Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  Of course, with any luck, Kifel would not have died.

  Medreal sighed and smoothed her skirts and silvered hair before she knocked on the door. When no answer came, she tested the handle. The door was unlocked and swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges.

  Firal sat in a chair beside the window, staring down at the courtyard and walls below. With the city streets visible beyond the walls, Medreal considered it fortunate that the army had not yet arrived. It would at least give the girl a little time to prepare herself.

  “Child, are you well enough to speak?” She tried to sound pleasant, though she felt anything but. Her heel nudged the door closed behind her to keep out unwanted eyes and ears.

  Firal shrugged. She turned something small and golden between her fingers. It was that she was staring at, Medreal realized, not the city beyond the windows. From the distant look on her face, it seemed she didn't see anything else.

  Medreal hesitated by the door. Her instructions were to direct the girl to the mages, but only the Lifetree knew how gentle they would be with her. She stood still for a long time before she finally joined Firal by the window. “Your father was a good man,” she said, staring into the gardens below. “I am sorry you will not have time to know him. You will never know the joy it brought him to find you were alive and well.”

  “He told me once that he wanted grandchildren.” Firal closed her eyes and slipped the thin gold band onto her finger, twisting it as though she considered removing it again as soon as it was in place. “I always thought he hoped I would marry Ran.”

  Medreal frowned. “I don't know how good of a match you might have been. Ran has his... peculiarities.”

  “I know.”

  The simple words caught her off guard and Medreal blinked at the girl. “Do you, now? What sort of secrets has he told you?”

  Firal grimaced and said nothing more.

  Medreal waited in awkward silence until her eyes glazed over with thought, and she no longer saw the gardens through the window. “Ran was never crowned, you know. Until you arrived in Ilmenhith, Kifelethelas had no recognized heir.”

  Firal's amber eyes widened and darted to Medreal's face. “Heir?”

  “You will be crowned before the day is out.” Getting the words out was struggle enough without trying to make them sound positive. “I'm afraid you'll have a very challenging first few days as our ruler.”

  “I can't rule!” Firal cried. She lifted a hand to her mouth and pressed the other to her stomach as her face blanched. “Oh, I feel ill. Please tell me you don't mean that!”

  “My apologies, dear girl.” Medreal dipped in a bow and drew back. The poor child. She couldn't blame her in the least. One shock after another, with no time to think on any of it. Being thrust from the position of a temple exile to that of queen was jarring enough to unsettle anyone's stomach. “I'll step down to the kitchens and have them make a kettle of peppermint tea. I suspect you'll need it for your nerves in the coming hours. In the meantime, the three Masters from the chapter house would like to speak with you. About your coronation, I am sure. Best not to keep them waiting. I'll have your tea delivered there.”

  Partly for the girl's benefit and partly for her own, Medreal made her retreat from Firal's quarters hasty. Still, as she pulled the door closed, she was unsure of whether the sound Firal made behind her was a sob, or the girl retching.

  Even without the use of his eyes, the familiar sounds and smells of the city would have been enough for Rune to know they had reached Ilmenhith.

  The wagon driver clicked at his horses and snapped his whip, loose boards rattling in the bed where Rune lay. Though the mages had mended the wound in his side just enough to ensure he'd live to reach the city, no one thought him capable of riding. He might have been grateful, if not for the way they'd tied his hands behind his back and bound his feet with his ankles crossed before they'd thrown him in the back of a wagon with the supplies.

  The mages hadn't been gentle, either. He'd earned a new respect for Firal's healing when the magelings had twined their energies together to tend to him. Firal's healing hadn’t been comfortable, but what these mages unleashed on him had been agony. Better to still have the dagger in his side, better to have it slowly rotating in the wound than to feel that again.

  Once more, Rune decided to try his bonds. He'd almost succeeded the first time, cutting the binding that wrapped his ankles with the claws on his hands. They'd seen him moving and stopped the procession, wrapping his hands with cloth so he couldn't do it again. But there was still hope for escape, a chance to right things after retrieving his amulet from Core. Before they'd covered his head, he'd seen none of the soldiers who might recognize him without his amulet—except for Vahn, and had Vahn told the others that the creature they'd bagged and bound was the king's son, they'd have laughed in his face. Not that they should have taken him prisoner at all. Kifel had consented to the duel and Rune had won. Kifel’s army should have withdrawn.

  Breathing deep, Rune shifted from his side to his stomach and willed himself to relax, despite the jarring of the wagon and the ache in his side that made it impossible to concentrate. He rolled his shoulders back, folded his knees, arched his back to bring his hands and feet together. Just a little more. A little more, and he could catch the rope that held his wrists with the claw on his heel. The half-healed wound in his side pulled. He gritted his teeth and stretched a little farther before it started to open and a lance of pain shot up his side and through his middle. Gasping, he abandoned the attempt and tried not to focus on the pain.

  The things that came to mind were no more pleasant. His father's face, still fresh in memory, the moment he realized he was going to die. The look of worry Firal had tried to hide when he'd left, unknowingly abandoning her to die, as well. His eyes stung and he squeezed them shut behind the cover of the sack. He hadn't cried since childhood. He fought it with everything in him now, though he knew it was a battle he'd likely lose.

  Without warning, the wagon jolted to a halt. Thoughts jarred from his head, Rune tensed and waited for someone to come for him. The dull roar of a crowd obscured the sound of individual voices. There was music, too, somewhere nearby. Not the dirge one would expect from a city that had just lost its ruler, but something happier, upbeat. Celebrating his capture and impending death, perhaps.

  “You're a lucky one, aren't you? The queen's all ready to receive you in the palace.” Hands dragged him out of the wagon bed. Cold steel against his ankle cut his feet free as they forced him to stand. He rolled the words over in his head and everything in him turned to ice.

  The queen. A vision of Envesi filled his mind. Of course she'd rush to seize Kifel's throne, eager to claim more power. That was why she'd ingrained herself with Relythes, after all. That was why she'd made him. A tool, a weapon, something with which to sow discord. The icy feeling in the pit of his stomach shifted to roiling hate. Hate for the Archmage, hate for what she'd made him. Hate for the things that had happened at his hands. Hate for himself for doing them.

  The wound in his side had made it hard to focus. Now, acting on pure instinct, Rune reached for the energy flows that moved all around him. He rose to his full height, ignoring the throb of pain, and let the soldiers maneuver him around the wagon and through the courtyard.

  “Well that certainly put a spring in his step,” someone behind him laughed; a harsh, unpleasant sound. He put them out of his mind and focused on the energy flows, winding them close, holding them tight, struggling not to let his wound distract him. He'd only have one chance, one opportunity to strike the Archmage with all the strength she'd given him.

  The sound of people faded behind him as the soldiers entered the palace and guided him through the expanse he could have navigated without them, eyesight or not. The doors to the throne room groaned as they opened.

  “May we present to the queen,” someone said as they crossed to the throne's dais, “the criminal responsible for the death of King Kifelethelas.”
<
br />   Hands on Rune's shoulders forced him to his knees and held him there. His breath quickened as he gathered the flows close and braced to let them free. Someone tore the hood from his head, and when his blazing eyes landed on the queen, all his anger fell away.

  She was glorious, dressed in green silk and wearing gems in her ebony hair. She stiffened on the throne and raised her chin, though she caught herself before shock could show on her face.

  Magic slipped from his grasp. “Firal,” he breathed, hardly believing, unable to look away. He tried to rise, but the soldiers to either side forced him back down.

  “You?” she asked. He saw the hurt in her amber eyes and the way she tried to tamp it down.

  “The village burned, I thought... They told me...” His voice was husky from disuse, unsteady with emotion. He stared up at her, his brow furrowed. How had she gotten here? Why did she wear that silver circlet on her brow and perch upon his father's throne? He dragged his tongue over his dry lips and managed to swallow before he spoke again. “What's happened? What's going on?”

  “You killed the king.” It wasn't quite a statement and not quite a question, either. “He was my father. His kingdom is now mine.”

  Rune opened his mouth, but Firal rose from the throne before he could say a word.

  “I cannot speak to this man,” she declared, turning to the white-robed mages he hadn't noticed beside her.

  “My lady, you must!” Anaide insisted, wringing her hands. Anger sparked in him again when he recognized the Master.

  “I cannot!” Firal shouted, ignoring the gasps and murmurs of the soldiers and high-born gathered in the throne room around them. “I sit on a throne that’s been cold for less than a day, and already you ask me to act against a man I cannot bear to look at. He is a liar and a traitor, a wicked and manipulative monster. How dare you lay this before me before my eyes have dried! If it means so much that he be cast into the dungeons today, then the council may speak without me. As I'm sure you intend to, anyway.”

  “Child, please,” another Master—Nondar—said as he moved toward her. The old mage looked more aged and frail than ever. He clutched his cane in near desperation as Firal lifted her skirts and started for the stairs that led to the private quarters above.

  “Wait,” Rune called after her, struggling to rise. “Firal!” Again the soldiers at his sides held him in place, forcing him to remain kneeling before the throne. He craned his neck and strained to see her as she disappeared.

  Exchanging worried looks, the mages remained silent for some time before Anaide moved to stand before the throne. “Very well,” the Master said, lifting her voice and staring down at him with a sneer. “As the queen wishes, her council will act in her place, as she is still too stricken with emotion over the loss of her father. As a high member of the sitting council, I hereby charge you murderer, guilty of treason and the slaughter of our king.”

  Rune's eyes flicked down to the Masters and a look of warning flashed across his face. “You know who I am, Anaide,” he said, voice stronger, determined. “You know I wouldn't have killed him on—”

  “Be silent!” Anaide snapped, and the room seemed to tremor with her words. Nondar turned away; a hint of a smile played on Edagan's lips. Rune tried to speak again and found himself unable, muted by some trick of the Master's power.

  Anaide drew herself up and stared at him with a gleam in her eyes. She did know him. He saw the recognition in her eyes. “As penance for your guilt, admitted just now by your own words,” she continued, a grim look of justice on her face, “I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead.”

  26

  Worth Fighting For

  “There is word from the border, child.” Nondar grimaced and corrected himself. “My queen, that is. I apologize. It will take some time for me to grow used to that.”

  Firal squeezed her eyes closed and rested her forehead against the windowpane. She no longer saw the gardens below, but she stood there, nonetheless. It would be strange when she moved to the royal family's quarters. She still thought of this room as her own and would for some time. Of course, being in a part of the palace appropriate to her new position might come with benefits. Perhaps people would even knock before entering her room.

  “I don't think this is a good time, Master Nondar.” Kytenia patted Firal's shoulder. She hovered close to her friend's side, as she had all morning. Her eyes were red, but she did a good job of disguising that she'd been crying moments before.

  Nondar sighed, remaining in the open doorway. “I wish it could wait for a better time, but it must be tended now. I understand there was a village being erected near the edge of the ruins. Relythes sent men to destroy it. Now those men move westward and have begun to threaten outposts under your control.”

  More bloodshed. Firal shook her head and drew a shuddering breath. “Forgive me, Kytenia. I must speak with Nondar. If you'd like to go find Rikka and Shymin, I'll join the three of you as soon as I am able.” It was strange not to include Marreli in the group, strange to realize she'd never see the girl’s dreamy eyes or dark braids again. Marreli had always been quiet, shy, but she was a precious friend from a time where Firal had few. She'd have even fewer now that she was to rule.

  “Are you certain?” Kytenia asked, frowning when Firal gave her a nod. She looked as if she wanted to protest, but no objection came. Instead, she embraced her friend and then strode past Nondar to leave the two alone.

  The old master watched Firal by the window for a time before he stepped inside and shut the door. “I realize you have much to mourn, child. I know handling this matter now cannot be easy.”

  Firal turned to give him a shadowed look. “Everything is falling apart around me, Nondar. I only just learned who my father was. Now he is dead. Marreli is dead and there aren't even ashes to send to her family. Now I receive word that a land I don't know how to rule is threatened, and there is to be an execution before the week's end!”

  He held out a hand in gesture of peace. “I understand your distress, child, but Anaide is certain that the best course of action is for the captive to be—”

  “He was my husband!” Firal shouted. Nondar's eyes widened with shock. Tears pricked at her again and she blinked hard to keep them at bay as she reined in her emotions. “Regardless of whether or not he sought to use me. I know who he is and I know you do, too. The only thing he was ever truthful about was his love for his father. He has committed any number of crimes against the crown, but I don’t believe for a moment murder was one of them. I expected better from the mages. To hang him with a falsehood is to spit on your king’s grave.”

  Visibly shaken, it took some time for Nondar to find words. “Your Majesty, what Anaide passed as sentence is appropriate for his crime, regardless of who he is. I realize you lived among those Giftless people for some time, but their ways and customs are not recognized here. You cannot let such things cloud your vision of justice.”

  “Those Giftless people are my people.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “They live within the ruins, which stand on my lands. Their ways are a part of our ways and we will protect them as a part of our people.”

  “If that is the case,” Nondar said slowly, “I suggest you decide how we shall handle the issue of the men Relythes has sent against us. If you claim the people in the ruins as your own, then there are more of your people at risk than I realized.”

  Firal hesitated, biting her lip in thought. “What of the Underling soldiers that marched against Ilmenhith? Where have they gone?” She didn't like adopting their old name; she'd grown accustomed to calling them ruin-folk, but it was a name those in Ilmenhith were unlikely to know or use.

  Nondar shrugged. “The army retreated when they saw their leader captured and bound. Shaken by the breach of tradition, I would assume. Our own soldiers pursued them, but the officers claim when they crested the hill, the Underling forces were simply gone.”

  Firal twisted her ring. To be in one place and gone so quickly meant a
Gate, of course. She doubted anyone else knew of the Gate-stone that had passed into possession of the Underlings, but she was willing to wager the army had used it. If they had, the soldiers would be back in Core now, which meant they could defend themselves if necessary. “No need to concern ourselves with Core, in that case,” she mused, thinking aloud. “I will approach the Underlings when all this is settled and I am able to do so. We shall have to defend the border against Relythes, but how to quell the fighting?”

  “If I may suggest,” Nondar said as he moved toward the windows, “I believe that as a new ruler, it would be best for you to meet with Relythes to reestablish your borders. And if I may be bold, I believe you may be able to negotiate between the mage factions, as well.”

  “I trust you have ideas on how to do that?” Firal gestured to the chair beside the tall windows. She'd been too restless to sit.

  He accepted the invitation a grateful nod, easing himself down and folding his hands atop his cane. “Of course. We shall start with how to extend an invitation for the meeting.” The old Master settled into the placid tone he'd used so often when giving lectures. Firal leaned against the window as he spoke, her eyes unfocused as she stared out across the city that was now hers. She didn't like all of his suggestions, but she could see the wisdom behind them. It was good fortune that Nondar had ended up on her side. For things to end well, she'd need all the good fortune she could get.

  Though the council hall held mostly court mages and Masters from the chapter house, a handful of magelings in colored robes dotted the room as well. The Masters rarely left the chapter house without them, insisting they required magelings for assistance. Assistance, of course, meant they were little more than servants while in the palace, but it was an understandable necessity. With the preparations for Firal's formal coronation ceremony and subsequent feasts underway, the palace could spare no staff to assist them.