The Silvered Serpents

by Roshani Chokshi

  He should know.

  After all, he was a monster.

  Ruslan and Eva flanked him on either side. The slow crunch of footsteps behind him reminded Séverin that they weren’t alone. The Sphinx of House Dazbog—no, the Fallen House, he corrected silently—followed, casting reptilian shadows across the ice. And that was to say nothing of the members spread out and hiding across Europe.

  “Séverin, I have no desire to rush you, considering the events that just transpired…” said Ruslan. He tapped his chin with the severed hand of the former House Dazbog patriarch. “But … when, exactly, do you plan on playing the divine lyre?”

  “As soon as we’re in the right place,” said Séverin.

  At the back of his mind, he saw the way the room had begun to fall apart … at the mere touch of his blood to the strings. He remembered Laila lifting her bloodied face, her wince of pain. Séverin was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t hear Eva speak.

  “I thought you loved them,” said Eva quietly, so quietly that Ruslan—consulting with his Sphinx—did not hear.

  “And?” he asked.

  “I…,” Eva said, before trailing off.

  Séverin knew what she would say.

  What he had done had not looked like love.

  But then again, love did not always wear a face of beauty.

  One hour earlier …

  “I’ve made my choice,” said Séverin.

  “And?” asked the matriarch.

  “And I like neither option,” said Séverin, turning toward the leviathan’s entrance back to the ice grotto. “So I will make a third.”

  “And how will that work?” demanded the matriarch. “You’ll give yourself over to them, and then what? Let them become gods and lay waste to the world?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” said Séverin.

  Delphine grabbed hold of his sleeve, and he shook her loose.

  “If you go up there, the leviathan may not hold!” she said. “It may crumble out from beneath you, and then what?”

  Then the reward is still greater than the risk, thought Séverin, even as he said nothing. Ruslan had only given Laila ten minutes. Already, their time dwindled.

  “Wait,” said the matriarch.

  Something in her voice made him stop.

  “I know where the lyre will take you,” she said. “It will lead you to a temple far away from here … There might still be ancient Tezcat routes that lead to it, but I don’t know where those are. All I know is the location of this temple activates that lyre. Once its true power is ripe, all the Babel Fragments of the world are at risk of being torn out of the earth and joined once more. It was what the Fallen House always wanted … that they might rebuild the Tower of Babel, climb it, and claim God’s power for themselves.”

  Séverin did not turn around.

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  Delphine paused and then exhaled. It was a sound full of relief, as if she’d finally shoved off the weight of this secret.

  “Your mother told me,” she admitted. “Your mother wanted to make sure I would be able to protect you, and that—if you needed—you would know the secret she carried with her.”

  Your mother. All this time, Kahina and Delphine had known that the cost of protecting him meant harming him. And for the first time, he felt like he could finally see inside the choices Tristan had made.

  For too long, Séverin had wondered whether Tristan’s … habits … would have turned on them. But what if his habits were his version of mercy? All those demons at Tristan’s throat, pushing his hand, warping his thoughts. What if it meant that all he could do was displace his horror onto something else rather than them?

  Tristan’s love had worn the face of horror.

  Delphine’s love had worn the face of hate.

  Kahina’s love had worn the face of silence.

  No sooner had he thought that then he felt the pressure of his brother’s blade against his chest. The knife was all he had left of Tristan. Since he’d died, Séverin had held the knife close like a ghost he could not let go, but now he saw it as something else … a gift. A final blessing. What he would do next was no less monstrous than Tristan’s actions … and yet it held its own version of love. Séverin touched his Mnemo bug and breathed deep. For the first time in a while, he no longer caught the scent of dead roses. He smelled the freshness of fallen snow, the scent of a new beginning.

  “Whatever my mo—” Séverin stopped, his mouth still not holding the shape of that word. He swallowed hard. “Whatever Kahina told you about the temple’s coordinates, I need you to tell Hypnos, so we can get there before Ruslan. But for now, I have to get to the grotto.”

  “The leviathan won’t hold,” retorted Delphine. “Soon, its tether will break, and I need to get us out of this machine in the next few minutes! You might not make it to the top, and if you fall with the machine, you’ll drown.”

  “Then I must move quickly,” said Séverin, making his way toward Hypnos.

  From his jacket pocket, Séverin pulled out Tristan’s knife. He turned it over in his palm, tracing the translucent vein on the blade where Goliath’s venom shone in the half-light. One slice from this side of the blade was no different from the blood Forging paralysis plaguing the Order of Babel. For a couple hours, it could make even the living look dead. In Séverin’s other hand, he weighed the raspberry-cherry jam that looked so much like blood. His plan crystallized. Against his palm, the hilt of Tristan’s blade felt warm and reassuring, and Séverin wondered whether his brother was trying to show him that they had far more in common than once imagined.

  Séverin knelt beside Hypnos and shook him awake. Hypnos yawned, stared up at him, and then gradually saw where he was. He jolted upright, skittering backwards and raising himself up on his elbows.

  “Wh-what’s happening?”

  “Do you trust me?” asked Séverin.

  Hypnos scowled. “I already hate this conversation.”

  “No need to participate, then,” said Séverin. “Just listen closely…”

  * * *

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, he headed up the stairs. He heard Ruslan’s voice, the crackle of ice as the leviathan listed from side to side, whipping against the underside of the ice grotto. He grasped the handrails for stability. With every breath, he inhaled the terrible metal of the leviathan’s belly and repeated his plan over and over inside his head.

  By now, he expected Delphine and Hypnos were safely ensconced inside their pod, waiting in the waters. Near the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath …

  He was about to step outside when he heard a voice call out to him.

  Séverin whirled around, shocked to see Delphine a few paces behind him. She was out of breath. In one of her hands, she held out his great black coat. Tucked under her arm was a coiled rope and a single Shu Gust helmet.

  “You forgot this,” she said, shoving the coat into his hands. “And it’s very cold.”

  He stared numbly at it, then quickly recovered.

  “What do you think you’re doing? If you’re not out soon, you’ll—”

  Delphine waved her hand nonchalantly, then shoved the Shu Gust into his hands. “I know. I couldn’t risk something happening to you. I made a promise to keep you safe, and I intend to keep it. If I stay in the pod, I know the leviathan won’t run aground.”

  Séverin stared at her. Without the Shu Gust … she would die. She was going to die. For them.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why not run back up? To the grotto?”

  To me, he could not bring himself to say aloud.

  Delphine’s smile was weary and warm and utterly exasperated. It was an expression that tugged at something behind his chest. It was the face he remembered her making when he had done something mischievous and been caught out. An expression that said she would love him no matter what he did.

  “And risk Hypnos? Risk letting them find out all that I truly know and might have told you? No, Séverin. I could not give
you more time, then … but I can now,” she said. “Now go.”

  “Don’t leave,” he said, the words felt unfinished on his tongue.

  Don’t leave me, again.

  Delphine kissed him fiercely on both cheeks. Tears glossed her eyes, and her voice broke.

  “Love does not always wear the face we wish,” she said. “I wish my love had been more beautiful. I wish … I wish we had more time.”

  She held his hands in hers, and for a moment, Séverin was a child again, trusting her enough that he would close his eyes when he held her hand … always knowing she’d keep him safe.

  “Tante—” he croaked.

  “I know, child,” she soothed. “I know.”

  Then, she pushed him out of the leviathan’s mouth, fleeing back down the stairs without another glance. Séverin watched her disappear, sorrow twisting through him. He forced himself to step out of the entrance to the leviathan’s mouth. Though the light glancing off the ice shone harsh and blinding, the shapes of Laila, Zofia, and Enrique were unmistakable. The world moved at a relentless pace, and all he could catch were Delphine’s last words. He turned them over and over in his heart.

  Delphine was right.

  Love did not always wear the face one wished it would.

  Sometimes it looked downright monstrous.

  Something inside Séverin sagged with relief. He touched the Mnemo moth at his lapel, feeling the faint stirring of the wings, the true secret of all that he planned nestled in its wings. Around him, the leviathan began to thrash. And Séverin bent his head, his hands curled into fists at what he knew he must do.

  * * *

  SÉVERIN HARDLY REMEMBERED what he’d said to Ruslan, far too nervous the other man would see through his falsehoods and straight to the truth of what he was doing, to the raspberry-cherry jam tucked into his pocket, to Tristan’s paralyzing dagger. Enrique and Zofia may not like it. But when they woke up, they would understand.

  Turning to Laila, though, was harder.

  She would not understand that he was trying his best to save her. If they could find the temple … if they could grasp the power of God for themselves, then it would not matter that the divine lyre could kill her. He could save her.

  Remember what you mean to me, thought Séverin, as he ignored Laila’s pleading and walked away from her, the weapon of her destruction tucked under his arm. Remember that I am your Majnun.

  He watched as Eva’s blood Forging touch forced Laila to slump onto the ground. He watched her black hair spill out around her and fumbled an excuse of needing to retrieve something from her person … but that was not what he had done. He crouched beside her. One last time, he memorized the poetry of her face, the length of her eyelashes, the searing burn of her presence in the world. He slipped his Mnemo butterfly and all of its truths onto her sleeve. And last, he took her diamond choker, leaving one single diamond pendant behind so that when the time came, she might summon him from the dark.

  As Séverin walked away from the grotto, he thought of Delphine. She was right. Love could look monstrous. But if they could find the strength to believe in him just one more time … they would see past its visage. They would understand that he could still make good on his promise. That he could still protect them.

  That he was not a monster, but a god unformed, one whose plan would soon be deciphered.

  EPILOGUE

  Hypnos steered the small pod, waiting under the waters of Lake Baikal before he made his move. He could not bring himself to look at the bottom of the lake where the bent and crumpled form of the leviathan lay. And where, now, the matriarch lay too.

  His eyes prickled with tears, but he kept his hand steady on the steering apparatus.

  “My nephew is next, you know, and I won’t have any of your nonsense affecting him,” Delphine had said to him, scolding and condescending to her last second.

  By “next” she had meant heir. Hypnos forced himself to joke and grin.

  “And?”

  “And he’s a saint,” said Delphine. “So be nice to him.”

  Hypnos had mustered all his strength not to cry. At the very least, he could make her laugh …

  “Oh good, I like saints,” he said, even as his voice trembled. “They’re used to being on their knees.”

  Delphine had smacked him in the arm, and he interpreted this as a hug, for she merely leaned toward him when he kissed her on both cheeks.

  “You are terrible,” she said lovingly.

  “Je t’aime aussi.”

  Hypnos thought of this now, his heart sinking. He wanted to be there when Enrique and Zofia woke up. He wanted to be there for Laila, who was probably waiting for him now that she’d read the Mnemo butterfly and understood what Séverin had done. But he would have to wait for the right moment to make his move and breach the small circle of water in the ice grotto. He closed his eyes, thinking of his last moments with Séverin.

  “I still want to come with you,” he’d said.

  Séverin had refused.

  “But why—” Hypnos had started to say, when Séverin had grabbed hold of his hands in an iron grip.

  “Because I protect you,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  Hypnos felt the words move through him, like answered prayer. Yes, he thought. Yes, he understood. He pressed his hand to his jacket pocket. There lay the coordinates to the temple … the place that could lift the Babel Fragments out of the earth and change the world as they knew it. He thought he could feel the weight of this knowledge like something slowly stirring awake, the mere consequence of knowing it already sending rippling effects through the universe.

  Soon, he would be with them. Soon, they would race across the world.

  But for the next two minutes, Hypnos had no choice but to wait.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  2019 has been one of the best, most vivid, and challenging years of my life. Dream wedding! Two book releases in four months! Tour! Travel! PACK UP AND MOVE! Attempts to bribe a cat who is furious about all these new changes in addition to his absence at the wedding!

  It’s been a lot, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I am so enormously grateful to the people who raised this book out of the muck, instilled me with the confidence to keep going, metaphorically smacked me upside the head when I needed it, and read draft after draft after draft.

  First, to my husband (!!), Aman. Thanks so much for marrying me. You’ve got the best face and the best soul, and I’m ridiculously proud to be your wife and co-cat parent.

  Thank you to Lyra Selene, a literal dream of a critique partner; Renée Ahdieh, the nuna I didn’t ask for but always needed; Sarah Lemon, word sorceress and possessor of infinite empathy; snap-out-of-it oracle J. J. Jones; Ryan Graudin, fellow meeper and word witch. Thank you also to friends who have always been so generous with time, wisdom, and experience: Shannon Messenger, Stephanie Garber, Jen Cervantes. Thank you, also, to Holly Black. If I could tell my twelve-year-old self that her favorite writer would one day willingly chat on the phone and help brainstorm and bolster up a book that was more adverb than action, I would’ve eaten my hat. Mercifully, I cannot time travel, and I do not own hats (For this specific reason? Probably not). A giant hug and thanks to Noa Wheeler, who has helped make me a better writer with every critique, and always calmly leads me out of snarly plot labyrinths.

  To my family at Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency, thank you for championing my work and always having my back. To Thao, agent extraordinaire, every year that passes just makes me more grateful to be #TeamThao. To Andrea, thank you for the book passports and texts that brighten my day! To Jennifer Kim, thank you for your patience and attentiveness.

  I am indebted to sales, editorial, audio, production, LITERALLY EVERYONE at Wednesday Books. Eileen, for the sharp insight, invaluable support, and holding my hand while I wade through the dark depths of drafting; DJ, for writing chats, and publishing adventures, and Portland airports playing “A Thousand Years” while we violently lose our chill;
Jess, not only do you have exquisite musical taste (WE LOVE YOU, J. COLE), but you’re also an amazing publicist, and it’s such a dream to see this story all over the place. To Tiffany, Natalie, Dana, and all those who have touched this book in any capacity, thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you to Christa Desir, for warmly and sharply copy editing this book. A huge thanks to my superhuman assistant, Sarah Simpson-Weiss, who props up my brain and makes all the things possible. Thank you to Kristin Dwyer, for being an amazing team player and for all the humor and guidance.

  To my wonderful friends who make reality more fantastical than fantasy, thank you. I could not do this without you. A thousand hugs to Niv, my favorite artist, who has listened to all my stories since literal infancy; Cara-Joy, who could probably tell the sun it was off schedule and it would revert its course at her demand; Marta, the brilliant human embodiment of a warm, fuzzy blanket; and Bismah, who has neither confirmed nor denied her spy status but always has my back regardless. Love you.

  To my families, I love you all so much. Thank you for always being there, always encouraging, and always conveniently forgetting the plot twists I mention so that I get to feel smart when I run the story by you for the thousandth time. To Pog: the most brilliant piggle in all the land and holder of delightful miscellaneous historical anecdotes. To Cookie: who eats my food and steals my clothes, and in return offers exceptional counsel, laughs, and warmth. To Rat: who also eats my food and steals my clothes and in return offers love and free dental care (kthxbye!). To Mom and Dad, thanks for bragging about me on Facebook and randomly telling strangers about your daughter who sits around in pajamas for a living. Couldn’t do this without you, and wouldn’t want to! To Mocha and Pug, you’ve felt like family for a long time, but I’m glad it’s now official. To Ba, Dadda, and Lalani, the most supportive and loving grandparents in the world. To my Ba, especially, I wouldn’t be a storyteller without you.