Serpent's Mark (Snakesblood Saga Book 1)

by Beth Alvarez

  Lumia turned in her chair and batted her eyelashes at him with a coy smile. “Where have you been, my pet? I expected you back sooner.”

  “I don’t need to report my every action to you.” He raked clawed fingers through his hair, pacing before the closed door. He tried to calm himself, willing his feet to be still as he shifted his mask. It felt too warm but he didn’t dare remove it, unsure he could keep anxiety from showing on his face. “After everything I’ve done, every inch of progress I’ve made in establishing contacts in the temple that could help me, you raze it! Are you mad?”

  The queen’s smile faded. “I would mind how you speak to me, pet.” Her tone dropped dangerously. “Whatever illusion of freedom you have is simply because I allow you a very long leash.”

  He bristled. “I am on no one’s leash! I’m no animal for you to cage,” he spat. “No more than I was for the mages.”

  Her chair screeched against the stone floor as she shoved it back and leaped to her feet. “Impudent child, I own you!”

  “But you don’t control me,” Daemon retorted, his eyes blazing.

  Her eyes widened and for a moment, she was silent.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as if to smooth his hackles. Rage wouldn’t undo anything, he reminded himself. Still, he struggled to keep his composure. “I serve you so I can serve our people. I serve them so they can do more than simply exist, simply scrape to make ends meet in some hole in the ground. Why would you undermine that?”

  She exhaled and waved a hand, gliding toward him with a seductive swing in her hips. “I fail to see why you would still want any connections in the temple, especially after disposing of that mageling you found wandering here.”

  The mention of Firal caught him off guard. What did she have to do with anything? He clenched his scaled hands to fists at his sides and tried to think of an explanation for what had happened to the mageling girl.

  Lumia’s eyes narrowed. She leaned close, a mirthless smile on her lips. “Oh, but you didn’t dispose of her, did you? Did you think you could keep secrets from me? Don’t forget, my pet, you’re sworn to me.” She trailed a claw-like fingernail down his mask. “But she is not my only problem with the temple.”

  His throat tightened. She knew? His mind raced back over their past conversations in search of where he might have slipped. A new thought sprang into his head and he frowned instead. She was trying to throw him off, shake his confidence and put a damper on his anger. There was no reason she should care whether or not he’d dispatched a single mageling. He put Firal out of his head and refocused on Lumia as she continued.

  “The mages are funded by the very family that drove our people into hiding in the first place. You know that better than anyone. As soon as your ties to us became evident, any mage would turn against you. Or worse, try to use you to get to our little tribe and destroy what we have left. These people deserve better than that, my pet. They deserve glory. They deserve to have the cities built by the Eldani. And the temple deserved to burn.” Her voice took a frosty edge. “After everything the mages have done to you, I thought you would agree.”

  His claws dug into his palms. “This isn’t about what they’ve done to me.”

  “Your false selflessness is charming,” Lumia chuckled. “Come, pet. Let me take these serious thoughts off your mind.” She reached for his mask.

  Daemon caught her wrists and thrust her hands away. “I think the time for that is past.”

  A flicker of anger lit her eyes before she caught it, but her expression melted into a pout. She rubbed her wrist as if injured, though he knew he’d barely touched her.

  “I have plans for my own supply run.” He ignored her sulking and pulled the ties on his mask a little tighter. “You are not to interfere and neither is Tren. It’s my understanding you made quite the spectacle of yourself in the temple. If Tren hadn’t dragged you away, the gossip in the underground would be worse than rumors of our queen making a fool of herself. That said, he should have stopped you sooner.”

  “How dare you!” she snarled, whipping up her hand to strike him. She stopped just before she hit his steel mask and bared her teeth. “I am your queen! Tren is not my keeper and neither are you! Who do you think you are, giving me orders?”

  “The man who would give glory to your people,” Daemon replied coolly, turning for the door. “The man you would put on the throne. Now I must repair the damage you’ve done. Don’t follow me and don’t send any of your spies, or you’ll find your war that much harder to fight.”

  Lumia’s fists tightened until they quivered at her sides.

  He slipped out before she could reply, slamming the door again.

  Even before he set foot in the Archmage’s office, a burdened sense of dread settled over Nondar’s shoulders.

  He hadn’t liked that she’d scaled the tower and called for the Masters while the temple smoldered and magelings—some of them little more than children—mourned the loss of their home. It was not unreasonable to expect the Archmage to tend to her people. But she hadn’t, and Nondar put himself into Envesi’s disfavor by being late to the meeting she’d called.

  If he’d felt any remorse for inconveniencing the Archmage, it had dissipated when he’d tucked one of the youngest magelings—a girl no more than twelve pents old—into a makeshift bed for the night. The Archmage herself was the greatest healer on the island, but as Master of the House of Healing, Nondar held a greater understanding of the nuances of health. He expected in the coming days, he would tend many things magic could not heal.

  The Archmage did not acknowledge him as he settled into his chair some distance from her place at the head of the table. There was a bitterness in the air that he couldn’t attribute to her demeanor. He needed distance to be comfortable. The solemn faces of the other Masters made him wonder if they’d started without him.

  More than just the Masters of the Houses were gathered. The chairs around the long table were reserved for those who held high rank, but the Archmage’s office was filled almost wall to wall with mages in white. Nondar saw bands of color on the sleeves of some, which indicated they’d been retrieved from their posts at the island’s numerous chapter houses. His mouth tightened when he noted there were none present from Ilmenhith.

  “As I was saying,” Envesi began as he settled, confirming his suspicion they’d begun without all five Houses in attendance, “we will not continue to endure the neglect that caused tonight’s misfortune. We will not allow a corrupt king to expect full use of the temple’s strength without so much as a whisper of protection offered in return. He doesn’t even care to protect us when his son is among our numbers.”

  “Ridiculous!” Edagan shouted.

  Nondar turned his eyes toward the Master of the House of Earth, surprised to hear her give voice to his own mental objection.

  Edagan’s weathered face crumpled with a scowl as she continued. “Kifelethelas has never placed the temple under guard because it never needed to be guarded. Our mages are respected and valued across the entire island. You, Archmage, were the one who said there was no reason for anyone but yourself to remain in the temple!”

  Anger flared in Envesi’s eyes, but Melora half-rose from her chair before the Archmage could speak.

  “No man serving Relythes or Kifelethelas would dare lift a finger against the temple,” Melora said. “If we fell under siege, there’s only one faction on Elenhiise to blame. And whose fault is that?”

  “Enough!” the Archmage snapped, traces of magic amplifying both the volume of and the anger in her voice. “I am Archmage of Kirban Temple. My word is law! You are here to take orders, and if you fail to obey, your station is easily filled.”

  Melora’s jaw clenched, but she sank back into her seat.

  An uneasy silence fell over the room.

  Satisfied, Envesi rested her hands against the edge of the table with her fingers intertwined. “I understand your reservations, but I do not act without consideration. The preservati
on of magic demands we move. We’ve come far and accomplished much. We cannot risk losing what we have managed to rebuild. Action to secede from Kifel’s rule will begin immediately. Alira, you are to leave for Alwhen tonight. You will take two magelings to act as handservants. We don’t know the city well enough to safely open a Gate, so you must ride.”

  The young Master opened her mouth as if to protest, clearly displeased at having been reduced to a messenger. But she cast a glance toward Melora, then seemed to think better of it. “As you say, Archmage.”

  “Foolishness!” Edagan scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. “You think to seek refuge from a king you dislike by entering the service of another king you dislike?”

  “Dislike or otherwise, our chapter houses have never received anything but positive support from Relythes,” Melora argued. “His lands are smaller, but his forces are greater. He has always feared Kifelethelas would seek to use us against him. If it comes to a simple matter of protection, it makes no difference which king we’re under, as long as his armies are large enough.”

  “And why should the mages of Kirban Temple require protection?” Nondar asked, mindful to keep his words calm. “Aside from one terrible oversight, for what reason do we, the talented mages of Elenhiise, need the protection of the Giftless?”

  The rest of the room remained far too quiet. Aside from the leaders of the five Houses of affinity, no one else had spoken. Four Houses, he corrected himself, glancing toward Anaide. The woman hadn’t yet spoken a word, her head bowed.

  “As Archmage, it is my responsibility to see that all of us are safe,” Envesi said. “Not only the mages, but those in our employ. We have stewards. Cooks. Stockmen. More scullery and cleaning maids than I can count. We cannot be expected to protect the entire temple by ourselves.”

  “As evidenced by your inability to do so,” Edagan muttered.

  The Archmage cast her a withering look. The lesser-ranking Masters shifted on their feet, uneasy. But when the Archmage spoke again, she was calm.

  “Nevertheless,” Envesi said, “My word is beyond contestation. Alira, you are to leave immediately. We will shed these men Kifel has so belatedly posted here, leave this temple, and establish a new residence in Alwhen once Relythes accepts us.”

  Safely away from the reach of your mistakes, Nondar thought bitterly.

  Alira rose from her place at the table and dipped in a graceful bow. “Yes, Archmage. As you command.” Hers was the only voice of cooperation. Nondar suspected she merely wished to escape.

  “Excellent.” The Archmage rose and made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Confidence of temple business shall seal your lips against sharing what has transpired here. With that said, you are all dismissed.”

  A great shuffling stirred around the table as white-robed mages followed Alira from the room. Envesi didn’t wait for them to leave before she moved from the head of the table to her desk, spread a number of blank papers across its surface and reached for her pen.

  The Masters seated around the table stood almost in unison. Edagan and Melora swept ahead in a hurry and disappeared among the crowd at the doors. Nondar rose more slowly. He didn’t notice Anaide by his side until she spoke.

  “So,” she murmured, staring ahead, her eyes glazed. “This is how the end begins.”

  Nondar said nothing, but as he walked, he found he needed a great deal of support from his cane.

  Firal’s arms trembled beneath the weight of soot-blackened books. She struggled to heave them an inch higher. Even standing on tip-toe, she couldn’t reach the top of the stack. Among the charred remains of the library, a few volumes had survived. Though damaged, they might be able to repair some of them. Those that had not burned completely now crowded the uppermost floor of the tower, outside the Archmage’s office. Combined with crates of goods that might be salvaged, most stacks reached nearly to the ceiling.

  Little more than a narrow path remained between the towers of artifacts and books. At the end of the winding path, the doors to the Archmage’s office were locked, though muffled voices spilled from within. The Masters were unlikely to leave the office any time soon, but the magelings took care to ensure few people worked in the narrow path at any given time, just in case the meeting adjourned.

  Firal gritted her teeth and braced her shaking arms. If she could reach even an inch higher, she could slide her books into place. Though she’d been one of the first magelings to begin gathering books, she had not seen any of Ilmenhith’s records among those that escaped the blaze. She prayed they were not among those reduced to crumbling, ashen husks.

  To her surprise, another pair of hands lifted the books from her grasp and pushed them onto the stack overhead.

  “Careful.” Vahn flashed her a weary smile. He wasn’t the only one who was tired; the sky grew rosy with the new dawn and none but the youngest magelings had slept.

  “What are you doing here?” Firal smoothed her skirts and pushed her hair into some semblance of order. After so many trips up and down the stairs, it had come loose from its pinnings and framed her face in curls. She still wore her ballgown, the silk stained with ash. They hadn’t been afforded a chance to change, though she suspected all their clothing had burned. She hadn’t dared visit the dormitories.

  Vahn sighed. “I got what I asked for, I suppose. I am part of the king’s army, you know. All the soldiers in the ballroom were handy enough to be sent this way.” He cast a glum look toward the blackened spines of books. “My first duty station and the place is half destroyed.”

  She bit her lower lip and brushed past him to move down the wide staircase. She kept to one side, leaving room for the long line of magelings scaling the stairs with their arms full. “Well, I didn’t think the king’s men were meant to help. I don’t imagine the Archmage will want you touching things.”

  “She never actually said that. Besides, I think we’re all ready for a little shut-eye.” He tried to chuckle, but it sounded halfhearted. “The sooner we get everything moved, the sooner we can lie down. I just thank Brant I wasn’t chosen for first watch.”

  Firal made a soft, thoughtful sound as she recalled the chapel and its milky-white clock face with a tinge of regret. Unless she managed to become a court master, she doubted she would ever see Ilmenhith again.

  A pair of magelings slipped past her with an armful of books, murmuring gossip. Firal paused to glance at the titles, though she tried to shut her ears. She’d heard more than enough rumors about how the fires had started. The magelings carried no records, as far as she could tell. She didn’t know whether to worry or feel relieved. “Have you seen much of the damage around the temple?”

  “Most of the temple is ash. I don’t know how it caught fire, but it looks like it burned fast.” Vahn clasped his hands behind his back as he followed her, delivering his information as if giving an officer his report. “The stables are intact, and the dinner hall is half standing. Fortunately, none of the food stores were damaged, but I’ve heard the king already has wagons of additional rations heading this way.”

  As bad as the situation was, it was a wonder the damage hadn’t been worse. Firal still sensed the faint residue of energy that indicated powerful magic had been used in the attack. Rogue mages were not unheard of, but they had no reason to attack the temple. There was only one other mage she could think of who might bear such strength. The knowledge weighed heavily on her shoulders and she tried to put it from her mind. “Did Ran come with you from Ilmenhith?” she asked as she wound her way back through the stacks of the burned library. Most shelves had already been stripped, the good books piled on the floor.

  “Actually, that’s why I was looking for you.” Vahn inched closer to her, making room for a mageling to pass. The second floor of the tower was crowded. He looked uncomfortable, though Firal didn’t know why. The soldiers were the only ones given a chance to don their uniforms. His blue-trimmed coat had to be more comfortable than the finery all the mages wore.

  When Vahn spo
ke again, he lowered his voice. “Several people mentioned seeing him in the temple, but I can’t find him. I’ll need to speak with him I’m going to be stationed here.”

  Firal scooped an armful of salvaged books from the top of a pile. “All the Masters were called together for a meeting. I’m sure he’s there with them.”

  He frowned. “Why would he be with them?”

  “Oh, so he didn’t tell you either?” She raised a brow. “Perhaps you can ask him about that when you find him. If it’s important, go wait for the Masters to finish their meeting upstairs.”

  “I will, thank you.” He offered a graceful half-bow and started up the stairs again.

  She eased the books back onto the stack and wiped her brow. Lifting them had taken everything she had left in her. Carrying another armful of books upstairs seemed impossible. Wearied, Firal cast a glance back to the stairs Vahn had just climbed.

  Magelings sat in clusters on the empty floor, none looking eager to resume work. Among them sat her friends. Firal hadn’t crossed paths with them often, but if they’d given up moving things, she supposed there was no harm in resting a little, herself. She left the damaged books in their pile and made her way to join them.

  “I’m exhausted,” Shymin groaned. She sank to lay flat on the floor and heaved a sigh. Her skirts pooled around her in a mass of soot-stained silk.

  “I think we all are.” Marreli leaned against Kytenia’s shoulder, her eyes heavy and glassy. Firal reached to smooth the younger girl’s braids as she joined them.

  “Can you believe how many men the king sent?” Rikka asked, untangling her red hair with her fingers. “I don’t know how all of us are supposed to stay in the tower.”

  “The Masters will just make the soldiers sleep outside if we don’t fit.” Kytenia fidgeted with the hem of her skirts. Her face was streaked with dust and soot and her hair had come out of its bun some time ago, though pins kept it off her shoulders. “Firal, was that Vahn?” A hint of color bloomed in her cheeks, not hidden by the dirt.