Serpent's Bane (Snakesblood Saga Book 3)

by Beth Alvarez

  “I don't think so.” Sera frowned and rubbed her lips in thought. “No one could miss our army marching through the mountains. The mages would have taken an alternate route.”

  “Precisely.” Filadiel moved to the door and pushed it open before the people on the other side could knock. The man who had left the chamber moments ago carried a low table to the middle of the room. Several women followed with dishes, trays of food, and pitchers of wine to set upon it. “You went to the left of a mountain, they switched their path to the right. It wouldn't be hard for a small group to evade notice. Please, share a drink with me.”

  Sera moved first, sliding out of her chair and settling on the floor beside the table as Filadiel sat across from her. He filled goblets with wine, passed one to her, and set the others at the empty places. Rune and Garam joined them at the same time. Bowls of fruits and trays of meats with thick sauces sat in the table's center and a small, dark-crusted loaf of bread sat beside each plate.

  “What are these?” Sera lifted a dark blue, plum-sized fruit from one of the bowls.

  Rune all but snatched it from her fingers. “Maluiri! I didn't know they grew here.”

  Filadiel raised a brow.

  “Mal-what?” Sera took another from the bowl.

  “Maluiri fruit,” Filadiel said. “Though they're typically called Brant's berries, these days. Maluiri trees are known for growing big, gnarled trunks and flat-bottomed canopies. Not very common here, though a few groves can be found in Lore.” His eyes glinted with suppressed light as he turned toward Rune. “Are they common where you are from?”

  Rune took his knife from the table and cut the fruit into thin slices. The sweet-tart aroma made his mouth water. “Common enough, but we aren't allowed to eat most of the fruit.”

  “Why not?” Garam asked.

  “Most of the trees grow in a place considered sacred.” Rune picked up a slice of the dark-fleshed fruit and held it out for Sera to take. “My father had one in the garden, but it was old and didn't flower often.”

  Sera held the fruit to her nose and inhaled deeply before taking a bite. She squealed and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, it's sour! That was a dirty trick, you rotten—”

  Filadiel interrupted her with a laugh. “Yes, quite sour. That's why we serve them with a bowl of sugar.” He passed the bowl across the table and gave Rune a curious look. “There are few places where they're known as maluiri, Aldaan being one of them. Is Aldaanan spoken where you are from?”

  Rune opened his mouth to speak, but paused when he realized the question had been posed in Aldaanan and he'd almost replied in the same. Sera watched him with interest. Garam's face was dark. “It is my mother tongue,” he said after a moment, mindful to use the common language Redoram had spent months drilling into him. Garam seemed to relax, realizing he wasn't going to be left out of the conversation. “I speak it better than I speak this tongue. Forgive me if I insist on practicing. Captain Kaith dislikes my archaic manner of speaking.”

  “Is it not archaic?” Sera teased.

  Laughing again, Filadiel nodded. “Of course, of course. You are free to practice, by all means. Simple curiosity on my part. It makes things much easier, though, knowing you speak Aldaanan.”

  Garam's eyes narrowed. “How so?”

  “If I am to investigate the corruption of his magic, I will need the help of several who don't speak your tongue, Captain Kaith.”

  Rune dipped a piece of fruit in the bowl of sugar as Sera passed it to him. “I don't mean to press,” he started slowly, flinching when all three sets of eyes at the table turned toward him. Neither Sera nor Garam looked pleased he had spoken. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. None of the other Aldaanan were watching, each staring at the floor as they had when the three of them arrived. He put down his fruit and cleared his throat. “I realize you have many important things to discuss with Captain Kaith, but if there is anything I can do to improve my ability with magecraft before the battles, I'd like to start. When can that begin?”

  “Tonight, if you really wanted,” Filadiel said nonchalantly, swirling wine in his cup and then taking a sip. “There are just a few things to be done beforehand, simple cultural procedures to prove your intentions before we begin lessons.”

  “Cultural procedures?” Sera's brow furrowed with concern.

  Filadiel waved a hand. “Nothing unusual, I assure you. Just a matter of tradition. There are many here much older than I am, sticklers for traditions and things. You can finish the initiation rites by sunrise and begin practicing with the elders tomorrow morning.”

  Rune glanced to Garam, wordlessly seeking permission. It was still a blow to his pride, deferring to someone else, but the chance the Aldaanan could correct the taint in him was worth the deference.

  Garam lifted his wine for a long sip. “The sooner he's got a solid hold on what he's doing, the better. As long as it doesn't interfere with his orders or responsibilities to the army. I have few mages among my men, I need all of them I can get for this.”

  “Excellent, excellent. We'll start on that after dinner, then.” Filadiel grinned. “Now, on to the less pleasant business. The maps will be up shortly, but since you just came through the mountains, Captain, where do you think we need to have sentries stationed?”

  Rune half-listened as Garam began to explain the strategies he'd come up with. The food on the table was tantalizing and most of Garam's plans didn't involve him, anyway. He filled his plate and managed to get his fork into his mouth before Sera leaned close enough to speak in a harsh whisper.

  “Why would you agree to their terms without knowing what their initiation is?” She didn't bother trying to hide her anger. Her blue eyes flashed fire.

  “Because,” he murmured back between bites of food, “they're mages, not barbarians. A bunch of mages can't have traditions any worse than the sort I've seen before.”

  “What are you talking about?” she snarled in a whisper.

  He lifted his left hand, just enough to draw her attention to the prominent rune-shaped scar on its back. Then he turned his hand over and stared thoughtfully at the less noticeable scarring in his palm.

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  “Believe me,” he said. “There are worse things.”

  14

  Hard Lessons

  “Dying!” Firal raked her fingers through her unruly hair, torn between screaming and crying. She did neither, turning so fast her skirts whirled and tangled about her legs. “And no one told me? A man retired from the city guard knew, but no one saw fit to tell their queen?”

  Vahn bounced the baby against his shoulder, trying to soothe the girl's cries. “Firal, please, calm down.”

  “Why should I?” She wheeled to glare at him with tears brimming on her dark lashes. “How can you be so calm about this? Nondar is the only thing keeping the other Masters from running roughshod over me!”

  “You're upsetting the baby.”

  Firal blinked hard and pulled Lumia from his arms. “And this is upsetting me.” She sat on the foot of the bed and hugged the baby close. She didn't feel like reining in her emotions, but making the infant squall wasn't going to help anything. Pressing kisses to Lumia's dark curls, she rocked side to side and made soft hushing sounds. The baby nestled close and quieted.

  Vahn sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked more weary than the late hour could account for. She felt a tinge of guilt. Perhaps their visit with his father had been more taxing on him than she'd realized. He didn't complain, but he folded his arms over his chest and stared at the midnight sky on the other side of the windows. His shoulders remained stiff, his expression closed-off and defensive. “If you hadn't sent the mages back to the temple, you would have known Nondar's health was fragile.”

  The way he said it wasn't accusatory, but it still irritated her. She patted Lumia's back and scowled. “I sent the mages back to the temple to protect myself. At least this way they can't gang up on me. I'll only ever have to deal with a few of them
at a time. What if I'd left them in Ilmenhith? I'd have every mage in white breathing down my neck every day. How am I supposed to rule like that?”

  “It gives you a little distance, yes, but it doesn't keep them from pushing you around. Nothing will. If another Master steps into the role of Archmage, it's not going to give them any more influence over—”

  “You don't understand,” Firal interrupted, her voice cracking. “It isn't just that he's Archmage. Nondar is the closest thing to a father I ever had, Vahn.”

  His brows rose as his expression melted first into understanding, then concern. “I'm sorry,” he said after a moment. “I always assumed he was just a teacher.”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “The best teacher. He was grumpy, but always kind to me. Even after I was expelled from the temple. I haven't been a mageling for close to two years now. Nondar is the only tie I still have to what my life used to be.” Her throat tightened as she spoke, threatening to choke off her words. It felt like she spent too much time crying these days, but she couldn't help herself. She swallowed against the constriction and forced herself to spill the thoughts that haunted her mind with ever-increasing frequency. “I don't think I can do this. Not without his help. I'm not as strong as I need to be.”

  It was obvious from the way Vahn shifted that her words troubled him, though he managed to limit their effect to a slight shrug of his shoulders and a shadow of worry in his blue eyes. “You don't have to do it alone, but you have to do it. There's no one else, Firal. Even your rule is disputed in the streets. Were it not for the mages backing you, the country would be in turmoil. If you can't lead us, who will?”

  She shuddered and hugged Lumia close. The girl wriggled drowsily. “Is that supposed to help?”

  “It's supposed to make you think.” He paced forward and stood at the foot of the bed as if unsure whether or not he should sit. “I know ruling is hard, but you'll always have help. Even the mages want what's best for the kingdom. They're just... opinionated about what that is.”

  “And your father?”

  “He'll help,” Vahn said with a nod. “He already promised to be here for your meeting with Master Anaide in the morning. He's a hard man, but that might work in your favor. Archmage Nondar is a hard man, too, and that seems to be the buffer you need between you and those old harpies.”

  Firal scoffed quietly and wiped her eyes again. She couldn't disagree with the description, especially considering Edagan's sharp beak of a nose.

  “Now come on.” His voice softened as he offered a hand. “Lulu is tired, and you are, too. Let's get you both to bed.”

  She dried her fingers on her skirt before she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “I'd rather keep her close, tonight.”

  Vahn smiled. “I understand. I'll drag her cradle out from the nursery.”

  She paced by the window, rocking the baby in her arms while he moved the cradle to the bedside. It was the first moment of peace she'd felt since leaving the Tanrys estate, though looking at Lumia's dark curls and rosy cheeks put an ache in her heart. She tucked the baby into her cradle and stood beside it while Vahn stripped out of his finery.

  “Do you need help with your buttons?” he asked quietly.

  “Please.” Firal pulled her hair over her shoulder and turned so he could unfasten the dozens of tiny buttons that ran the length of her back. She held the bodice to her chest as the dress came loose, waiting until he was done before she slid it off. The silk chemise she wore underneath clung to her skin but left her cold. She hugged her arms to herself. Polite as ever, Vahn looked away as she climbed into bed and drew the blankets to her shoulders. He lingered at the bedside a moment before he remembered himself and reached to take the extra pillows and blankets for his pallet.

  She worried her lower lip. “Vahn?”

  He paused and looked up.

  “I feel... ah...” Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, she licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I just... I don't want... to be alone, tonight.”

  Vahn stared at her in surprise, then his face softened. “Of course, my lady.”

  Firal offered a sorrowful smile as he put out the lamps and slid into bed beside her. She nestled against his shoulder and pulled the blankets to her chin as her tears finally escaped.

  There was hardly a pause between the knock at the door and the sound of it opening. Firal jerked awake, then squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face toward her pillow. Vahn shifted beside her, letting out a quiet groan to express the displeasure she didn't dare voice herself. After a late night, morning came too soon. Firal wrenched her eyes open and promptly squinted against the sunshine. She'd forgotten to close the curtains.

  “Good morning,” Medreal called from the doorway. She carried a breakfast tray in her hands and pushed the door shut with her foot. “I've brought a pot of coffee with breakfast. I thought you might—” She stopped short, her eyebrows climbing as Vahn pushed himself upright in bed.

  Firal stared at her stewardess groggily a moment before she realized what the woman was looking at. She shoved the blankets aside and righted her chemise, her cheeks turning crimson. “Leave it, thank you. I'll feed myself this morning. Prepare my office for a meeting, would you?”

  Vahn scrubbed a hand through his mess of blond hair and squinted at Firal's back before he looked down at the bed, amusement drawn on his face.

  “Of course, my queen.” Medreal deposited the breakfast tray on the table and spun to face the door. “Shall I take Lumia with me?”

  Firal paused to peer into the still-quiet cradle. “She's still asleep, I'll let her rest. It was a late night for everyone.”

  “I see,” Medreal intoned, never looking back. “Very well. I'll be in your office if I am needed, my queen.” She paused at the door, hesitating before adding, “My lord.”

  Firal cringed as the door clicked shut. She bit her lip as she pushed herself from the edge of the bed. She hadn't expected to sleep the whole night. Normally, Lumia woke her before she could. “Good morning,” she said over her shoulder, unsure what else to say. Her cheeks still burned with embarrassment. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Quite well, actually. The bed's a lot more comfortable than the floor.” His tone was half joking, though it held a note of chagrin. “I apologize. I meant to get up after you fell asleep, but I guess I was more tired than I realized.”

  “Don't worry yourself. You needed the rest. I'll speak to Medreal later and clear up any improper thoughts she might have.” She took a pale green dress from the wardrobe and knelt to find matching slippers. There was nothing wrong with resting in the same bed. She'd shared a bed with Rune several times before they married and shared in other things. The thought of those other things kept her cheeks rosy as she stood, but when she turned and saw Vahn looking at her, she thought she might blush all the way to her toes.

  He looked away as soon as she met his eyes, but the serious, contemplative look she'd caught on his face had been enough. She didn't have to explain what thoughts Medreal might have, but she hadn't expected to see him thinking them, as well. Perhaps she'd chosen her words poorly. Perhaps she'd put the thoughts there, herself. Her ears burned and she hurried behind the folding screen to change. Once she was out of sight, she scrunched up her face and buried it in her hands.

  Aside from Medreal and the Master mages on her council, only her dearest friends knew of her first marriage, the reason Vahn still slept on the floor. It was a struggle to maintain the illusion of a content marriage, the image of a happy young family with their first child. Things would have been simpler if she had taken Vahn to her bed. In fact, the mages encouraged it. Even if they had chosen to recognize her first marriage as valid, her husband was a traitor and she was a queen. They would have freed her of her previous vows and seen her marriage to Vahnil as legitimate. But the legality of her union didn't concern her. Legality bound her to Vahn, but her first vows still bound her heart to someone else. Not for the first time, she felt the pulling of
guilt. Guilt for remarrying, and guilt for robbing Vahn of his chance to be happy.

  She tried not to think of it any more, pulling the laces in the front of her bodice just a little tighter. Then she put on her slippers and stepped out from behind the screen, finger-combing her ebony hair.

  Vahn had dressed, and he flashed her a nervous smile as he tied his boots. “I wish I could help with your meeting this morning, but Medreal left a note on the tray with breakfast. I'm to meet with Davan, it seems.”

  “Hopefully he has an idea of how we can feed his people.” Firal crossed to the table and poured herself a cup of coffee before she sat. She was not fond of the flavor, but she'd grown accustomed to having it before morning meetings. The bitterness seemed to help her focus. “I never should have asked them to leave the ruins. If I'd told them to stay in Core, they would have planted their crops as usual and I wouldn't have to worry about having more mouths to feed. Things in the underground had improved so much. They even had livestock besides chickens and boar. Instead, they used all their provisions just to get here.”

  “It isn't your fault, Firal. You had no way of knowing what you were taking over. Even if Kifel were still alive, we'd be in the same mess.” Vahn buckled his sword belt at his waist and leaned over to steal an apple from the tray. “Besides, that's why you're meeting with Master Anaide this morning, isn't it? To make sure your plans to trade with the mainland are still moving forward?”

  She groaned. “That's another problem. Your father mentioned it last night, just in passing, and I've not been able to get it off my mind since. Even if we are able to move forward without Nondar, what are we supposed to trade?”

  He rolled the apple between his hands. “What do you mean?”

  “We were a wealthy island because of how many merchant ships used this as a waypoint between the northern and southern halves of the world. They counted on us for a chance to replenish their stores. Elenhiise was always known as an island of bounty. Now the fruit groves are all but barren because of having too much rain and then not enough. Every bit of coin we had has gone to feeding us, and you'd be a fool to think anyone is charging us a fair price.”