Serpent's Crown (Snakesblood Saga Book 5)

by Beth Alvarez

  “Here.” The mage pushed open a small door halfway down the hall, stepped back and clasped her hands together before her. She didn’t seem worried about him trying to escape, but she still positioned herself in the middle of the hall.

  He stepped inside and allowed himself a sigh once the door was shut. Even if he took advantage of the washbasin that stood against the wall to make himself wholly presentable, it only bought him a little time.

  If Shymin intended to meet with him, she wanted something. He doubted he’d be able to bargain for much information, but sorting out what he wanted to know was important. There was no reason to think Envesi would let Lulu out of her sight, especially if what his father said was true. If the girl was useful, she’d be kept close. As precious as his daughter was, learning his father’s whereabouts probably took precedence. Ennil had fooled them once already. If there was anything Vahn could do to keep his father from returning to Ilmenhith, it was likely the only good he could do.

  He lingered at the washbasin after he sponged himself clean, studying his reflection in the small mirror on the wall above it. It was curious how refreshed he looked. Whatever the mages had done to him before they brought him here, it had left him well-rested. He smoothed his hair before he stepped back out into the hallway, as clean and composed as a king caught off his guard and kidnapped could possibly be.

  The mage stood waiting. She hadn’t moved an inch.

  Vahn studied her for a time, considering whether he should speak to her or not. If she'd been sent to serve him breakfast and tend his needs, chances were she was unimportant among the mages here. It was unlikely she knew anything valuable. Without a word, he turned and made his way back to the plain room at the end of the hall.

  The white-robed woman slid in after him and crossed to the table to inspect his meal. She waved a hand and thin curls of steam began to drift from the tea. Firal used magic for such conveniences from time to time, but seeing this stranger do it was oddly unsettling.

  Pretending he wasn't bothered, he slipped into a chair. Despite his lodgings, the meal seemed worthy of his station, consisting of a variety of fruits and pastries served on fine porcelain. He suspected it wasn't intentional. If anything, it was just the same fare the mages allowed themselves.

  “Let Shymin know I will see her after breakfast.” Assuming the meal wasn't poisoned, that was. He took a pastry nonetheless. If they killed him, it would only worsen the kingdom's disposition toward them.

  The mage bobbed in a graceless curtsy. “Of course.” She paused before adding, “Majesty.”

  He lifted a brow. It was the first acknowledgment of his rank and identity she'd given. He didn't know if that was favorable or not.

  She scurried from the room without saying anything else, closing the door and replacing the bar in front of it on her way. That single action told him a great deal. They didn't see him as a threat, but they still didn't want him to escape. Under supervision, they found it unlikely he would try it, but he was still a captive and wouldn't be trusted alone. Wise of them, he acknowledged; he had been considering breaking the window only a few hours before.

  They gave Vahn enough time to eat his fill and drink his tea before someone returned to retrieve him. It was a different mage this time, with a serving boy at her heels.

  “Master Shymin will receive you now,” the mage said with a slight incline of her head. She had the same white hair and white robes as every other Master. Though he knew she wasn’t the same woman, Vahn had the strange impression that she might as well have been. She moved the same way, spoke in the same timbre, looked at him with the same calculating gaze.

  Vahn pushed himself from the table and strode toward her. “Thank you.” He watched from the corner of his eye as the serving boy scuttled past them and busied himself with stacking dishes and cleaning the tabletop. Despite being in the presence of a mage and a king, the boy looked comfortable.

  It was likely the lad didn’t know who Vahn was, but that he went about his work in such an ordinary fashion indicated the mages had been in Alwhen for a while. How long, though, Vahn couldn’t say. When Relythes built his wall, all communication had ceased, and the two countries had been comfortable ignoring each other. Now Vahn regretted not paying better attention to the Giftless half of the island.

  As they walked the hall a second time, Vahn studied the other doors. Most were closed, but his was the only door barred. Now that he had a better look, he saw the iron brackets for the bar were a recent addition, the metal freshly forged. The chips in the stone where the brackets were anchored had not yet discolored.

  The mage led him down a flight of narrow stone stairs and into another hall. This one was slightly wider than the one upstairs, but just as plain. Pale outlines on the stone showed where tapestries once hung on the walls and carpets must have decorated the floor. They passed the kitchens and a formal dining chamber, both scarcely furnished.

  The thought of the mages taking the city by force had crossed his mind, but seeing every nook and cranny swept clean and every scrap of furnishing removed made him think otherwise. It was too neat, too precise. If Envesi had stormed the city and turned nobles out of their estates, there would have been chaos and a huge number of belongings left behind. This was too clean, too calculated. Whoever lived here before, they left by choice, and with plenty of time to spare.

  “Master Shymin will receive you in the front parlor,” the mage ahead of him said, her voice low. “Do you prefer tea or wine?”

  “Tea, thank you.” He lingered back a step as she opened a door and motioned him in.

  Walking past her made him uncomfortable, but he reminded himself he was unlikely to find a knife in his back—if only because mages didn’t need knives. Then again, magic hadn't been what killed Medreal. He drew himself up and pretended the thought didn’t bother him.

  Of the rooms he’d seen, the parlor was the only one that was fully furnished. Couches and chairs sat around a low table, all atop a rug in the rich vermillion that represented the Giftless kingdom. A pair of desks sat against the wall at the back of the room. Shymin sat at one, sprinkling sand over a sheet of paper to absorb the excess ink.

  “Welcome, King Vahnil,” she said without looking up. “I apologize for your breakfast being late this morning. I’ve had trouble finding a proper cook for hire. Did you rest well?”

  He stopped just inside the doorway. “I woke up on the floor after your party kidnapped me. I haven't slept since then.”

  Shymin turned, frowning. “Not the most restful night then, I suppose.” She rose from the desk and smoothed her white robes as she crept toward him. A few feet away, she paused and dipped in a graceful bow. “I apologize for the inconvenience. This is not how I planned our meeting, but we’ll have to make the best of the situation.”

  “I can’t imagine you expected it would go better,” Vahn said. “Between kidnapping my child, betraying your homeland and then kidnapping me, it seems like you set yourself up for an unpleasant meeting.”

  Her brows drew together and a quizzical look drifted over her face. “What makes you think I’ve betrayed my homeland?”

  Vahn snorted. “Don’t pretend you aren’t aware you’ve committed treason. I expected better from the Archmage’s sister.”

  Shymin’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps an explanation is in order.”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if an explanation would lessen her treachery.

  “First,” she said, “let me be clear that I do not agree with the methods used, but I am loyal to the cause. I was ordered to bring you here and speak to you, and so I have.” She made her way to one of the couches, sat down and gestured for him to have a seat.

  He considered standing, but a young girl in a brown dress entered the parlor with a tray of tea. The smell of it struck him as oddly appealing, and he crept forward to sit across from the mage. Being disagreeable wouldn’t get him far. He was playing by their rules, now. “What cause?”

  Shymin wa
ved the girl away after the tray was on the table. She poured their tea herself. “The preservation of magic.”

  Vahn's brow furrowed.

  “I see your confusion. I understand. The temple has always operated under a certain degree of secrecy.” She pushed his cup across the table and sighed. “I’m of the opinion it hurt us in the long run. Had Envesi been more forthcoming with her plans and her knowledge, the island would be a very different place. She would still be Archmage of Kirban, for one. Instead, she sought secrecy, believing her cause would only be upheld by fellow mages.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, taking his cup. He waited for her to drink first and only lifted his tea after he saw she swallowed and licked her lips.

  “And if Envesi had been vocal about her work, perhaps you would. It may be difficult to explain now, at least succinctly. In essence, the existence of magic is threatened across the world. Only through Envesi’s work in establishing the temple do we have the numbers we need to preserve our craft. Magic is fading. Failing. With each generation, it becomes weaker. In a dozen more, it will be gone, unless something is done.”

  Vahn hardly knew what to say. His father had hinted at such a problem, he realized belatedly, but he hadn't grasped the depth of it. Magic was deeply ingrained in Ilmenhith’s culture. What would the island be like without it? How would people survive without it? Mages cured disease and illness, nurtured the land and even crops. The countryside had suffered with the mages spread thin. How much worse would it be with no mages at all? He shook his head in disbelief. “How can this be?”

  Shymin shrugged. “Imagine a pen dipped in ink. Eventually, it runs dry. As with ink, the first marks are the strongest, boldest. The last are faint and scratchy, skipping and sputtering. Magic is the same. At the beginning of every mage’s bloodline is a mage like your daughter. Powerful in ways we cannot imagine. But as the bloodline grows, the ink fades. Now we are in the last days of the stroke. The Gift skips generations. Children are weaker than their parents.” She lifted her cup and smiled faintly over the rim. “And then there is your child.”

  A strange chill crawled down his spine. “Lulu?”

  Her eyes gleamed. “Her Gift is like no other. Unrestricted, like that of the mages at the dawn of time. In her, we see hope. The chance for a renaissance of power. Envesi would never harm her, you understand. She’s too precious, too vital, and a child, besides. But by studying her Gift, we have the chance of understanding how magic came to be bound, and might discover why it fades. We can restore magic to old bloodlines, ensuring the existence of mages for millennia to come.”

  Anger welled inside him. “Then why couldn’t Kytenia study her? At home, safe, without having to steal her away?”

  “Because Kytenia doesn’t know,” Shymin said simply. “She knows only what she was told. Her predecessor passed before he could teach her. I only learned recently, and only because Envesi reached out to me.”

  Something in her voice made him uncomfortable; a note of disapproval, bordering on contempt. Which Archmage it was meant for, though, he wasn’t sure. He eyed her for a time, sipping his tea to hide his lack of words. It wasn’t a bad drink, too weak for his preferences, but at least it wasn’t bitter. Mild as it was, it still left his mouth dry.

  “Why am I here?” he asked at last.

  Shymin’s eyes narrowed. “For Lulu, of course. Why else?”

  His heart climbed into his throat. “You’re going to take me to her?”

  “As I said, I don’t agree with some things the rest of the allied mages have done, but there’s no reason to keep the girl unhappy.” She paused to refill her teacup. “Considering Envesi was exiled from the island, she did not believe you would allow her near enough to study your daughter’s Gift, regardless of her intentions. I did not join them until after they had already taken Lulu, so there was little I could do. Convincing them to bring one of you here took some doing, but they agreed.”

  Vahn found himself nodding. It made sense, though he was still disgruntled by her methods. “But why me instead of Firal?”

  “They chose you. I don’t think they trust Firal.” Shymin offered him the teapot. He shook his head. “In any case, they thought you would be more likely to listen to reason. The plan was for me to visit the palace and give you a formal invitation, acting as ambassador between Envesi and the crown, but I arrived too late and you’d Gated out of the city no more than an hour before, on your way to recall mages.”

  “And it was just by chance that you ended up at the same village I was riding toward?”

  She stifled a laugh. “Yes. An awkward coincidence, really. I was there to ask the allied mages stationed near there to watch for you. Your mage gave them a spook and things unraveled fast. At that point, I thought my best bet was to put you into a mage-sleep and explain fully after you woke. As I am doing now. Though I do apologize they thought the floor a better resting place than the bed.”

  Vahn emptied his cup and leaned forward to put it on the table. “I want to see her.”

  Nodding, Shymin drank half her tea in a few swallows, then rose. “Come, then. Envesi will want to see you, as well.” She brushed past him and into the hallway.

  He followed, but stopped halfway down the hall. “My sword and armor?”

  She seemed surprised. “You won’t need them. No one would disturb anyone in the company of a mage, no matter who they are.”

  “Where are they?” He paused before adding, “I’ve not seen any of my men, either. Or my mage.” His father hadn’t mentioned them, now that he thought about it. Not that he’d have believed a word Ennil said at this point.

  “All safe, and all comfortable, I promise you.” Shymin smiled. “Your men are likely sparring in the castle yard. They are being housed there until you have need of them.”

  “And Kepha? My mage?”

  Her smile faded into a wince. “She was unhappy with us, but she is speaking to the others. She will be given an opportunity to learn what I’ve told you, though more in-depth. She would be useful, since our research needs every mage available. But she won’t be harmed, nor will she be held prisoner. She will be free to make a decision to join us or return to the temple.”

  His blue eyes narrowed. Odd. “And you don’t think that would be a problem? Her taking all that knowledge back to the temple, when you just told me it was information Kytenia doesn’t have?”

  Shymin turned toward him, and a shadow slid through her expression. She didn’t appear displeased, merely troubled. “The temple is not our enemy, Vahn. Neither are you or Firal. Kytenia will learn everything, as soon as my work here is done.”

  “You think she’ll join your cause?” he asked.

  “There’s no reason to think she wouldn’t.” She exited the front door and beckoned him to join her. “Envesi is not a good leader, but she is knowledgeable, and her research is what will save the temple in the end.”

  Vahn said nothing more. She made a fair argument and he understood her reasoning, though it still troubled him. She certainly seemed earnest. If the very existence of magic was at risk, he could understand why drastic measures could be needed. But understanding warred with his heart, and whether or not their intentions were good, he couldn’t forgive what they’d done.

  But if she was being honest, Shymin hadn’t been part of that. It sounded like she was trying to correct mistakes, more than anything, and bringing him to Alwhen was the first step. Still, something nagged inside him as he followed her across the drab stone city with its close-packed buildings. Why had Envesi sought her, and when?

  It doesn’t matter, he lied to himself, training his eyes on the blocky palace ahead. Soon, he’d have Lulu in his arms again. What came after that, he’d figure out later. Right now, all that mattered was his child.

  The city was as drab from the streets as it was from his window. Most of the buildings had at least two floors and the structures were packed so close to one another, it scarcely seemed there was room to breathe. Narrow
pathways wormed their way between the buildings, so small they hardly counted as roads. The only green he saw was a handful of weeds sprouting along the walls of houses, and they passed at least one woman with a hoe working to eliminate them. The earth was hard-packed underfoot, despite the scent of mud and the humidity that hung thick in the air.

  People looked at them, but not in the way Vahn expected. They appeared curious, but aside from pausing to offer respectful nods to Shymin as she wound her way between stone buildings, they didn’t appear interested for long. Mages were ordinary here, as he suspected. The city folk here were as indifferent to their presence as the people in Ilmenhith were.

  The narrow pathways let out onto a wider street finished with cobblestone, where light foot traffic wove between the merchant stalls along the avenue. Shymin signaled for him to stand back as a wagon pulled by oxen lumbered past.

  “I’m surprised you’re able to move around the city unhindered,” Vahn remarked casually, scraping the soles of his boots against the cobbles at the edge of the street to clean them. “I thought Alwhen would be less welcoming to mages after the wall went up.”

  Shymin let go of her robes and made for the castle at a brisk pace. People moved out of her way as she walked. “That was a long time ago. After a few decades without us, they came to understand our value. Mages were rare where I grew up, but I can only imagine how difficult life would be without any mages at all.”

  “That’s right,” he murmured. “You grew up in the southern reaches of this half of the island, didn’t you?”