Serpent's Tears (Snakesblood Saga Book 2)

by Beth Alvarez

  He ignored it. She thought she pulled the strings. Sometimes, she did. But a leashed beast could still force its master to move.

  A brisk knock at the door startled Firal badly enough that she clapped a hand to her chest. Her face twisted with displeasure—more at her own jumpiness than the interruption—and she smoothed her green robes. Though wrinkled and dirty, the soot-stained robes were all she had. “Just a moment,” she called as she got to her feet.

  A number of makeshift rooms had been established in the Archmage's tower, spaces previously used as offices and inhabited by Masters. Though the rooms were cramped, they held proper beds and even washbasins, and the magelings took turns freshening up.

  Firal had intended to wash her robes and enjoy the privacy while they dried, but at least she'd had the opportunity to wash her face and hair. Brant knew she'd needed it. The water in the basin was almost as black as the wet ringlets that curled around her pointed ears. She flicked her wet hair over her shoulder and opened the door, pausing when she came face to face with a girl she didn't recognize. She'd expected one of her friends, or perhaps another classmate hoping for a turn to wash.

  “Miss Firal?” the girl asked, her eyes skimming Firal's filthy clothes. Perhaps they'd found more storerooms that survived the blaze. The girl's robes were a crisp blue, freshly pressed. The contrast made Firal more conscious of her own sooty training robes.

  “Yes,” Firal replied, more cordially than she felt. She had been guaranteed two hours to wash and rest. It hadn't yet been one. “Can I help you?”

  The girl offered a quick curtsy. “Your presence has been requested in the office above. Master Nondar asked me to retrieve you in his place, as the rain has caused his arthritis to ail him.”

  “Oh, of course.” Firal left the door open behind her. She paused and considered emptying the basin before she dismissed the idea. Her teacher would not want to be kept waiting.

  The girl turned without a word and started for the stairs.

  The tower was all but empty. Most of the magelings returned to cleaning after they had a chance to bathe. Firal had planned to assist in the restoration of the dormitory after she'd washed, but with fortune, whatever task Nondar had for her wouldn’t take long. Kytenia's embroidery basket had been found untouched in their room, according to Shymin, which encouraged all of them to hunt for belongings that might have survived. Firal doubted there would be much, but she hoped to find some of her own possessions intact.

  “This way.” The girl's words interrupted her thoughts and Firal hurried to close the distance between them.

  Firal thought Nondar had been among the first back to his office—she'd seen him rearranging things in the infirmary—but as the leader of the House of Healing, he was found just as often in the meeting rooms at the top of the tower.

  “What did Nondar need me for?” Firal's brow furrowed as she glanced up the stairway. Surely Nondar hadn't climbed that many steps if his joints were ailing him.

  “Not Master Nondar. He was only told to retrieve you.” The girl stepped aside and gestured for Firal to move ahead as they crested the stairs. The path before them was no wider than her shoulders, narrowed by crates stacked from floor to ceiling.

  When Firal paused, the girl smiled in reassurance. “You're expected, don't worry. Just go on in, the doors won't be locked.”

  “Thank you,” Firal murmured as she squeezed into the narrow pathway. Behind her, the girl retreated down the stairway they'd just climbed.

  Stacks of crates gave way to piles of books and the path widened at the doors. Firal hesitated again, worrying her hands. When the girl had said she was to report to the offices above, she had not expected that meant the Archmage's office.

  Swallowing thickly, Firal reached to open one door. It was heavier than she expected; she had to heave back to move it. It issued a squeak of protest as it swung open on polished brass hinges. The room beyond was brighter and she squinted against the sunlight as she stepped inside. Brighter, but no less crowded.

  “You took longer than I expected.” The voice across the room was unfamiliar and cold.

  “I'm sorry?” Firal faltered. She inched forward as the room came into focus. It was whitewashed from floor to ceiling, books and wooden boxes lining the walls beneath the windows. The path ran straight to a large, dark wooden desk. A woman in white sat behind it with her hands clasped together at its edge.

  “What I mean is, you are late. Though whether it's your own tardiness or the incompetence of the messenger sent to retrieve you, I don't know.” The woman's voice held very little emotion. She gestured toward the small chair before her desk. “Sit down.”

  Firal's heart fell to her stomach as she realized who sat in front of her. “Yes, Archmage.” By the time she reached the desk, her knees quivered. She sank into the chair, feeling flushed and chill at the same time.

  “Do you have any idea why you are here?” the Archmage asked.

  “No, Archmage.” Firal struggled to keep her voice from quavering.

  Envesi arched a brow. “Really, now?” She tilted her head, white waves of hair spilling over her shoulder. “What a shame. Ignorance is a poor quality in a mage.”

  Firal ducked her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

  “You should be.” Steel chilled the Archmage's words. “The rules of this temple were implemented for the safety of not only the magelings, but of the Masters and civilians as well. If you think your misconduct has gone unnoticed, then you are sorely mistaken.”

  “What?” Firal's amber eyes widened. She hadn't told anyone other than her dearest friends about Daemon. “Misconduct? How could—”

  “You are in no position to ask questions,” the Archmage snapped. “You sit in my office because of your own actions. By entering the ruins, you have violated one of the most important rules Kirban Temple upholds. Your actions were verified by the Master you study beneath just this morning, and I am appalled such behavior was allowed to go on for so long.”

  Firal leaned forward in her chair, gripping the edge of her seat with both hands. “But I—”

  “No buts!” The Archmage's eyes flashed with fury. “Have you no shame? For all we know, your actions could have been what led to the razing of the temple and everything we have struggled to build. Due to your repeat offenses, you receive no warnings. You have until nightfall to collect your belongings and remove yourself from the temple. You, mageling Firal, are hereby expelled.”

  3

  Secession

  Torrential rain churned the road to mud beneath the horses’ hooves. The animals walked with their heads down, but they carried on without fuss. Rikka squealed at the crash of thunder and shrank in the saddle. Alira tried not to sigh. She led the procession, though it was far from the sort of entourage she deserved.

  Relythes had provided a change of clothing and a good wool cloak for each of them, though the cloaks did little to keep them dry. Had she not been in the presence of magelings, Alira would have made an energy barrier to deflect the rain. As a Master mage, she could use magic for whatever she pleased, a privilege the mageling girls with her hadn't earned. But there were precedents to be set. It wouldn't do to give them ideas.

  Adjusting the hood of her cloak, Alira thought again of the ambassador they’d left behind. They had departed from Alwhen at the same time, but when the weather turned foul, the man had backtracked to the city’s edge. She had considered stopping with him, but only briefly, knowing the Archmage awaited her return. Alira grumbled to herself at the idea of the ambassador lounging in a dry, comfortable room while she suffered out the storm, but the complaint was more out of jealousy than annoyance.

  “I can't recall the last time it rained this hard,” Kytenia said, raising her voice over the static din of the storm. Though the three of them rode with their mounts abreast, Alira pretended not to hear.

  Rikka heaved a sigh. “I was hoping we’d reach the temple before nightfall. I don’t think we’ll make it in this weather.”

&
nbsp; “We’re closer than you think.” Alira said, squaring her shoulders. The magelings twitched when she spoke, which made her frown. Maybe they hadn’t meant for her to hear what they were saying, after all. “Perhaps the two of you should pay closer attention to your geographical studies.”

  Rikka stared at her for a time before she looked to the sky. “Well, it’s not like we’d be any more comfortable in the temple, what with this rain. Though I suppose even the tower floor would be better than trying to sleep in the saddle.”

  Alira’s lip curled with distaste at the reminder. Everyone would be crowded into the tower with nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass. Sharing the tower with the other Masters was bad enough, never mind the magelings and the soldiers. As Master of Fire, she might be granted a private bed, which would make her more fortunate than many. But many Masters would be expected to stay together. If that meant sharing quarters with the Masters of the other Houses of affinity, she would prefer to refresh herself with nearby energies and stay awake the whole night. Despite her position as Master of a major element, she often found herself treated as if she’d just graduated to the white.

  No one said anything more, leaving Alira to her sullen thoughts as the three of them rode through the rain.

  The storm tapered off after dark. The path grew dimmer and more narrow, the crumbling walls of the ruins looming to one side to show they neared home. The cool glow of mage-lights ahead beckoned, encouraging them to pick up their pace. Alira wasn’t the only one to breathe a sigh of relief when they reached the temple gates. Stable hands met them in the courtyard to take their mounts. Kytenia slid from her horse with a groan, though her face twisted when her slippered feet hit the muddy ground. She rubbed her thighs as she stretched her legs. Alira couldn’t blame her. The use of her Gift was enough to keep them fresh, but not enough to keep them from being saddle sore.

  “Both of you stay here,” Alira ordered as she dismounted and left her horse to one of the grooms. “Watch the road for half an hour or so. The ambassador might have decided to follow us after all. We’d hate for him to arrive without anyone at the gate to receive him. If he makes an appearance, take him to the Archmage at once.”

  Neither mageling protested, though their expressions made it clear they wanted to. But the desires of magelings didn't concern her, and Alira hurried into the tower. She waved a hand over her shoulders and down her front to draw the rain from her robes. Water spilled from the hem and splashed around her feet as she strode through the building.

  Crowded into the Archmage's tower, the mages in the lower floors looked bored, irritable, and uncomfortable. There wasn’t a single soldier to be seen, Alira noted with a bemused frown. She tried to ignore the magelings she passed, preserving her reputation as cold and aloof as she hurried to the Archmage’s office. The office doors stood open and Alira peered inside. Envesi was at the window, rather than her desk. Most of the boxes that had crowded the Archmage's space were gone. A promising sign for cleanup efforts.

  Alira lingered beside the doors. “You saw us arrive, Archmage?” She never knew what sort of mood the woman might be in. If the Archmage was in sour sorts, even positive news might be unwelcome.

  “I gave up watching when the storm came in. It was merely good timing that I looked out the window as you cleared the gates.” Despite the placid tone the Archmage used, Alira had a distinct feeling her words were not truth. “I trust all went well?”

  “Yes, Archmage. I assume you received my message about an ambassador to discuss the finer workings of the arrangement?” Alira waited for Envesi's nod before she stepped inside. She closed the doors and went on. “I expect he will arrive tomorrow, perhaps the day after. How convenient that Kifel's men are already gone.”

  The Archmage ignored the observation. “Then we shall make our announcement tonight.” Envesi raised a hand. Gestures were unnecessary for magecraft, though often used to help maintain focus. In the Archmage's case, they were used for grandeur. Threads of light spun around Envesi's fingers and rushed through the window, out into the night sky. They wove themselves together over the temple's grounds, creating thin ribbons that flowed in the current of the wind.

  With her other hand, she twirled her fingers, drawing the storm clouds in the sky into a tight whorl. The air currents seethed with energy, protesting her use of power. Alira cringed as the Archmage cast the clouds aside. Weather did not take kindly to manipulation; nature's energies often struck out against the mage who tried to shift them. It was a testament to Envesi's strength that she could bend a storm to her will on her own.

  As the clouds parted, a pure, sweet resonance filtered through the air. Alira tensed as she felt it slide across her skin.

  “I've Called the Masters,” the Archmage stated, as though Alira wouldn't know what the sensation was. The Calling, as it was named, was a strange thing. A prickling sense of energy only tangible to those the caster sought, it filled those summoned with a sense of urgency tied to an impression of the mage who issued the Call. “See that the magelings are assembled in the courtyard.”

  “Yes, Archmage.” Alira bowed her head and inched toward the door. The Calling wasn’t used often, reserved for urgent matters and taught to mages only after they had proven themselves responsible. That the Archmage chose to summon all the Masters with it made her skin crawl worse than the Calling itself. Envesi's eyes were all too heavy on her back as she left.

  Magelings cast her curious looks as she passed on the order and Alira's hackles rose each time another pair of eyes turned her way. But she was a Master, her eyes marked with ink resembling fire, and the magelings heeded her orders. They filtered out to the courtyard one by one. Alira ran her hands over her upper arms as if to brush away the prickle of the Calling, and nervous weight settled in her stomach. She did not know how the news would be received, but the thought of the impending announcement gave her chills.

  The disappearance of the rain was puzzling, though most magelings were more interested in the fluttering ribbons of light that played overhead. Kytenia reached to touch them and laughed when the streamers passed through her fingertips without so much as a tingle.

  Mages poured into the courtyard to see the lights. Fascinated, Kytenia watched the streamers ripple in the breeze and only tore her eyes away when Rikka nudged her shoulder. Delight lit her face when she spotted Shymin and Marreli hurrying across the flagstones to join them. She swept her sister into a hug as Rikka greeted Marreli in the same way.

  “You’re home!” Marreli looked ready to cry, her dark eyes glassy and her hair a mess.

  “Of course I am, you goose.” Rikka tugged the smaller girl’s braids and craned her neck to search the growing crowd. “Where’s Firal? Isn’t she with you?”

  Kytenia cringed at the gentle reminder. “We need her right away.” She caught Shymin by the shoulders and lowered her voice to keep from being overheard. “We must get a message to the king as soon as possible.” She still wasn’t sure how it could be done, but none of them had overlooked the king’s apparent interest in Firal. If any of them had a chance to gain an audience with Kifelethelas, it would be her.

  Shymin’s face darkened. “Firal isn’t here. And we can’t discuss this right now.” She cast a meaningful glance toward the Masters joining the crowd.

  Kytenia worried her lower lip. “Then we need Ran,” she said. If Ran really was a court mage, as Firal had mentioned before Kytenia and Rikka were whisked away to Alwhen, then he made a logical second choice. But as a Master, he served the temple before he served the king, and she wasn’t sure where his allegiance rested.

  “He's not here, either.”

  Rikka made a sound of exasperation and threw her hands into the air. “Blight it all, then, who is here?”

  Kytenia hushed her as the crowd shifted away from the temple’s central tower, and silence took the crowd. Masters formed a half-circle around the tower's doors, forcing the mages back, clearing space as the Archmage emerged into the courtyard.
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  Kytenia's throat tightened. It was only the second time she'd seen the woman. With the way her white hair glowed beneath the ribbons of light, she seemed more a specter than a person. The shifting sea of magelings grew utterly still as the Archmage took them all in, her face as serene and cold as her eyes.

  Kytenia shuddered as the Archmage’s gaze swept over them, but the woman's eyes did not linger. Beside her, Rikka exhaled in relief. Kytenia felt her own shoulders sag with relief, too. Perhaps the Archmage didn’t know who Alira had taken with her, but the knowledge they bore—and what they intended to do with it—meant scrutiny was the last thing Kytenia wanted.

  Rikka watched until the Archmage faced the other way, then leaned toward Marreli. “Where has Firal gone?” she asked in a harsh whisper. “Is she off hiding in the ruins again? We can’t send this by carrier pigeon, you never know who will read it!”

  “We don’t know where she is,” Marreli replied. “Master Nondar said she was expelled from the temple this afternoon, just before the king’s men were summoned back to Ilmenhith.”

  Kytenia's jaw dropped. “Expelled?”

  Shymin pressed a finger to her lips with a scowl as the Archmage spread her arms to the sky.

  “Tonight...” the Archmage began, power amplifying her voice and making it boom across the temple’s grounds. “Tonight marks a new beginning for Kirban Temple, for all mages here. At moon’s zenith, we begin our new legacy. The sun will rise on our new path, our new pursuits, our newfound power and freedom.” She paused, skimming the crowd again. “I am sure the absence of the king’s men has not gone unnoticed.”

  A number of magelings shifted at mention of the soldiers. Almost unconsciously, Kytenia leaned into her sister's arm. She'd noticed the men were absent, but she hadn't had time to discover why.