages be conceded to their effort could only be a mistake.

  Their effort. Firal wondered at how easily she'd slipped into that way of thinking. It wasn't wrong; the moment she'd agreed to marriage, she had adopted Rune's cause as her own. She did not agree with or understand all his methods, but whatever the means, there was a sincerity in everything he did. That, in its own way, was noble.

  Still, the turn her thoughts had taken troubled her, and it made for a dark cloud over her day's work.

  Nightfall came as the last of her patients departed. Fond as she was of her work, Firal still breathed a sigh of relief in the first moments of peace that followed. She filled a pot over the fire with vegetables and sat to mix and measure herbs for new tinctures while the meal cooked. She dined alone.

  Her food stores, too, ran low. When they returned to the village outpost, she would have to take time to forage. With the lush forest that split around the clearing, there was bound to be food nearby. With time, there would be gardens, and Core would finally thrive.

  Long after Firal banked the fire and curled under the blankets, the door creaked open and stirred her from slumber. The familiar soft click of claws against the floor soothed her and she nestled deeper into the blankets as she listened to the comforting sound of his presence.

  Rune paced around the tables and chairs that cluttered the room, his step slow and deliberate. No matter how stealthy he tried to be on the nights where his duties kept him away, his claws always betrayed him. Firal watched as he retrieved food from the pot left over the dying fire. He sat on the edge of the hearth and ate like a starved man, and perhaps he was—she doubted he took the time to eat when he was working. Such was the only thing she really wanted to change. He threw himself into his work with a near single-minded nature, to the detriment of himself and all else. Raw, bloody patches marred his hands where his scales were perpetually torn, yet he worked the axe and saws at the outpost with unmatched vigor every day they visited the budding village. She almost preferred those days; at least then, the nights were their own.

  “You're supposed to be sleeping,” Rune murmured.

  She huddled her chin into the blankets. “How did you know I'm not?”

  “I could feel your eyes.” He cast her a glance that was both apologetic and amused. Then, the dish emptied, he put his bowl aside and stripped off his dusty clothes. No matter how tired he was, he maintained a certain level of manners she'd come to appreciate. He folded his clothing and put it on the shelf beneath the washbasin she kept beside the fire.

  Firal did not know what she'd expected of him in the wake of learning his identity, but really, little had changed. He bore a remarkable self-sufficiency, given his upbringing. Yet with the roles he played among the ruin-folk, that was little surprise. They worked hard. He was no different. And despite his discomfort in his own skin, he moved and acted with such confidence that she wondered how he thought ill of himself at all. Her eyes traveled over his body as he washed. He was capable. Powerful. And handsome, despite the mark left by magic.

  “I feel that, too.”

  “You're tense,” she murmured in response. “You carry it in your shoulders.”

  “It was a difficult day.” He ran clawed fingers through his hair and squinted at his hands. His hair, too, was full of dust. Instead of using the cloth, he caught the water in the ewer with his magic and drew it forth to wash his hair. When he finished, he twisted the water into a strand in midair and drew his other hand through it to separate it from the dirt. The latter fell to the floor in dry clumps.

  Firal made a soft sound of approval. “You've gained a lot of dexterity lately. We haven't even had time for lessons.”

  The water rippled and slid back into the ewer. This time, when he ran his fingers through his hair, he seemed satisfied. “I learn a lot just being around you.”

  “I'll take that as a compliment. Come here.” She beckoned him with a finger and smiled to herself when he hesitated, his eyes on the shelf. “I'll clean your clothes in the morning. You've come a long way, but I don't think you're skilled enough to use magic for laundry just yet.”

  “Laundry is one skill I haven't mastered, magic or otherwise.” Rune crept to the bed and climbed in when she peeled back the blankets. She caught him by the shoulder, maneuvered him face-down into the pillow and ignored his grunt of protest. He turned his head so he could breathe. Her thumbs dug into his shoulders, yielding another grunt.

  “Relax.” It was an order, not a request, and she was pleased when he sank deeper into the pillow. A long, slow exhale escaped him, his whole body seeming to deflate. Knots in his muscles began to give way.

  After a time, his breath grew slow and even, and Firal curled close against his side beneath the covers.

  Morning, it seemed, always came too soon.

  She woke to an empty bed, an occurrence that had grown familiar in the underground. Despite what she'd said, his dusty clothing was gone. Sooner or later, the man would work himself to death.

  Few patients needed care in the morning and Minna's assistance meant they were seen to soon enough. Minna departed with the last of them, leaving Firal free to roam Core as she would.

  The city received her differently now. They'd always been welcoming and respectful, but her bond with Rune had affected that, too. Some had grown warmer, greeting her as they would a long-time friend, while others had cooled and regarded her with stiff formality. Suspicion hung thick in some glances. Firal wasn't sure she could blame them.

  If Lumia intended to seat Rune upon a surface throne, now Firal, as queen, would be beside him. Firal couldn't pretend to understand the woman's motives, but she understood why the abrupt change in plans could concern those who still sought to see Rune and Lumia united as rulers. No matter how warm a welcome they'd given her or what she'd done to benefit them, Firal couldn't change that she was an outsider. And when an outsider interfered with long-laid plans to help the ruin-folk return to the surface, she understood distrust.

  Her intentions, however, remained pure. She scaled the inverted tower to the garden above. It had expanded under her instruction and she shuddered to think of Core's people leaving it behind. Perhaps the permanent Gate would alleviate those concerns, but she couldn't imagine the garden's location would ever be convenient for those outside of Core.

  When her basket brimmed with fresh cuttings in the late afternoon, Firal returned home. Already, her mind raced ahead to their return to the outpost, to the garden she'd have to plant. It would take years for it to compare to the garden in Core, but if nothing else, the village would have basic necessities. She put a handful of cuttings into bottles of water to try to coax them to root, then bundled the rest and hung them to dry.

  Something thumped against the door. It creaked open a moment later to reveal Rune, his arms full of rolled papers and small boxes balanced in a precarious stack.

  “What in the world is all this?” Firal met him at the door to relieve some of his burden.

  He passed the boxes to her with relief. “Work.” A roll slipped from his arms and thumped against the floor. He snagged it with the claws on his toes and tried to pull it closer. It turned sideways instead. Rolling his eyes, he left it where it was. “Can you clear a table?”

  The corner table she used for writing hosted only a handful of bottles with herb cuttings. She left the boxes, gathered the bottles, and moved them to the hearth. “I thought you were doing drills today.”

  “That was yesterday. Today we established new patrol units, and now I need to establish where they're supposed to patrol.”

  Firal scooped the lost roll from the floor and laid it across the emptied table. “Well, I might have known that if you'd said anything before y
ou left this morning.”

  The gentle goading seemed to have its intended effect, as he bowed his head and rubbed his brow with a knuckle. “Sorry. I never want to disturb you.”

  “If I didn't want to be disturbed, I wouldn't have agreed to marry you.”

  “I'd think being married to me is disturbing enough for most days.” He unfurled one of the rolls across the table. A map of the island peeked out for a moment before the edges rolled back on themselves. He spread it again with both hands, the quiet rasp of his claws and scales against the coarse paper strangely pleasant.

  “Most days,” she agreed. The little boxes he'd brought sat at the back edge of the table. She retrieved them and sat one on each corner of the map. In the map's center, the tiny circle that represented Core seemed insignificant. Around it, a dotted line marked the borders of the ruins, a vast, empty space with no roads or landmarks.

  “All that land,” she sighed. “Yet here we are, forced underground because our ancestors couldn't agree on magic.”

  “We?” Rune chuckled. “You really are one of us now, aren't you?”

  Sobered, she looked away. “Perhaps. Not everyone is happy about my place in Core.”

  “They never will be. Someone will find fault with you no matter what you do. The best you can do is keep on.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as he sat. “Here, let me show you something.” He retrieved a piece of colored wax from one of the small boxes and struck a jagged green line across the map. Now and then he paused to measure off small distances with his claws, then marked the map again. The line meandered from a point just east of the ruins to the southern coast, then back to the ruins to form a narrow strip. Above it, he traced the edge of the ruins.

  Curious, Firal leaned against his back and peered over his shoulder. “Is all that your territory?”