Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1)

by CW Thomas

  Scarlett spun her chalkboard around to display a message she had already written, Arrahbella + Ustus + Demulier = bad.

  Tristian Elle pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need to let this go.”

  Scarlett withdrew in a snit and sat down the bed, arms folded.

  The dressers finished. One of them handed Tristian a pair of long leather gloves. They gathered their things and left the room in a hurry.

  Tristian sat down on the edge of the bed next to Scarlett and pried the tight leather gloves over his fingers.

  “I’m not denying that the high king’s witch has some very strange ways about her,” he continued, “but she is not plotting against me. She is kind and well respected all throughout the realm. You need not worry about her.”

  Scarlett started writing another message.

  “You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on that meeting,” he said. “Things are done and discussed in the King’s Cagair that no little girl should hear. Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

  She flipped her board around and shook it. You’re not using your ears!

  Tristian took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. Scarlett could see the anxiety piling onto him the closer it got to the wedding ceremony. She knew that deep down he didn’t want to go through with this. He didn’t want to be a part of his family’s play for power.

  “I’m sorry.” He gestured with his hands for her to come closer. When she did, he wrapped her in a tender hug. “Many things are about to change, but know that my feelings for you have not. You’re still my sister, and I love you.”

  Scarlett’s hands went limp at her sides. Pity overcame her frustration. Tristian needed a friend right now, not a critic, she knew, but it was too difficult for her to let the matter drop.

  He released her and held her at arm’s length for a moment, his eyes roaming over her elegant purple gown. “You’ve never looked lovelier.”

  She slid off the bed and lifted the embroidered hem of her dress, swiveling back and fourth at the hips so the loose fabric would sway around her calves. She, too, loved the way she looked. The broad white ribbon around her waist shimmered in the light, and the careful braiding wreathing her head felt like a crown, even if the tightness did pinch her scalp.

  She hugged Tristian again, squeezing his neck, wishing that the harder she squeezed the less he’d drift away. It had been nearly four years since she was taken from Aberdour and in that time Tristian had been her dearest friend.

  He tried to stand, but Scarlett held on. She imagined taking him downstairs to a covered wagon and a team of swift horses that could whisk them away from Tay, away from Tristian’s cruel father and his insane mother, away to a new kingdom where their petty grabs for power couldn’t reach.

  “All right,” Tristian said. He pushed her away and stood. “How do I look?”

  Her eyes roamed from his polished leather boots to the silly black points on his shoulders. Then she shrugged and curled her lips.

  He laughed. “Oh, that’s very helpful as always.”

  The wedding ceremony was stiff and dull, or so Scarlett thought. She always imagined there being more joy and dancing, but the exchange of vows between Tristian and Princess Arrahbella went by like a preacher’s sermon that had already gone on too long.

  Arrahbella had never looked lovelier though. Her gown was made of an enormous amount of lush ivory fabric that trailed behind her the length of three carriages. The gown was very structured with padding underneath, giving her hips a more dramatic silhouette. Long sleeves and a high collar, patterned with birds and flowers, covered every bit of the young woman’s skin, except for her hands and face, which were as smooth and perfect as porcelain.

  “There is not a woman in the kingdom who doesn’t envy her beauty,” whispered a woman in the crowd behind Scarlett.

  “And not a man that doesn’t crave her,” said another.

  Scarlett tried not to lock eyes with King Dagart. He remained stern in his practical black attire that was topped with a magnificent gold crown.

  Next to him, Lady Catherina, the epitome of piousness and arrogance, held her head high atop a tiny neck.

  Scarlett sniggered to herself as she imagined the weight of the queen’s crown pulling her head clean off.

  As sickly as Catherina’s face and neck appeared, the dressers had done well to hide the hideousness of the rest of her body under a padded gown of white and pale blue. Still, Scarlett thought the queen looked miserable and fake.

  The rest of the State Hall was crowded with Tay’s wealthiest and most well dressed, a sea of velvet and silk fabrics entombing arrogant men and overly-perfumed women. They all stood beneath long twirls of white and violet ribbon that hung from the rafters alongside bunches of mint and lavender that scented the air. Wall hangings and vases of cut flowers brightened the austere whitewashed angles and the fluted pillars of the massive room.

  Scarlett observed the events from the front row of standing spectators where she struggled to keep herself awake. She could only imagine the reprimand she’d receive from the queen if she were caught yawning.

  The celebration that followed the formal ceremony was no less dull. Scarlett had hoped there would be some dancing, but instead the central floor of the State Hall was rearranged with tables for dining. People filled their seats and indulged in rich meats, spiced wines, and conversational topics that were far from interesting for a nine-year-old girl.

  Tristian appeared to be happy, she observed, or least he was making a good attempt at pretending.

  As for Princess Arrahbella, her hands had hardly left her husband’s body since they shared their first kiss. Her fingers danced along his shoulders, twirled with the strands of his hair, rubbed his forearms, and held his hands.

  Scarlett left the State Hall when she was sure no one was looking. She moved away from the entryway and breathed a sigh of relief once she was alone in the hallway outside.

  One of the guards, Glendan Riverstone, smiled at her as she past. The man had developed a fondness for her in recent months. He had the shape of an ox, but he was sensitive and funny.

  “Had enough for today, Little Red?” he asked as he stood straight and tall against the wall with a long halberd.

  Little Red. Glendan was the only one who called her that. She rather liked it.

  As she walked by him she slouched her shoulders and tried to exaggerate how weary she was of all the chattering rich people in their pompous clothes.

  Glendan chuckled. “Give it a few more years, Little Red. It will be you in there.”

  Scarlett hoped he was wrong. If Tristian’s marriage to Arrahbella was any indication of what getting married was like she was content to live without it.

  She dug her fingers into the front pocket of her dress where she always kept her blackboard, but she found no chalk. Realizing she must’ve left it in Tristian’s chambers she trotted up the majestic steps of the castle’s main entryway and down the southern corridor toward his bedroom.

  She slowed when she heard voices inside.

  Scarlett approached the open doorway and peaked around the corner. She saw the queen speaking to a young woman who was seated on the bed and wearing very little clothing. Her wrists and neck were adorned in beautiful gold rings and her hair was laced with flowers. A prostitute.

  Lady Catherina stood over her holding a long metal needle and a piece of white fabric. “If you get him drunk enough he won’t feel a thing.”

  The young woman reached out, taking the needle and fabric in careful fingers. “You want me to smear his blood on the rag?”

  “Just enough to leave a deep stain.”

  The prostitute looked shocked. “I’m not sure I dare hurt the prince, my lady.”

  Catherina reached out and caressed the woman’s face. “I told you, get him drunk, pleasure him with every inch of your body and pain will be the last thing on his mind.”

  “And you are sure this will, um, satisfy our lord?”

  “The
high king believes my son could be the key to his endeavors, but the truth is in his blood. With his blood, Demulier will be able to look into his past and see if he truly descends from the ones who imprisoned Bodach.”

  The prostitute’s face lit up. “And if he is, will our god live again?”

  Catherina’s fingers danced across the woman’s lips. “In all his glory.”

  The young woman nodded. “I will do this, my lady. For you, for Tay, for the high king, for Lord Bodach.”

  Catherina bent down and kissed the girl on the lips, a gesture that startled Scarlett with its sudden passion.

  When the queen turned toward the doorway, Scarlett launched herself back down the corridor. She hurried toward the stairs, desperate to get out of sight before the queen caught her eavesdropping. She turned left at such a sprint that her padded shoes slid across the floor. Catherina emerged from Tristian’s bedroom just as Scarlett disappeared around the corner.

  Pattering down the stairs and trying not to trip over her purple gown in her rush, Scarlett sprinted for the State Hall in search of Tristian.

  He had never listened to her before, but he would have to listen to her now. His mother was planning to hurt him, or so she thought. Truthfully, she didn’t know what the queen was up to, but she knew Catherina’s intent was not for the good of her son.

  Realizing anew that she still had no chalk for her blackboard, Scarlett derided herself. She tried to think of a way to communicate with Tristian before he retired upstairs for the night.

  When she wheeled around the corner into the State Hall, she was struck with the lively ruckus of music and the cheers of a standing crowd. She saw Tristian and Arrahbella being escorted off the main stage by Prince Taggart and a bevy of attendants. The newlyweds were brought down into a throng of people for the traditional exit ceremony. Arrahbella began plucking petals from her flowers and tossing them into the crowd to bless lucky catchers with a year of good luck.

  Scarlett pushed her way through the mob, desperate to find Tristian. In her mind she saw the prostitute waiting for him on his bed with that long metal needle. Why did they need Tristian’s blood? What would they do to him afterward?

  And who was Bodach?

  Between a man in a puffy blue vest cloak who looked like a blueberry and a fat woman in a maroon dress who resembled a grape, Scarlett saw the velvety sleeve of Tristian’s navy tunic. She reached for him when the grape jumped up for one of Arrahbella’s petals. The woman’s wide hips slammed into Scarlett and knocked her to the floor.

  She scrambled to her feet, hoping she wouldn’t be stepped on.

  The people moved out of the State Hall like an ocean current, fanning out behind the newlyweds like water around a pair of rocks. They sloshed around at the foot of the castle’s central stairway, applauding and whistling as the young couple ascended the steps—Arrahbella lifting the hem of her long skirt, and Tristian limping on his feeble leg.

  Scarlett punched through the crowd to the foot of the stairs. When she looked up, Tristian and Arrahbella had disappeared down the hall. She sprinted up the steps and hurried after them. Never in her whole life had she wished more for the power of her voice.

  Stop!

  They were at the end of the hall. Tristian opened the latch to his bedchambers and Arrahbella stepped inside.

  Wait!

  Tristian moved to follow his bride when a second glance down the hall made him pause.

  “Red?”

  She ran to him, almost plowing him over when her little body collided into his hips. Her arms embraced him and held him close, threatening to hold him forever so long as it prevented him from entering his room.

  “What’s wrong?” he inquired.

  Like an icy wind the voice of the queen echoed out from the darkness of the adjacent room, “Young Red couldn’t bear to see you leave, my son, not without one last goodnight.” Catherina strode out into the torchlight of the hallway, swirling a glass of wine.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Red, I will see you in the morning,” Tristian said.

  She stepped back, shocked at his tone of voice. She saw his eyes, puffy and glazed like moist glass. He was drunk, or close to it.

  “My son has grandbabies to make,” Catherina said, “that is if impotence doesn’t prove to be yet another of his many maladies.” She tossed back the last of her drink.

  Arrahbella slipped an arm around Tristian and pulled him toward the bedroom. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem, my queen.”

  The prostitute lay stretched out nude on the bed within.

  No!

  Scarlett reached for Tristian when the bony hands of the queen dug into her shoulder. “I think you should give them some privacy, my dear. It’s something a mind as young as yours wouldn’t understand.”

  Arrahbella shut the door.

  Slapping the queen’s arm away, Scarlett whirled around, her tiny fists balling.

  Catherina’s amused demeanor twisted into a suspicious scowl. Like a clamp, her hand landed onto the nape of Scarlett’s neck, fingers pinching tight. “Come, child. Let’s you and I have a talk.”

  Scarlett tried to twist out of the queen’s grasp, but her thin fingers were painfully strong. Her grip tightened as she steered Scarlett down the hallway.

  “I’ve long wanted to have a heart-to-heart with you,” Catherina said as she led Scarlett down the hallway of the second floor.

  She tossed a glance back at Tristian’s bedroom door, her mind desperately trying to figure out another way to warn him.

  “I was also very small when I was your age,” Catherina began. “I could go places most people couldn’t, places most people would never even expect to find a young princess. I learned many secrets, you know. Watched my father kill a man in his throne room when I was just a wee bit younger than you.”

  Catherina led Scarlett up onto the third floor. She pushed through a heavy wooden door that led out onto the castle’s western wall walk overlooking the ocean and the setting sun. The air chilled her as a bitter breeze from the sea whisked by. It would be autumn soon, and not long after that the choppy waters of winter would begin to lash the rocky shores.

  The heavy door swung shut with a loud thud.

  To Scarlett’s relief the queen’s grip around the back of her neck relaxed. It didn’t matter though. She was trapped. She couldn’t open the heavy doors at either end of the wall walk on her own.

  “Can you guess what I did with all that I learned?” Catherina went on. “I killed my father, for one.” She offered a cocky smirk. “He had overstayed his welcome as king. He was an annoyingly arrogant man who never let me have what I want. I pushed him over this very wall when I was just thirteen.”

  Scarlett looked over the parapet. It provided a view of a road far below edging a steep escarpment of tall grass. The sun was setting over the ocean in the distance, casting dramatic shadows across the textures of the land.

  “Truth be told, I had discovered that my pig of a father had seen me engaged in a tryst with one of my dearest friends. I was embarrassed, and so very frightened that he would put an end to our happiness.”

  She put her arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, and together they leaned between one of the stone crenellations, looking down at the road several stories below.

  “I asked to speak with him alone up here atop the wall.” Catherina pointed to nothing in particular. “I said ‘Look, father! Down there!’ And when he leaned over the edge I helped him lean a little too far.”

  Scarlett felt a sudden nervousness rise in her chest.

  The queen brought her lips close to Scarlett’s ear, and she whispered in a voice tinged with scorn, “I know a little spy when I see one.” She grabbed Scarlett by the waist. “And you, Red, see far too much!”

  Scarlett’s world tipped upside down as the queen lifted her over the edge and dropped her. She tumbled two stories to the wall’s sloped batter where the angled skirt violently slowed her fall, peppering her tiny body with a hundred scrap
es and bruises. Her right arm snapped above the wrist. Her joints popped and her back twisted. The rough stone slope kicked her out into the road where she rolled and skidded to a brutal stop on the cold hard gravel.

  For a moment, she lay still. Her mind didn’t register at first that she was hurt. When Scarlett lifted her head, pain shot down her spine. When she tried to push herself up, her right wrist screamed in agony.

  She looked over her shoulder and up at the castle wall, expecting to see Lady Catherina staring down at her. The queen was gone, however, and the wall walk looked deserted.

  For a long moment Scarlett remained on the ground, sobbing, trying not to move and wondering if she was going to die.

  Before long it occurred to her that Catherina might send someone down to ensure that she was actually dead.

  With small movements, Scarlett inched off the road and down a grassy embankment. She could feel her toes dragging behind her, scraping the bare ground. She must’ve lost her shoes. Her head felt dizzy. In her mouth she tasted blood, like warm copper.

  She rested a moment in the tall grass, trying to keep her sobs quiet, not daring to move out of fear of feeling more pain elsewhere on her body.

  Somewhere from the castle she heard the shouts of guards.

  Her heart erupted in panic—they were coming to finish her off.

  She saw a round stone culvert jutting out from under the road through which trickled a tiny stream. Scarlett pulled herself toward it, pushing through the tall grass and over the slippery moss. She climbed inside the slimy culvert and curled up against the chilly stone. Hugging her shaking knees to her chest she sat there in the cool, damp culvert, shivering from pain, shivering from cold, and fearing the moment the guards found her.

  Voices encroached overhead. Two of them. She could hear the crunching of gravel beneath boots.

  “Check over there,” one of them said.

  One pair of boots sauntered off.

  A moment later, Scarlett flinched when a second pair of boots dropped down on the grass in front of her. They were black and polished, the boots of an interior castle guard properly regaled for the wedding ceremony.