Coiled

by H. L. Burke

  “How can there be no news of him?” Volen snapped. “He’s a giant serpent, by the gods! As long as a ship!”

  “I’m sorry, your majesty. Your commanders have swept the coastline from here to Gibal for nearly a month now, but no one has reported such a monster.” The messenger tilted his head, watching Volen like a beaten dog. “One suggested the beast may have fled to warmer lands in the south in anticipation of the winter storms that plague the straits.”

  “It’s likely.” His father leaned forward. “Volen, this obsession isn’t healthy. There are better uses for our military than hunting down what little remains of Calen. Isn’t what happened to him enough?”

  “It will be enough when I have his skin mounted on my wall.” Volen clenched his fists. “As long as he lives, there will be a question of my right to this throne. I will not take my crown under a cloud of doubt.”

  “You have many years until you need to worry about that.” His father rolled his eyes. “I don’t plan to die anytime soon.” He waved the messenger towards the door. The cowed man bolted with all the decorum of a panicked goat.

  With the throne room left to himself, his father, and two silent guards, Volen slouched in the smaller throne to his father’s left.

  “What more do you want?” Gan asked. “You are free of the curse. My throne will one day be yours. You have a beautiful wife, and half the kingdoms around the Brigyn Sea are ripe for conquest, waiting to be picked like grapes.” He sipped his wine. “Would that placate you? A nice, simple war? We could conquer Gibal or Oleva—”

  “How can you be so calm?” Volen scowled. “No sign of him or Mother for over a month; doesn’t that worry you?”

  “No, because it is exactly what I’d expect from Zephia. She will have spirited him away to some secluded place to keep him from harming himself or others. After nearly two decades of devoting her life to his comfort, she won’t let the loss of his humanity deter her.”

  The prince rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Do you think she’s trying to cure him?”

  “Trying? Of course she is trying. Is she making any headway? I doubt it.” Gan stood and clapped his son on the shoulder. “It’s over, Volen. We’ve won. Be glad, for once in your life. Go bed that toothsome bride of yours and forget your brother.” He set the goblet down on a small table beside his throne. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Gan strode out of the room, one guard following. The second hesitated, probably still operating under his former orders where Volen was never allowed to be left alone. Volen threw the goblet at him. The metal cup fell short, clattering over the stone tiles to the guard’s feet, but the man got the message. He ducked out of the room, leaving Volen alone with his anger.

  The old wound on his chest itched like mad. He rubbed it through his tunic. Perhaps his father was right. It wasn’t as if Calen could hurt him. Volen had won. Why couldn’t he be satisfied with that victory?

  Because as long as he’s alive, is victory truly assured? How close had he come to losing? To being the one cursed to a life in scales and madness?

  Footsteps drew his attention. Ellea entered the throne room, head held high, torchlight glistening off her flawless skin as if it were gold. Volen considered her.

  “It is late,” she said, her voice characteristically cold.

  He shrugged. “Then go to sleep.”

  Her mouth opened then closed. “You will not come lie with me?”

  Volen narrowed his eyes at her. What was her game? She had jewelry and servants and a whole kingdom at her disposal. What did she want now?

  “No, I have matters of state to concern myself with.” Well, matters of personal interest, anyway.

  He rose and brushed past her. She snatched his arm.

  Volen glowered at her.

  Her usually hard eyes softened, her lips parting ever so slightly. Oh, she was beautiful. Part of him yielded to her, but the desire to maintain control in their relationship held him back. Let her thirst for him. He would not burn for her.

  Her hand fell from him, and she gave a curt nod.

  Volen strode from the throne room. If his father wouldn’t let him use the military to hunt for Calen, he’d find other ways. He would win this battle, just as he’d won their first. His brother would not escape him.

  ***

  Laidra stretched her arms over her head. Late afternoon light flooded through the columns of the old temple, casting long shadows in the sanctuary. For the first time all day, it was quiet. Zephia oversaw the influx of petitioners, making sure Laidra was not overwhelmed. The distance between the temple and the nearest settlement helped to control the numbers, but Laidra was amazed at how many made the pilgrimage across the windswept plains to the desolate mountain. Some brought offerings, and while she accepted no payment in gold, she took gifts of food or livestock to keep herself and Calen from starving.

  While she knew she could have done more good had she settled near a large population, the crowds who might flock to her would’ve broken her. Even now, with the numbers controlled, the effort left her weary at the end of each day, her muscles aching as if she’d climbed a thousand steps carrying a great burden.

  Also, the seclusion helped keep Calen safe. Behind the altar, a passage snaked into the heart of the mountain. Laidra slipped down the narrow hall, the air cool on her cloaked shoulders. In her guise as the mountain healer she wore layers of veils. It had been Zephia’s suggestion, both to protect her identity and add to her mystique. Laidra was glad Zephia had come up with that justification. Laidra had tried to resign herself to her looks, but the thought of how ugly she must be after using her gift daily for weeks on end shriveled her soul. Even when alone with Zephia, she used the growing cold as an excuse to remain covered. It wasn't entirely a lie; the air carried a definite chill now.

  Perhaps we are far enough into the mountains to see snow. I’ve always liked snow. The most that ever made it to Oleva was a thin rime of lacy hoarfrost, always gone by midday.

  Her sandaled feet shuffled down the stone passage, worn smooth by centuries of priestesses going about their rounds. The path sloped upwards. Just ahead, sunlight reflected in dappled, ever-moving patches from the holy pool.

  The pool was only waist-deep, fed by underground streams and bubbling with mineral properties that gave it a unique green color and rumored healing powers. Sunlight beamed through openings in the high ceiling providing natural light, but braziers sat at the edges as well, granting more warmth and light. Calen slept in the center of the pool on a great flagstone, his body curled into tight coils.

  Sitting at the edge of the pool, Laidra removed her sandals then reached into the cloth bag at her side. She withdrew a pipe and began to play.

  The serpent’s massive head rose, hovering above his body. He swayed with the music then slipped from the flagstone and glided through the water to her feet. His head slithered onto her lap and rested, his glinting green eyes watching her every move and taking in the music like a lullaby.

  His actions soothed and stabbed her simultaneously. They’d made small steps over the last month or so in taming his animal nature. While this allowed her to be closer to him, it also reminded her that he was an animal now.

  The music echoed about the chamber until it seemed as if a dozen musicians played with her. Calen’s tongue flicked in and out. Her song ended, and she rested her hand atop his broad, flat head. His scales were warm from basking in the sun, smooth, as long as she rubbed them with the grain.

  “It’s comforting how he’s come to respond to you.”

  Laidra didn’t look away from Calen’s eyes as Zephia entered. Even now, it was hard to predict how he would act towards other people. Sometimes a little thing—a sudden movement, a loud noise—would set him off, forcing her to use her charm to prevent him from harming another.

  “He likes the music,” Laidra whispered.

  “It’s more than that. I’ve tried playing for him, and I’ve never gotten the response you have.” The queen s
at beside Laidra. “You healed nearly a dozen people today. Are you doing all right? It isn’t too much for you?”

  Laidra shook her head. “I’m all right. Tired, but by morning that will have passed.”

  “Take off your veil.”

  The princess started at the order, but after a moment’s hesitation obeyed. Zephia’s clear eyes examined her face. Laidra flushed and averted her gaze.

  “Hmm.” Zephia nodded. “I don’t suppose you look in mirrors all that often.”

  Heat rose in Laidra’s cheeks. “I avoid them.”

  “From my understanding of your gift, every time you heal, your appearance suffers in some way. With all the healing you’ve been doing over the last month, you should be unbearable to look upon, but you’re not. You look about the same as you did when we first met.”

  Laidra stiffened. “Are you sure?”

  Zephia nodded. “Yes. I’d noticed it some time ago. I'm surprised you didn't.”

  “But how?” Laidra touched her cheeks. She supposed she'd seen fewer signs of the curse in action, but she'd been so tired from healing and so overwhelmed by the loss of Calen that she assumed she'd grown numb to lesser concerns.

  “I think when your sister bonded with Volen and broke his curse, she broke hers as well. While Volen’s cure doomed Calen to live his curse in full, the way the mirror curse works between you and Ellea is murkier. I suspect it put you in a place of equilibrium; you are cured of getting any uglier but aren’t necessarily going to grow prettier.”

  Laidra swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “If I’d bonded with Calen before Volen did with Ellea, do you think it would’ve cured me?”

  “Most likely.”

  Regret stole Laidra's breath like a punch to the stomach. She steadied herself. “And Ellea? How has she been cured?”

  “Your sister’s curse was a cold heart, wasn’t it?” Zephia raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps she will find that she isn’t as cruel as she’s been wont to be. Though years of training to think of no one but herself might take a while to unlearn.”

  Laidra stared down at Calen. She couldn’t imagine Ellea as anything but vicious.

  “You haven’t put him out of his misery yet?” A man’s voice echoed through the chamber.

  Calen reared up, spitting. His eyes flashed.

  Zephia pulled out the opal from against her chest and held it before him. He stared, swayed, then crumpled at the edge of the water in a daze.

  Laidra sprang up, staring at the entrance to the room. Cibron strode in, his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” Zephia’s hands clenched.

  “I heard rumors of a miracle worker with a hidden face, healing folk by invoking the powers of a mysterious serpent god.” He snorted. “Do you enjoy your new-found fame, little foul-face?”

  Laidra threw back her shoulders. “I can’t help what people say about me. You gave me a gift, and I’m choosing to use it to help people.”

  “Well, you’d better be careful. Once my brother and remaining nephew get wind of your little sanctuary, they’ll put a stop to it.” Cibron slunk closer, his eyes on Calen’s sleeping form.

  Zephia shook her head. “Gan has no desire to go after Calen. They’ve won that battle. They can afford to leave us in peace. If you had a merciful bone in your body, you’d do the same.”

  “You underestimate the vindictiveness of my family line.” Cibron scoffed. “If I remember correctly, Calen is the elder twin by a full quarter hour and the rightful heir to the throne of Carta, if not for his current form. If Volen is anything like his father, he won’t risk Calen finding a way to break his curse and take his inheritance.”

  Laidra drew a quick breath. Was Cibron admitting there was a way to undo the curse?

  “What do you want, Cibron?” Zephia tilted her head, her dark eyes sharp.

  “To see the final act.” He swaggered towards Calen, his lips wrinkling with contempt. “You think you can preserve him? Save him from his fate? No, I made him a monster, and monsters must be slain.”

  “Don't touch him!” Zephia threw out her hands, and a buffet of wind knocked Cibron into the wall.

  He snarled. A flash of white light singed the air. Laidra dove to cover Calen.

  “Don’t toy with me, daughter of a lesser god!” Cibron aimed a finger at Zephia.

  “Yes, let’s bring our fathers into it.” Zephia smirked. “Do the gods know how you are using your powers? The harm you are causing for the sake of a petty quarrel? Calen is the direct descendant of Phyrus, one of their own. He deserves their protection.”

  Cibron’s smirk faltered for a heartbeat, but he hardened his expression and squared his shoulders. “My father—”

  “Oh yes, your father, Jovan, king of the gods.” Zephia threw back her head and laughed.

  At the sound, Laidra uncurled from her defensive position, though she stayed ready to shelter Calen if needed. Could Zephia truly challenge Cibron?

  “You can brandish your father’s name like a weapon against mortals, but I know better.” Zephia stalked Cibron like an angry lioness. “I know the ways of the so-called gods, their foibles and vanities. Do you really want to bully me further, Cibron? After everything you cost me, I have nothing to lose. Try me.”

  “I don’t need to try you.” Cibron laughed, but there was a hesitancy to it, a trace of doubt. “I’ve already won.”

  The light flashed again, singeing the air and causing spots to float before Laidra’s eyes. Cibron was gone.

  Laidra turned to Zephia, hope fluttering in her chest. “Can you really appeal to the gods on Calen’s behalf?” she stammered. “Can they help him?”

  Zephia rubbed her arms and sighed. “I’ve spoken to my father about the matter several times. He’s uncertain. The gods have an odd sense of right and wrong, and they’ll allow one of their own to go to extremes to punish a perceived offense. However, Cibron’s obsession with this has me worried. He may not consider himself properly avenged with Calen still alive.”

  “We can protect him?” Laidra drew closer to Calen, wishing she could fit him in her arms.

  “We will. I need to see to some things, however.” Zephia cleared her throat. “I will be gone for a few days. You may wish to hide yourself while I’m away.”

  Laidra ran her fingers over Calen’s broad snout. “That will be hard with so many people wishing to be healed.” Her stomach tightened. She'd thought the fight with Volen had ended. With the possibility of him coming after Calen again, she wasn't sure she could handle Zephia leaving her.

  “I will see to that. I manage to divert them every night. A little magical subterfuge and any who seek you will find themselves lulled into a pleasant slumber until I return.” Zephia smiled. “It will not, however, prevent those who aren’t looking for healing from finding you. Cibron’s implication about Volen has me concerned for the safety of you and Calen.”

  “They don't know where we are, though.” Laidra’s arms tightened around the snake’s thick neck. “No one knows my name, and I've kept Calen out of sight.”

  “I know, but still, be careful while I’m away. Stay inside the temple, no matter what happens.” Zephia touched Laidra’s cheek. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Laidra strode out of the sanctuary and down the rocky path. Above her, stars flowed through the sky like a glimmering river. The silver-blue marble shone in the moonlight, and cold air wisped about her. Her exposed fingertips stung from the chilly night air, but beneath her veil, her warm breath heated her face and neck.

  Zephia had been gone almost three days, and while Laidra felt safe in the sanctuary, she also felt restless. Down in the valley, a half-dozen tents and a few crude huts, set up by petitioners seeking healing, stood quiet and cold in the night air.

  The first night Laidra had obeyed Zephia’s orders to stay inside, but on the second night after the queen’s departure, boredom and curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d stra
yed from the temple to the temporary dwellings in the valley. There she’d found over twenty people lying as still as the dead. Closer examination revealed them to be merely sleeping, but several had obvious injuries. She’d done her best to heal them as they rested, but her energy flagged before she could see to them all, which was why she’d returned tonight.

  She moved among the unconscious like an apparition. She knelt over a young girl with a bandaged calf and waved her hand up and down the length of the injured limb. The girl smiled in her sleep. Laidra smiled too, glad to do some good. She continued to the next tent where a couple lay curled up together in slumber. While both were old, there was no outward sign of injury. She hovered her hands over them, waiting for her powers to manifest. Nothing happened.

  She frowned. They were probably there for symptoms of old age, which her gift seemed to have no influence over. She sat beside them for several minutes. They looked so peaceful together. How long had they been married? How much had they experienced in each other’s arms?

  “You don’t know how lucky you are,” she whispered.

  Prying herself away from the elderly couple, she shuffled to the next tent. A pair of crutches lay beside a thin man shivering under an even thinner blanket. In a moment, her work was done. A quick headcount and she was certain she’d cared for everyone present. She emerged from the line of tents and stopped cold.

  There, skirting around the cliff in the darkness danced a group of torches.

  They’re headed for the sanctuary. Laidra’s heart dropped into her belly. Some instinct told her they weren’t there for healing.

  The lead torchbearer reached the foot of the path. Feet pounded beneath Laidra. It took several steps for her to realize they were her own.

  “Stop!” she shrieked.

  Two torches broke away from the pack, their golden circles of light revealing two Cartan soldiers carrying short blades. They formed a barrier to block her way.

  Laidra skidded to a halt. “You can’t go in there!” She gasped out the words between gulps of breath. Her chest rose and fell.