Serpent's Crown (Snakesblood Saga Book 5)

by Beth Alvarez

  “Of course, I apologize.” He bowed his head with a hint of shame. “I knew what had happened as soon as I saw her. I thought putting her in a situation where she would face another mage was the best chance I had.”

  “How did Medreal die?” Vahn asked.

  Firal narrowed her eyes. It was a sound question. The woman had bled out, obviously stabbed, though no weapon was found.

  Ennil met his son's stare without wavering. “A dagger, Your Majesty. Envesi overpowered her.”

  Vahn frowned. “Why not kill her with magic?”

  “I don't know. I don't know why she wanted the girl, either.” Ennil shook his head. “What I do know is that she opened a Gate by herself. I'm not positive, but I believe the location on the other end was a mage outpost abandoned when the temple fractured before her exile.”

  “That doesn't tell us much,” Firal muttered. “There are dozens of them.”

  “And even if you knew which one held her, there's little you can do without the backing of temple Masters,” a sweet voice added from the door.

  Kytenia's arrival was a small relief. Firal expected to see the heads of the Houses of affinity behind her, but she was alone.

  As graceful as ever, the white-robed woman glided into the room. Kytenia's face still looked too young for her to hold the title of Archmage, but her russet hair had begun to change. White wings at her temples and a sprinkling of white throughout the rest made her appear older. It was strange to envision her as white-haired like the other Masters. Each mage's transition was different, but it happened to all of them eventually. Kytenia's hair had changed first, meaning she'd stretched beyond every plateau and reached the pinnacle of her strength. Her eyes would change next, paling to the cold too-blue that symbolized full understanding of her Gift. Both were changes Firal had once looked forward to, herself. Now, having been outside the temple and without training since she'd taken the crown, she recognized that for her, those changes would probably never come.

  Firal straightened behind her desk and bowed her head in greeting. “Thank you for joining us, Archmage Kytenia.”

  Kytenia returned the nod, though hers was ever so slightly deeper. Kytenia was second in power only to Firal herself. Well, Firal and Vahn. They had declared him as her equal in rulership years ago, one of many uncustomary actions taken to soothe the tensions that followed the death of Firal's father.

  Ennil rose from his chair, though he looked unsteady. Vivenne supported him and they bowed to the Archmage together.

  Kytenia waved a hand in dismissal, barely noticing them. “I encountered your Captain of the Guard in the hallway,” she said. “I asked him to divide my mages into his ranks before meeting with us. That will give us time to determine where forces should be sent and when.”

  “Thank you, Kytenia. Please, sit.” Had it been anyone else, Firal might have been irritated to hear they'd given orders to her men. But Kytenia was her dearest friend, and the two of them were used to working together. The comfort and familiarity they shared made both their jobs easier. “How much of that did you hear?”

  “Enough,” Kytenia said with a frown. She took the other chair in front of Firal's desk and her eyes skirted over Vahn. Often, when the Archmage looked at him, Firal felt a pang of sadness. Vahn had been Kytenia's betrothed, his marriage to Firal one of both convenience and political necessity. The Archmage was good at tempering her emotions, though there was often a gleam of sorrow in her hazel eyes when she saw him. Today, her eyes showed nothing. “Though if what Ennil says is the truth, the mages I brought with me today won't be nearly enough.”

  Firal nodded slowly and finally allowed herself to ease into her chair. She felt weaker as she sank into the cushions. They had never discussed unbound magic where anyone else could hear. As far as Firal knew, it was an official secret to be held between the crown and the Masters of the Houses of affinity. And for good reason; if Ennil truly was suggesting Envesi had found a way to unravel her affinity, it meant they were facing something new. “What numbers are we looking at, Kytenia? Five Master mages to equal one of her?”

  The Archmage grimaced. “Likely more. Linking Masters of the five major Houses still leaves us with outlying talents uncovered. And at best, letting them tie their Gifts together gives the lead mage access to more draw points for energy. Greater sway over the elements means nothing if they aren't well versed in how to handle them.”

  “And the Archmage—former Archmage, forgive me.” Ennil grimaced at his blunder and avoided Kytenia's eye. “She has likely had a great deal of time to practice her new skills. She seemed comfortable, despite the changes she's obviously experienced.”

  “Comfortable enough to defeat Medreal,” Firal said.

  “Which means what?” Ennil asked, reaching up to clasp Vivenne's hand. She still hovered behind him, pale as a ghost. She'd always been a soft-spoken woman, but she'd said nothing at all while the others spoke. Was it fear or something else that kept her silent?

  “That if we are going to stand a chance at storming her bastion and getting your granddaughter back, we will need mages on her level.” Kytenia shook her head, disgruntled.

  “And where do we find those?” Firal asked.

  “The mages in Lore,” Vahn said. “If anyone knows where to find mages with that sort of power, it'll be them.”

  The Archmage hesitated. “In years past, I would have thought that. But you're forgetting the civil war they had just before the treaty was signed. I work with Headmaster Arrick often and he's never mentioned having mages that strong in the Triad. I can send a missive, but...”

  “Let me help,” Vahn said, determined. “Trust me, they'll find one.”

  3

  Trust and turbulence

  Kytenia slid a finger down the page as she skimmed the list of names. She couldn't think of a worse time to be handed paperwork, but she didn't dare put it off. Though she had served as Archmage of Kirban Temple since the beginning of Firal's reign, there were still some Masters who sought to take matters into their own hands. She had little time to prepare for departure, but eliminating one thing from her never-ending list of duties couldn't hurt.

  “This is fine,” she said at last, pushing the paper back across her desk. There were several more notes she had to find before she could leave, and she didn't appreciate the addition of more clutter to sort through. “Accept them all.”

  “All?” Anaide repeated. The look on her face was nothing short of horrified. “We've never accepted all applicants before!”

  “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. We receive fewer applicants every year, and with the Grand College breathing down our necks in hopes they can snatch our mages away, we'd better do our best to keep the dormitory occupied. We can't stave them off forever. I see no reason to refuse any of these.” There had been a list of exchange program negotiation points somewhere on her desk, and Kytenia was determined to deliver it while she was there. Her chest tightened and her stomach turned at the very notion of attending something so frivolous when her best friend's child was missing, but an Archmage was expected to be composed and prepared for duty at all times. She'd been sent back to the temple specifically to retrieve any documents the headmaster of the Grand College might expect during one of their visits. Their request for assistance, she understood, bore a chance of ruffling some feathers, and it was best to proceed as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

  Anaide huffed and took the paper back. She examined it as if she expected to find fault in Kytenia's decision, but there was none. Her withered lips pursed, adding ever more wrinkles to her already ancient face. Did the woman ever look anything other than sour?

  Kytenia didn't give her a chance to think of any more objections. “Are the others coming or not? I'm sure I don't need to remind you I am short on time.”

  “The Masters have been summoned, yes.” Anaide narrowed her eyes and lowered the paper. “Really, though, I see no reason you shouldn't be leaving now.”

  It took e
ffort not to snap. “I will leave when I have issued orders,” Kytenia said. “I don't know how long this will take, and if things go poorly, I will not have the temple left without direction.”

  The pinched look on the Master of Water's face said more than her protests ever would. It wasn't that she thought Kytenia should leave without giving directions, it was that she expected those directions should be given to her.

  Kytenia tried to keep what she thought of that from showing in her expression. Some part of her still suspected Anaide was bitter about having been overlooked. Edagan had always been more amicable—or diplomatic, at least—but Anaide never did anything but sneer or fuss over every choice Kytenia made. There was value in having critics to keep one grounded, but after so many years as Archmage, she wished the title granted her a little more respect.

  Just when Anaide opened her mouth with what was sure to be another complaint, the door to Kytenia's office opened.

  “I'm here, I'm sorry,” Shymin announced in a hurry. Her hair was mussed and she brushed at her sleeves as if she'd just changed into her white Master's robes, but that was nothing unusual. Since Shymin had taken over as Master of the House of Healing, she'd proven herself a determined and hands-on teacher, which meant she was often elbow-deep in noxious herbal concoctions or giving firsthand demonstrations on how to properly suture wounds. Neither activity was well-suited to wearing white.

  She hooked a finger in the sleeve of her robe to turn the hem right side out, then gave Kytenia an apologetic smile. “Have I missed anything? I was told you're going somewhere.”

  “Yes,” Kytenia said, grateful for her sister's interruption. Anaide glowered, but the old woman stayed quiet, which was a blessing Kytenia was grateful to receive. “An emergency. I am to escort King Vahnil to the Grand College for a meeting with the headmaster. I'll explain more when I can, but I've been asked not to speak of the matter until we return.”

  Shymin's brows shot up, but she nodded. “I wondered why your entourage was still waiting downstairs. I suppose you'll need to Gate back to Ilmenhith right away?”

  “Yes, so I need to keep this brief. Is Rikka coming?” Kytenia gave her sister a hopeful glance, but tempered her disappointment when Shymin shook her head.

  “She's out running errands, I believe. If you have orders for her, I'll be happy to make sure she gets them.”

  Kytenia nodded. “I hope to return within a few hours, but if I am held up, please hold any correspondence and I will see to it when I'm back. The temple should continue to function as normal until further notice. Is Edagan here, by any chance?”

  “She has been doing drills with magelings of late,” Anaide said. “I can ensure she receives orders, if necessary.”

  Of course she could. “See to it she continues classes as usual,” Kytenia said. “I will have more specific tasks for them later. For now, Shymin, I'd like you to keep an eye out for messengers, and if there is anything urgent, summon me by Calling and I will do my best to return. Anaide, I'd like for you to begin compiling a list.”

  The older Master straightened. “A list, Archmage? Of... students?” She glanced at the paper still in her hand, which Kytenia had almost forgotten.

  “Outposts,” Kytenia said. “A full list of all mage outposts on Elenhiise that have been held in the last hundred years, whether abandoned or currently occupied.”

  Anaide's brow furrowed. “Whatever for?”

  “I'll explain more later.” Where had that negotiation sheet gone? Kytenia stepped back and surveyed her desk with her hands on her hips. “Shymin, help me sort all this, please. I had a letter addressed to Headmaster Ortath and I can't seem to find it.”

  Without a word, Shymin swept forward and began gathering papers, sorting them with a quick eye and a practiced hand. “Here, Kyt.” She lifted a page with smudged ink and frowned at the lack of legibility. “Should I rewrite this?”

  Kytenia snatched it from her fingertips. “No time. Tell the Masters waiting downstairs to prepare a Gate back to Ilmenhith for me. I have to go.”

  “Don't worry,” her sister offered with a smile, answering Kytenia's unspoken question. “We know what we're doing by now. We'll keep everything running until you return.”

  “Thank you,” Kytenia said with a sigh as Shymin disappeared. She couldn't spare more than a moment, now. The mages farther down the tower would be waiting with a Gate ready.

  “Is there something more I should do?” Anaide asked, her tone almost a lament. “Gathering information on outposts is—”

  “Of utmost importance right now,” Kytenia finished for her as she rolled the paper in her hands and jammed it into one of the hidden pockets of her white robes. She hadn't been in her office even ten minutes, but it still felt like she'd dallied too long. “Please, focus on gathering that information, and I will call a formal meeting to explain more once this errand is complete.”

  The Master of Water frowned as if she wanted to say more, but Kytenia gave her no chance. She hurried down the tower, smoothing her white-streaked hair as she walked. Neither Anaide nor Shymin had said anything to make her think she appeared frazzled, but she still felt as if she looked like a spooked cat, with all its fur on end.

  Several floors below her office, a handful of mages waited around a Gate they'd begun to open the moment they sensed her coming. The crackle of power in the air made Kytenia shiver, but she couldn't hide and wait for it to grow steady. As Archmage, she should have been assisting.

  Shymin met her just in front of the Gate as the image within it stabilized. Ilmenhith's Gating parlor waited on the other side, with court mages in blue-trimmed white milling around the edges of the room.

  “I hope everything's all right,” Shymin remarked softly as she righted one of Kytenia's curls.

  “It's not, but it will be.” Or at least, Kytenia hoped. She clasped her sister's arm for a moment, then pressed on. The Gate's power sizzled against her skin as she stepped through to the palace. Though she'd expected the party destined for the Grand College to be waiting for her, the court mages were the only ones in the room.

  Kytenia stopped one of them. “Where is Vahn?” She regretted the familiarity the moment it left her mouth, for the mage frowned at her.

  “His Majesty is coming,” Temar answered her from the other side of the room. “He is still in his office, but will be here shortly.”

  “Thank you, Temar.” Kytenia spared a stern look for the mage she'd addressed first, but thought better of trying to reprimand the woman. The tension in the air was already thick without her dressing down a court mage. She needed as many cooperative mages as possible for when the time came to comb mage outposts.

  The court Master gave a slight incline of her head, and then the room grew still.

  Kytenia tried not to fidget; Archmages did not fidget. Or at least, she assumed they didn't. The temple had only known two before her, and she couldn't picture either one being overtaken by nerves.

  By some small stroke of luck, she did not have to wait or fidget long. Vahn strode through the doorway with purpose in his step and guards at his back, though he motioned for the armored men to halt beside the door. “Ready the Gate,” he commanded, more firm, more powerful than she was used to hearing from him. Vahn was not weak, but he was gentle. That gentleness was what had drawn her to him, so many years ago, before fate had pulled them in different directions.

  There was none of that gentleness in him now. His blue eyes were like cold steel, his jaw set and his brows drawn together in such a stern look, he hardly seemed the same man.

  “Yes, Majesty,” Temar replied. A flick of her fingers put all the court mages into motion, and no more than a breath later, the air hummed with power once again.

  Kytenia straightened as the king approached her.

  “You have what you need?” he asked. He stopped before her, but did not look her in the eye. Instead, he gazed toward the archway where the mages wove their power into a portal that would take them to the mainland.
>
  “Yes,” she replied, though she couldn't help the touch of uncertainty that colored her voice as the Gate beside them stabilized.

  The palace hosted a permanent Gate to the Grand College of Lore, but it emptied into a large courtyard where dozens of other Gates stood, and business made the way crowded. Instead of using that one, Temar led the opening of a Gate that led directly to the large auditorium in the college.

  Vahn motioned for her to accompany him. The guards beside the door started forward, but he lifted a hand. “Stay here,” he ordered. “The Archmage and I will go alone.”

  The men shifted, unsettled, as he strode through the portal without another word.

  After a deep breath with which to compose herself, Kytenia followed.

  Moving through a second Gate so quickly after the first gave her a shudder, but another breath was enough to steady her.

  As she expected, the auditorium was not empty. A handful of magelings gaped at them from the seats that curved around the speaking stage they now shared with a flustered man in Master white.

  “Excuse me,” Kytenia began, offering a sweet smile as she sorted out the words in her head. She had learned enough of the trade tongue to make herself useful, but the language still took more concentration than she liked. “I am Kytenia, Archmage of Kirban Temple, escort to King Vahnil of Elenhiise.”

  “I am in the middle of a class,” the man protested when he finally found his voice.

  “I can see that.” She skimmed the audience with another small smile, this time an apologetic one. “Forgive us for interrupting, but we require the assistance of Headmaster Ortath at once.”

  The man turned to Vahn and his face fell. “In the middle of my class?” His voice cracked with defeat even before he finished, his thoughts clear in the way the corners of his mouth drew down. Who was he to argue with a king?

  “Summon him immediately,” Vahn said, an uncharacteristic gruff edge in his tone.

  The Master's shoulders slumped, but he nodded.