Serpent's Mark (Snakesblood Saga Book 1)

by Beth Alvarez

  Kytenia frowned when there wasn’t one for her. “There are only three?”

  Shymin spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I asked about Firal’s, but the seamstress said it was sent ahead. She said those were her directions from whoever paid for it.”

  Nondar turned a sharp blue eye toward the girls at mention of Firal. Kytenia said nothing else, her face grim as the driver set the carriage in motion again.

  The convoy pushed on through the first night with few breaks, the rocking of the coach on the rutted path eventually lulling all of its passengers to sleep.

  Travel stopped in the morning for a sparse meal distributed from a supply wagon. Kytenia did not know when the kitchen staff found time to prepare food for the voyage, but when they paused again at noon for lunch and the rain had grown too heavy for a cook fire, everyone was grateful for the cold vegetables and thin slices of meat.

  They formed camp some time after dark. The carriages drew into a circle and the drivers pulled tents from the railing on the roofs of each transport.

  Kytenia planned to sleep in the carriage when Shymin, Rikka and Marreli moved to a tent, but Nondar stayed behind as well, and Kytenia decided to join the other girls for propriety’s sake. The four of them lay in a row, crammed into a low-roofed canvas tent pitched as close to one of the many campfires as they thought safe.

  “Do you think she’ll make it?” Marreli asked in a whisper that was barely audible over the drumming rain. Shymin glanced toward the carriages as if she thought Nondar might overhear.

  “I think so,” Kytenia whispered back. She hoped so, in any case. Hoping was all she could do.

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  The words purred right beside her ear. Firal groaned and nestled her face into the warmth of the body beside her, inhaling his sweetly masculine scent with a sigh.

  “I thought you weren’t going to touch me?” she asked in a murmur. Her eyes didn’t want to open.

  “I never said that.” A gentle hand stroked her back. “Do you always get so cuddly with strangers?”

  Firal grumbled. She forced her eyelids apart and blinked dazedly at the figure she lay against. Her fingers curled in his shirt. Instead of the armor she remembered Ran wearing, she felt firm muscle underneath thick, rough-spun fabric. Her breath caught in her throat and she lifted her eyes.

  Daemon tilted his head as he looked down at her, his eyes glowing dull violet behind his steel mask.

  She shrieked and thrust herself away from him. “Keep your hands to yourself!”

  His laugh was muted by his mask. “Me? I sat down and you climbed into my lap.”

  Firal glared, unable to keep from blushing. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” His voice dropped dangerously. “I was under the impression we had an agreement. I get you out, you stay out. Am I the only one who got that?”

  “Any deal we had was off as soon as you didn’t give back my property.” Her eyes darted to the sky beyond the jagged stone teeth that lined the cavern’s entry. A thin mist hung in the air. The sun was just cresting the horizon; the storm had passed.

  “You came back just for that?” Daemon sounded more amused than anything. He inched back across the floor to recline against the wall with his arms crossed. “What in the world could be so precious about one little book?”

  “It’s not the book.” Firal gave him a look so acidic that it made him pause.

  “Then what is it?” he asked finally.

  She picked her cloak up off the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Nothing you’ll give, anyway. I’ve already told you what I want. I want you to stay out of the ruins, but you seem to have difficulty with simple instructions.”

  “If you had given me my journal, I wouldn’t have had a reason to come back,” she protested.

  “Stubborn girl. You’ve been quite troublesome, you know that? Interrupting important business with your constant invasions of our territory.” Daemon reached behind his back. Firal hadn’t noticed the small leather satchel he’d been leaning on until he shifted to get something out of it.

  Her journal.

  He turned the small book over in his scaly hands before he held it out to her. Firal’s eyes widened and she snatched it out of his grasp.

  “There. Happy now?” He settled against the wall again.

  Glaring, Firal untied the book’s strap and flipped it open. The pages were intact. Not a single hint of water damage. Had he had the blighted thing the whole time? She bit her lip and dipped her fingers into the pocket of the cover. The necklace was still there.

  Closing her eyes and sighing with relief, she pulled the broken chain free and caught hold of the pendant. Her thumb brushed over the relief of the many-pointed star. “It’s not the book that matters.” She cast the leather journal to the floor between them. “Just this.”

  Daemon’s eyes flickered behind his mask. “All that for a broken necklace?”

  “My mother’s.” She tucked the pendant into her bodice. “Keep the book, for all I care. All I need is this.”

  He watched her tuck her pendant into the bodice of her dress, his gaze lingering at her throat for a long moment afterward. Then he blinked several times, as if to clear his vision, and turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said, so soft she almost thought it sincere. “I didn’t know its importance.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” she snapped. “You don’t have to pretend you do. I don’t want sympathy, especially not from you.”

  He stared at the journal by his feet for a time. Eventually, he picked it up and wrapped the strap around it to bind it closed again. “I’ve watched the temple for a long time, but sometimes it seems I know very little about how life inside it works.”

  Firal didn’t reply. Beyond their shelter, the mists burned off as sunlight spilled across the ruins. It was going to be miserably humid.

  Silence weighed heavily for a time before she mustered the will to speak again.

  “So what happens now?” she asked. “Do you escort me out again, or do you mean to kill me for returning?”

  “It does seem like you have a death wish, coming back after meeting Lumia. It would be better for both of us if I grant it, wouldn’t it? Lumia is not a forgiving woman.”

  She grimaced, but the threat of death seemed hollow. Twice, he’d had the opportunity to hurt her; twice, he’d sent her back to the temple unscathed. She didn’t understand why and couldn’t imagine what stayed his hand—especially after their encounter with his queen—but all things considered, she didn’t think it was luck that had kept her alive.

  “Very well,” Firal said finally. She returned to his side and knelt beside him, sat on her heels and clasped her hands in her lap. “Please make it fast.” She squeezed her amber eyes closed.

  She didn’t have to see him to know he was surprised; the silence made it clear enough. But she felt the weight of his eyes on her, felt the proximity of his hand hovering at her throat. Then he brushed her hair back from her face and wound his claws in her ebony tresses.

  Goosebumps crawled down her spine.

  “Your hair feels like silk, but it doesn’t snag when I touch it. Perhaps I’ll keep it.” He chuckled when she shivered. “It’s so pretty on your head, though. Perhaps I’ll keep that, too.”

  “Do you intend to tell me all your plans to dismember me, or will you do me the courtesy of getting it over with quickly?” Firal opened her eyes to glare at him.

  He regarded her thoughtfully for a time before he untangled his hand from her hair and stood. “Get up.” He picked up his worn leather bag and tucked her abandoned journal inside it. “I’ve better things to do than kill you.”

  Relief washed over her in a wave. She was right, then. He didn’t mean to harm her. But at the same time, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of those ‘better things.’ She got to her feet. “Like what? You
sound like you have something in mind.”

  Daemon was already walking up the stairs that led into the ruins. Firal hurried to close the gap between them.

  The sky overhead was not completely clear. Sunbeams fell past patchy clouds, but a thicker layer of cloud cover with a gray underside hovered to the south. It would rain again soon.

  “I have a few things in mind,” he said casually as he started down the corridor at a languid pace. “Of course, I hope you know you’re indebted to me now, since I’m choosing to spare you. Mistress would hardly approve, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “Mistress?” Firal pulled up the hood of her cloak in spite of the sun.

  “Lumia, Queen of the Underground. I thought we’d already established the part where I serve her.” He peered at her over his shoulder. Even with the mask he wore, she had the strange impression of a quizzical look on his face.

  She huffed. “You ought to call her my lady or Her Majesty, not mistress. You can hardly expect me to understand the ways of you beasts after one meeting with your queen.”

  “Beasts?” He barked a laugh, harsh and humorless. “I think you have a terrible misconception of what we are. My men are no more beastly than I am.”

  Firal’s nose crinkled and she glanced at his strange feet, with their elevated heel and three elongated, claw-tipped toes. Her lip curled with distaste. “Well, that isn’t saying much, is it?”

  Daemon rolled his eyes. “The people of the underground have a very stable civilization and a unique culture led by different factions. They even have their own written alphabet. They’re hardly beasts. They’re every bit as human as the people in Alwhen.”

  She paused mid-stride. Firal knew Alwhen was the capital of the Giftless lands, though she was not entirely sure where it was. Human settlements on the island seemed to be as short-lived as their people. “But there are unnatural things among your kind. The stories saying your queen is immortal, for example. And—” She bit her her tongue and stopped short.

  “And me?” Daemon finished for her. “I know exactly how you feel about me. It’s not like you try to hide the way you stare. There’s no need to hold your tongue, mageling. You offend me more by feigning indifference.”

  “Who says I’m trying to avoid offending you?” Firal scoffed. She craned her neck, searching for the sun’s position. She turned when she found it, starting toward the south and leaving him behind.

  “Where are you going?” he called after her.

  “Home,” she yelled back. She heard Daemon following her and didn’t care. It took effort to keep the sun to her left as she traversed the winding halls. It was fortunate the sun was still visible between clouds; the direction would have been impossible to discern otherwise.

  As soon as the Archmage’s tower became visible over the crumbling walls of the ruins, she broke into a run. Rounding the corner of the last wall, she burst into the open field between ruin and temple. The hedgerow at the edge of the garden was just ahead. She hastened toward it, but skidded to a halt when she saw the courtyard on the other side.

  There wasn’t a soul to be seen.

  No students milling about, no Masters in their stark white crossing through the garden. Silence lay over the temple like a heavy cloak, driving her heart to the pit of her stomach.

  “Is it always this quiet?” Daemon’s voice at her heels made her jump.

  She shot a glare over her shoulder and took a step closer to the hedges. Her eyes scoured the courtyard. There was no mistaking it. Everyone was gone. “They left without me!” she cried. How early had the trip started? How late had she slept?

  “Ah, right.” He chuckled and folded his arms over his chest. “The solstice. Poor little Firal, the odd mage out. Left behind while everyone goes to the palace.”

  Firal’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

  He met her gaze levelly. “Considering the knowledge spread like wildfire across the kingdom, I’d be more surprised to find someone who didn’t know.”

  “I told Kytenia I’d be back in time. They weren’t supposed to leave until this afternoon. I told her...I’d...” Her shoulders bunched and she swallowed. Tears blurred her vision and her throat grew thick.

  For the first time in her life, she’d had a chance to find answers. In her desperate attempt to recover her necklace and ensure it would happen, she’d robbed herself of the opportunity.

  And then there was why she’d missed it, and where she’d been. There would be no avoiding the scrutiny of the Masters now. The idea of punishment made her queasy.

  Her shoulders slumped and she sucked in a shuddering breath. “I have to catch up with the carriages.” How she was going to do that, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even certain she could find the market on her own.

  “Catch up? You don’t even know which direction they went,” Daemon snorted.

  She grimaced at the reflection of her thoughts in his words. “What, and you do?”

  “I am well acquainted with the way to Ilmenhith, yes.”

  She stared at him, her mouth working to form words.

  He watched her lips in mild amusement. “Do you really want to go that badly?”

  There was nothing she wanted more. Firal pressed a hand to her aching chest, above where she’d hidden her necklace within her bodice. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then let’s make a deal.” Daemon paced forward and circled her slowly. “I can take you to Ilmenhith. I’ll even make sure you make it back to the temple safely.”

  Her heart leaped. “You can?”

  “Hinging, of course, on the condition that you give me what I want in return.”

  Firal’s excitement waned. “What do you want?”

  “Knowledge.” The smile was audible in his voice. He stopped beside her. “I want you to give me knowledge the temple would deny me. You already know I bear the Gift, but I can’t control it without training. Agree to school me, and I’ll see to it that you make it there in time.”

  As quickly as her spirits had surged at his offer, her stomach sank. She wasn’t the strongest of magelings, nor was she authorized to use her magic for her own means. How was she supposed to teach someone else to wield a power she could barely contain, herself?

  No, that was a lie; she was perfectly capable with magic and she knew it. She had assisted Ran several times, hiding in places the Masters wouldn’t see them, trying to teach him what he’d missed in class. It wasn’t lack of skill that made her balk. It was danger. “And if I don’t?” she asked cautiously.

  “Then it’s not too late for me to change my mind about letting you leave the ruins in one piece.” Daemon shrugged, so indifferent it made her stomach turn.

  Swallowing, she turned toward the courtyard. “Just let me get—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Decide now, move now. I’m not foolish enough to give you the chance to run away.”

  She started to protest, then remembered the mage-barrier. It would keep him from following her past the hedges and onto temple grounds. Since he hadn’t suggested he accompany her, she suspected he knew. Firal hesitated, considering. She wasn’t afraid of him, his threats ringing hollow against the memory of him turning her free. It was the Masters she was concerned about.

  And losing her only chance to learn her mother’s name.

  Firal weighed the possibilities in her head, every muscle in her body tense. In her heart, she’d already made her decision. It was convincing her head it was the best choice that would be a problem.

  She gestured for him to lead the way. “Tell me what you can already do.”

  Daemon grasped her elbow turned her back toward the ruins. From the confident way he moved, she wondered if he’d predicted her answer from the beginning.

  “I’ve done a few things before,” he said, “but most of it is accidental, or it’s so out of order that it’s useless. For instance, when you healed me. I can mend a broken bone, but I don’t know how to set it, and I can’t even co
ax the tiniest of cuts to heal. I can call a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, but I can’t light a candle without matches or flint. I want to learn practicality.”

  “Teaching you proper techniques could take months. I obviously can’t stay hidden in the ruins for that long.” Firal held her skirts just high enough that they wouldn’t snag on prickly weeds. He moved ahead, across the clearing between temple and ruin, and she frowned at his back.

  “Then you stay in the temple and come to the ruins to teach me every evening, beginning the first night after you return from Ilmenhith. You will be granted safe passage in the ruins whenever we meet for lessons. Agreed?” Daemon stopped in an entrance to the ruins and faced her. It took her a moment to realize he wanted an immediate answer.

  She eyed him doubtfully. “So you promise safe passage to Ilmenhith, a safe return to the temple, and risk-free access to the ruins in exchange for lessons in magic?”

  Daemon nodded.

  “Done,” she said, presenting her hand.

  He clasped her fingers in his clawed grasp. The amount of care that went into his touch surprised her; the sharp tips of his claws hardly brushed her skin. Then he spun away so fast it made his cloak flutter. Daemon brought his hands together, drew a line upward and then stretched his arms out overhead, tracing a squared shape in the air before him.

  The hair on the back of Firal’s neck prickled as the flows of magic in the air shifted. “What are you doing?”

  Power crackled in the open space ahead of them, the trails he’d traced sizzling with white sparks of energy. Her heart skipped a beat as the power began to weave a spiderweb of lines, raw magic zigzagging across the open air. “Stop!”

  He continued, slowly drawing the edges of the networking flows toward the ground.

  “Stop!” she screeched, launching herself at his back. His hold on the energy flows snapped as she struck him. The crackling lines converged and then shot outward with a deafening boom as the two of them hit the ground.

  “Get off me!” Daemon snarled, twisting out from underneath her weight.