Serpent's Mark (Snakesblood Saga Book 1)

by Beth Alvarez

  Firal cast a glance behind her and pulled her cloak farther over her shoulders. From where she stood, the entrance she’d taken appeared little more than a dark sliver. She waved a hand over her lantern and a flame sprang to life within it. Using magic for such frivolities was disallowed, according to her teachers, but she saw no reason to carry flint when a simple gesture and the barest hint of concentration could serve the same purpose. Then again, misuse of magic was the least of her concerns, given that the ruins were forbidden in the first place. If she were caught, the punishment for her exploration would be much harsher than the punishment for improper use of her Gift.

  Stepping over a tangle of vines, she crept around the first turn in the hallway she’d chosen and squealed when she walked face-first into a sapling no taller than the walls. In all the time she’d spent in the ruins, she had never memorized more than a few of the roofless hallways, though she had mapped many of them. The labyrinth was too vast, its pathways twisting back on themselves like a serpent. Every so often, she encountered surprises such as this. Firal pulled away from the tree and grimaced when her necklace tangled in its branches. The necklace popped against her skin and she felt the chain go slack.

  “Lovely,” she muttered. She caught the pendant with a sigh as the broken chain slid from her neck. Her fingers curled around the stone as she considered it. Worn as her dress was, she didn’t trust the pockets hidden in its skirt. She had mended holes in their corners too often. Instead, Firal took her leather journal from her bag and tucked the necklace into a pocket in its cover. It would do for now. She clapped the book shut and tucked it back into the top of her satchel as she started off once more.

  Now and then she paused her exploration to crouch with her book and take notes against her knees. Her personal notes meant as much to her as her studies, and mapping the ruins was her only real hobby. She noted each turn she took and compared them to the paths she’d plotted out before. Occasional dead ends forced her to turn around. It was difficult to see how the corridors fit together, and while she had larger sheets of paper back in her room to copy her findings onto later, the smaller maps in her journal left her feeling as lost as a blind merchant’s ship.

  The rising soldier moon, Ithi, cast a weak glow through the clouds and its position indicated an hour or two had passed. The tiny flame in Firal’s lantern seemed inadequate against the dark, but the farther she traveled, the more familiar the path seemed. She tucked her journal into her satchel, lifted her lantern overhead and pressed her fingertips upon the grainy surface of the weathered stone wall. Positive the little nook she often hid in to study would be waiting just ahead, she picked up her pace, rounded the corner and froze when the empty air of another long corridor greeted her.

  Firal stepped back to review the path she’d just taken. “Strange.” The walls looked just like those that framed her usual spot, a comfortable little cranny made by a fallen wall. Had she missed a turn? Or had she just been exploring the ruins long enough for everything to start looking the same?

  The wind stirred the leaves of a sapling behind her, and the sharp breath Firal drew made her unpleasantly aware of the tight bodice of her ill-fitting dress. She laid a hand flat against her middle, just beneath her breasts, and willed the flame in her lantern to grow a little brighter. Thinking of the old myths put her on edge, like a child afraid of the dark after a frightening story. Shaking her head to scatter the thoughts, she tightened her grasp on her lantern.

  The farther Firal went, the taller the stone walls were. The growth underfoot seemed almost manicured, though there were still fallen stones scattered in the grass. Her hand shook and her lantern rattled. She inched closer to the wall and pressed her palm against it to keep her balance on the uneven ground, and her footsteps grew more cautious. There was a gap in the wall up ahead, but it was different from anything she’d seen before, framed by an archway with the unmistakable appearance of a great creature’s mouth. Hanging moss drooped from its top and created the illusion of jagged teeth. Firal leaned around the corner and lifted her lantern to peer inside.

  It was not another hallway. The yawning gap was an alcove with a low ceiling, and stairs of black stone descended into the earth before her. It delved deeper than the feeble light of her lantern could reach. Somewhere far below, she swore she heard the patter of some tiny creature’s feet. Firal swallowed hard. “They’re just stories,” she muttered as she fumbled for her journal and a stick of graphite. The ruins were manmade, but that did not mean they were inhabited. Still, her fingers trembled as she drew out the lines her path had taken. She marked the location of the entrance at the end of the corridor and drew a rough outline of what it looked like on the opposite page. The architecture was something she could research later.

  Jamming her graphite into her bag, she turned back and collided with a shadowy shape that hadn’t been there before. Her eyes darted up. A glowing pair of crimson lights seared the darkness, only inches from her face.

  Firal shrieked and reeled backwards. She stumbled over the uneven ground and fell. Stars exploded in her vision as her head hit the wall behind her. The high, shattering peal of her lantern’s glass hovered right on the edge of her senses. The flame extinguished before she could see the figure in front of her, a black silhouette that loomed between her and the cloud-hazed sky.

  “If I catch you in here again,” said a masculine voice, with an odd timbre like a feral growl, “I promise you won’t get a second warning.”

  Firal’s vision doubled as she slid to the ground against the wall. The dizzying stars in her sight faded and consciousness slipped away.

  3

  Visitor

  Birdsong and sunshine flowed through the open window, though the cool breeze carried the scent of coming rain and the distant sound of thunder. Firal groaned, blinking against the light and fighting the haze of sleep that clouded her mind.

  “Waking up, are we? The Archmage isn’t going to be pleased when she finds out where you’ve been.” Ran clicked his tongue in disapproval.

  Firal grimaced and forced her eyes open. She was almost surprised to see her room. Ran sat in a chair beside her bed, hunched over a book he’d taken from her desk. The door stood wide and a tray of breakfast waited on the table across the room. She clenched her jaw. “The Archmage isn’t going to find out.”

  “Oh, come now. Nothing escapes her eyes. And after that little event last night, I’m sure she’s already heard.” Ran leaned back in his chair and frowned. The look he gave her made her suddenly aware she wore nothing but smallclothes beneath the worn sheets.

  “What are you doing in here?” She clutched the sheets to her chest and then drew them up over her shoulders. “This is the girls’ dormitory!”

  “There aren’t any rules saying I can’t be in here, just that the door can’t be closed.” He glanced toward the doorway, disinterested. “Kytenia asked me to stay so she could get something to eat. She sent that tray over there, too, in case you woke.”

  “Kytenia?” Firal eyed him with suspicion. “Why was she here? What happened?”

  Ran snorted a laugh as he clapped the book shut and tossed it back onto her desk. “That’s what everyone else wants to know. A man in a cloak carried you to the middle of the courtyard, left you on the ground, and disappeared into the ruins before anyone could catch him. The most popular rumor is that he was a scorned lover. Or an Underling, among those who believe in them.” A spark in his blue eyes gave him a mischievous air, which was only strengthened by his smirk. “You know, leaving temple grounds without a Master is against the temple’s rules.”

  “What would you know about temple rules?” Firal spat back. She twisted the edge of the sheets between her fists and wished she could twist his neck instead. “You don’t follow any of them!”

  “Well, I’m exempt.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Her brow furrowed. “No one is exempt from the Archmage’s rules.”

  He flashed her a broad grin. She hate
d it when he did that. It made it that much harder to ignore the fact he was almost charming. When he didn’t answer, Firal snorted and shook her head.

  Though she’d spent her entire life in Kirban, Firal couldn’t recall having actually seen the Archmage. The woman only left the temple for the most important occurrences. The rest of the time, she locked herself up in the top floors of the tower that stood in the very center of the temple’s grounds. Supervision of the magelings was left up to the Masters, but severe misconduct was punished by the Archmage herself. The thought of being expelled made Firal shudder.

  “Aren’t you missing class?” she asked, changing the subject. “I know you probably can’t afford to miss this morning’s lessons.”

  Ran shrugged and scratched his chin with his thumb. “Oh, there’s no class today.”

  “No class? They never cancel lessons. Even in the worst weather.” Thunder sounded, as if to underscore her statement. Firal glanced toward the open window and fought the compulsion to close it.

  “They do when the king pays a visit.” Something lingered in Ran’s voice, something she couldn’t quite put a finger on, though she could have sworn it was dismay.

  “Very funny,” Firal said. “The whole temple would be in an uproar if something like that happened. The Masters would be falling over themselves.”

  The corners of Ran’s eyes pinched and his cheer evaporated. He pushed himself out of his chair and started for the door. “You’re supposed to stay in bed today, but I’m sure the girls will fill you in later. He’s here to see the Archmage. The rest of the temple is just sort of waiting to hear what all this is about.” He paused by the doorway. “I’ll let Kytenia know you’re awake. She’ll be glad to hear it. I’m sure she’ll be full of questions.”

  Firal groaned as he slid out the open door and disappeared. She was unsure what to think. While Ran was a mischief-maker and a perpetual thorn in her side, she didn’t think him a liar. But what reason would the king have to visit the temple? To her knowledge, he never had before. At least, not in her lifetime. The mages offered invaluable services to the kingdom. Their ability and expertise was treasured in everything from counsel to agriculture. But the king had built the temple as a gift to the Archmage and her Masters, and beyond its founding, he had shown little interest in the establishment.

  Thinking gave Firal a headache. She rubbed her temple and winced when she discovered a sizable bruise on the side of her head. What exactly happened last night? She thought of Ran’s goading and scoffed. A scorned lover? That was laughable.

  Firal sucked in a breath and thrust herself from the bed. The sunshine had disappeared, so she closed the window first and then hurried hurried to the door to push it closed. If Ran was to be believed, there was an entire day ahead with no classes to fill it. Injuries aside, it was a perfect opportunity to catch up on her studies. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but there was no reason to waste time now that she was awake. Whatever had happened in the ruins, it had cost her a night of study.

  Moving the chair at her bedside back to its place at her desk, Firal caught sight of the book Ran had been reading. She paused. An Underling, Ran said. It should have been no surprise to see he’d picked up an old storybook about them, kept on her desk since childhood. She’d never been able to get rid of a book; he must have figured its presence meant she believed the old tales. She had half a mind to break something over his hard head.

  Ran was only trying to scare her. But she couldn’t remember anything about that silhouette, save those red, glowing eyes. The memory of them made the hair stand on the back of her neck. Firal shook her head, opened the book and settled in her chair as she paged through it.

  The illustrations inside were fanciful, to say the least. Drawings of hunchbacked brutes and monsters driven to caves beneath the island centuries ago decorated the pages. None of the illustrations portrayed ordinary men. Firal had seen no more than a silhouette and those crimson lights, but if the shape of him hadn’t convinced her he was a person, his voice certainly had. She studied the images of troll-like monsters labeled Underlings across several more pages before she snorted and clapped the book shut. There were more important things to worry about.

  Firal’s satchel hung over the back of her chair. She assumed Kytenia had ensured it made it back to her room. The book about Underlings went back on a stack of volumes borrowed from the temple’s library while she rooted in her satchel with her free hand. Her brow furrowed when she realized her journal wasn’t there. The vague memory of dropping it flashed through her mind and she cringed. With her broken necklace hidden within its cover, everything that was important to her—memories, notes, research, and otherwise—was inside that book. If it had been rained on...

  Firal scanned the room twice before she found her faded green training robes folded atop the chest at the foot of her bed. She recognized Kytenia’s handiwork and would have to thank her later. If it rained much more before Firal could retrieve her journal, all her pages of thoughts and drawings of the ruins would be illegible. Yet it would be safer and easier to sneak out of the temple’s grounds after dark. She mulled things over as she dressed.

  If she could not find her journal or if it had already been ruined, then the notes inside needed to be replaced now. Without them, she could barely remember what was on her impending tests. Kytenia could help with that, and if Kytenia wasn’t in the library, she would be in the dinner hall. Firal chewed her lip a moment or two before she decided. Her studies had to take precedence. She’d visit the library first. If luck was on her side, everything would be undamaged after nightfall.

  Firal craned her neck to look for her sandals. They weren’t on the floor and weren’t under her bed, either. Grumbling softly to herself, she added a stop by the temple’s storerooms to her mental list and stalked out of her room barefoot.

  The temple grounds were all but empty, the ominous clouds in the sky enough to keep the other magelings indoors. The teachers and staff, Firal presumed, would all be occupied by their guest of honor. That was, if the king really was visiting. She sniffed at the idea and wrinkled her nose as she tip-toed through a puddle. The water was clean and warm, but still unpleasant against her bare feet. The Archmage’s tower loomed above her, its yawning windows reminding her of mournful eyes. She squirmed beneath their accusatory gaze and hurried to the doors at the foot of the tower.

  The first floor of the Archmage’s tower was a library. Most days, its doors stood open, welcoming anyone to explore. For the doors to be closed on rainy days was not unusual, but when Firal pressed her hands to the seam where the great doors met, they didn’t budge. They’d been bolted, or barricaded; whatever one did to lock doors of that size.

  She frowned and lifted the edge of her robes as she stepped back over a few puddles. There was a smaller entrance on the far side, in the temple’s gardens. Perhaps it would still be unlocked. It was best to fetch the books and start on her own. Though Kytenia was good at reciting points from their lectures by memory, she was pitiful about taking notes. Firal padded to the far corner of the tower and hesitated when she caught the sound of voices and the sharp clang of metal striking metal. Slowly, she peeked around the corner into the gardens.

  In the center of the circular patio beneath the fruit trees, Ran held a sword locked against that of an unfamiliar man. “You’re welcome to try it, but I could just slide to the right and run you through before you regain your footing.”

  “You couldn’t either!” the stranger protested, though he gave a wry smile. He did not waver beneath the press of Ran’s sword. Instead, he stepped forward and forced Ran back.

  Firal’s brow knit in a mix of curiosity and confusion. She leaned against the corner of the tower, watching them move. Both men were untidy, apparently having been at their sparring match for a while. But Ran’s opponent still seemed fresh and vital, moving with a lithe grace that didn’t befit his solid-built warrior’s body. He was handsome, though his features were harder than those of
most Eldani men. Judging by the fine blade he held, Firal pegged him for a king’s guard. Perhaps Ran had been right about that visit, after all.

  Step by step, the man pushed Ran back, tossing his head once to throw disheveled sandy-blond hair out of his face.

  “I could always just pull a dagger and stab you while my blade has yours pinned.” Ran smirked, though he gritted his teeth. “I foresee you losing, either way.”

  “Foresee my foot!” the man said.

  Ran’s laugh cut short as he failed to see the sweep of his adversary’s leg in time to dodge and his feet were knocked out from under him. He fell backwards and hit the stone with a thud and a splash.

  Firal burst into laughter, applauding the poor landing as his opponent brought the tip of his blade to Ran’s throat.

  “I tried to warn you,” the man chuckled. He cast Firal a sideways glance before he lowered his sword and offered a hand.

  Ran groaned at the gesture but accepted the help. “And here I thought I was the one fighting dirty.”

  “No one fights entirely fairly, boy.” The swordsman jerked his head in Firal’s direction. “Who’s this? Friend of yours?”

  “Not sure that’s what I’d call her.” Ran drove the tip of his sword between the cobblestones and let it stand, brushing in vain at the muddy splotches on his pale blue mage’s robes. How he’d ended up a rank above her, she would likely never know. “That’s Firal.”

  The corners of Firal’s mouth twitched upward at the introduction and she strode to the edge of the patio to offer a curtsy. “Sir.”

  “So you’re Firal.” The stranger gave Ran a thoughtful look and cleared his throat. Sword still in hand, he strode forward, dipped in a graceful bow and took her hand to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, at last.”

  “At last?” She gave a thin laugh and avoided eye contact. His eyes were a vibrant green, not an unusual color among her people, but they had a piercing intensity that made her uncomfortable. She swallowed. “Surely you don’t mean he’s spoken of me.”