Serpent's Crown (Snakesblood Saga Book 5)

by Beth Alvarez

  Protecting a child was what a father was supposed to do. What Vahn had failed to do.

  The Gate sizzled as it opened to the cool shade of Wethertree's woods. Vahn clicked to his mount as he moved forward and waved for the cavalcade to follow.

  Replacement. That was what he feared.

  “Everyone through and get that Gate closed,” Vahn called. “The fewer people who know where we are, the better.”

  Ennil nodded, a subtle display of approval. Vahn barely noticed as he settled back into his brooding thoughts.

  When he returned to Ilmenhith, would he still have a place?

  Crackling power filled the archway in front of them. Rune flinched and averted his eyes. A handful of guards clustered at his sides and a ring of mages stood behind them. Rhyllyn and Garam brought up the rear. They shifted bags in their hands and rocked on their feet as they waited for the procession to move.

  The trip to Roberian's capital city had been uneventful. If Rune hadn't already been exhausted from hours on the road, he might have thought it nice to travel somewhere by carriage. Not that the carriage was comfortable. Garam hadn't appreciated his jokes about the hard seats and jouncing ride, which dampened what spirits he'd tried to feign.

  The men who'd come to collect him had expected a fight. They arrived at the door with their weapons drawn. But they hadn't been eager to carry out their orders, and when Rune made it clear he didn't intend to resist them, they seemed relieved. He couldn't imagine their position was much easier than his. He'd served as part of the Royal City Guard alongside some of their fathers, if not with the men who stood beside him now. That kinship made them seem more like an honor escort than the party responsible for his arrest.

  Magic surged around them as the mages worked to open a Gate to the Royal City. Among the mages was Alira, looking older than Rune recalled, though it could have just been the way worry pinched her face. If he felt sorry for the men, he felt worse for her. They'd both come from Elenhiise. Wars had shredded their lives and then forced them together as friends. But Alira knew he'd manage. It was the burden he left her that made him pity her position.

  Despite their lack of blood ties, Rune had declared Rhyllyn his next of kin. When he was away, Alira was the boy's custodian. Looking after the lad was difficult enough without her added responsibilities as a mage on top.

  More than once Alira glanced toward Rhyllyn, her worry obvious. Rune caught her eye and nodded slightly as the Gate opened. It was all the reassurance he could offer, but it seemed to be enough. She swallowed and nodded back. Then the Gate opened and the guards moved, forcing him through the portal.

  Rune blinked against the sunlight as he stepped into the courtyard at the forefront of the Spiral Palace. Behind him, the city roared. He dared a glance over his shoulder, keeping his expression as neutral as he could. A line of men in gleaming armor held the city at bay. The crowds beyond seethed with fury. He didn't know whether they were angry over his arrest or angry at him for what they now believed he'd done, but it didn't matter. It didn't change anything.

  He'd expected the mages to take him somewhere more private, but the only other safe area for Gating was in the mage quarters, halfway up the twisting spire that towered over the heart of the Triad. It made sense to choose the courtyard instead. From there, they could walk him directly to the throne.

  Six mages strode through the Gate after his escort, then more guards, along with Garam and Rhyllyn. The Gate fell out of existence behind them. He couldn't see it from this side, of course; Gates without an anchor on both sides only worked in one direction. But he could feel it, in spite of the seal that kept him from using magic on his own. He felt everything around him, every delicate flow of power, energy he still hadn't learned to shut out completely. Magic didn't avoid him. It simply no longer answered his call.

  Not that it would have answered him in the Royal City anyway; not without his access stone. A barrier surrounded the city, keeping mages from touching power. Only mages with an access stone were able to bypass it, but the king was tight-fisted with the gems. Rune possessed one and it had come hard earned. Given the circumstances he'd landed in, he'd chosen to leave it behind. The last thing he wanted to do was make the guards or mages think he might try to use it when he was under arrest.

  The guards started forward, and Rune moved along with them. The palace doors stood wide, but weren't welcoming. Inside, clustered around the columns that lined the great hall, nobles and councilors watched and murmured amongst themselves. Some sneered. Most didn't even look at them. Rune searched the faces of those who did. Some turned away.

  Redoram Parthanus was among those present; Rune's first friend in the Royal City and one of his closest allies. The old mage held his cap, wringing it between his hands. He met Rune's eyes and then turned away, shaking his head. As a councilor, Redoram had a say in matters like this. No matter how hard he must have fought in his friend's favor, it seemed he'd been overruled.

  “You have to reconsider,” Rhyllyn said.

  Rune frowned and turned back. The guards shoved the youth back behind their line, but Rhyllyn seemed undeterred. He pushed close again, glaring at the men who kept him from reaching his brother.

  “You can't just let this happen!”

  “Enough,” was all Rune said.

  The guards led him to the edge of the white marble dais and fell into a half-circle formation behind him, two men deep. The mages arranged themselves with three to either side, and Garam led Rhyllyn to join one of their groups. They stood back, Rhyllyn worried, Garam solemn. The former captain leaned on his cane, but didn't seem burdened by the bag of belongings that hung from his shoulder. They were Rune's things, instead of his own. The guards had forbidden Rune from carrying the bag himself.

  The mages and guardsmen bowed, and the king stood.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, Vicamros II was the perfect image of a king. His blond hair was gray at the temples, his close-trimmed beard streaked with white at the corners of his chin. His hands were scarred and callused from years wielding a sword, and his blue eyes sparked with experience. It was strange to recall him as the boy Rune had saved years ago. He'd changed a great deal.

  Their friendship had changed very little.

  “Would that we were meeting under better circumstances.” Vicamros stepped down from his dais and moved forward with open arms. He wore fine clothing in the green, blue, and amber hues that represented the Triad. No armor, and only a ceremonial jeweled sword at his side. His appearance made it obvious he harbored no fear. No matter the accusations, he did not see Rune as a criminal—or a threat.

  “We have a history of meeting in uncomfortable situations, if you'll recall.” Rune forced a smile as he accepted his friend's embrace.

  Vicamros frowned and stepped back. “Yes, though often because of my folly.”

  “Folly this time, perhaps, but not yours. You've grown into a wise man and a good leader for your people.” Rune clapped a hand to the king's shoulder.

  Vicamros only sighed. There was a glassy sheen in his eyes and an odd set to the corners of his mouth.

  He's saying goodbye, Rune reminded himself. Or saying it as best as he could, with so many people watching. “You've done what you had to, Cam. I don't blame you for this.”

  “I am sorry,” Vicamros murmured. “You have been a good friend to me. Whether or not you blame me for it, the order came from my mouth, and it's a poor way to repay you for the service you've done my kingdom.”

  Rune hesitated. The land he'd been given was a reward for that service. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for Rhyllyn.

  The king followed his gaze and his eyes narrowed. “Is he—?”

  “Staying here,” Rune said. “This is my business, not his.”

  Vicamros nodded. “You've built a strong legacy for him. I will see he has guidance.”

  “I've entrusted my holdings to Lord Kaith and his family, until Rhyllyn comes of age.”

  “A sound choice.” Vic
amros paused and lowered his voice so that only the guards nearest to them would hear. “Before you go, I had hoped to ask a final favor from you, my friend.”

  Rune raised a brow and looked down at himself, then back to the king. “What?”

  “Truth.” A hint of regret crept over his features, and Vicamros lowered his eyes. “I'm sure you've been informed of the accusation against you. If I have condemned an innocent man, then I wish to know. If only to be aware of what I've sacrificed for the sake of politics.”

  A difficult request. Rune couldn't deny it, but it wasn't what the proclamation from Elenhiise made it sound like, either. “I wish I had a simple answer for you,” he said. “But if the question is whether or not I killed their king, then the answer is yes.”

  Disappointment filled the king's eyes and his shoulders sagged.

  Rune raised a clawed finger and continued. “But it isn't what they say. I have never killed a man outside honest combat, where both parties entered knowing what the outcome may be. They say I murdered him, and they're wrong. In truth, it was... an accident.” His voice quavered with the word, his throat thick. “It wasn't supposed to happen. Not like that. I wanted answers, not his death. I begged the mages to heal him, but it was already too late. And no one hates me for it as much as I hate myself.”

  Vicamros studied him, his brow furrowed. “He was an important man to you.”

  Rune gave the slightest of nods. “The most.”

  “Then my heart is heavier for this.” Vicamros stood straighter and lifted his chin. “But the mages must prepare to open your Gate, and I cannot delay you any longer. Simply know that the people of the Triad mourn you, my friend, but few so deeply as I.”

  To Rune's surprise, one of the guards stepped forward with shackles for his wrists. Chuckling, he held out his arms to accept them. “Everything catches up with you eventually. I'll remember this day if I'm presented the opportunity to haunt somebody.”

  Choking back a laugh, Vicamros waved him away. He returned to the throne and watched as the guards and mages began the slow, shuffling procession to the Gating parlor halfway up the tower.

  “I still can't believe you're going to your death so willingly,” Garam said once the group escaped the great hall.

  Rune looked at Rhyllyn out of the corner of his eye and shrugged. “Better to be cooperative and leave a legacy,” he said. “Besides, I never said I wasn't going to fight. I'm just not fighting you.”

  The corners of Garam's mouth twitched with a suspicious frown. Good; let him wonder. The air of mystery would just make his plans for escape that much more impressive.

  Now all he had to do was think up what they were.

  The guards remained silent as they trekked up the curving walkways that led higher into the Spiral Palace. Halfway to the parlor where the mages would open the Gate, the procession slowed without comment to accommodate Garam's flagging pace.

  One of the mages met them at the door. “We aren't ready yet,” the woman announced, her tone disinterested, for all that her eyes wandered over the group with great curiosity. “There are a handful of dignitaries waiting for transport and you will have to wait your turn.”

  “The king himself ordered us up here,” Garam protested.

  “And the king ordered the dignitaries to go home,” the mage replied. “Sit and wait in the front room. We shall call you back to the Gating parlor when it is your turn.”

  “We'll wait, thank you,” Rune said.

  The mage eyed his shackles and raised a brow, but motioned for the group to enter.

  They filed into the waiting room. The guards posted themselves near the doors and near the couch where Rune made himself comfortable, but the mages moved past them to enter the Gating parlor ahead of the party.

  “You don't look like a man marching to your death,” Garam remarked as he and Rhyllyn found seats of their own.

  Rune shrugged. “Who knows what the future holds?”

  “Nothing good,” Rhyllyn murmured sullenly.

  “That,” Rune said with the smallest of smirks, “is probably the truth.”

  The boy sniffed and turned away. “How can you do this? Just go like it doesn't matter? People here need you. The Triad needs you. You're a war hero, someone the people look up to—”

  “I'm a lot of things, but a hero isn't one of them. I am a soldier who did what was needed when I was needed there.” Rune fought back a sigh. “Alira wanted me to be a good example for you, and sometimes setting an example means taking responsibility for your actions.”

  “But it's not fair,” Rhyllyn protested.

  “No, it's not, but when are things ever? Fair isn't me not going or me not being called back, Rhyllyn. Fair is me never having to leave home in the first place and the two of us never crossing paths.”

  Sulking, the youth slouched in his seat.

  “He's right, you know,” Garam said. “And I don't think your brother would be as calm as he is if he knew this was the end of the road.”

  Rhyllyn frowned, doubtful.

  A mage appeared in the doorway. “Your Gate is ready.”

  Garam leveraged himself up with his cane. “That was fast.”

  “We are efficient, Lord Kaith,” the Master replied, her tone flat.

  Rune stood and the guards fell in around him as he turned to follow the mage. Rhyllyn moved to follow, too, but the mage raised a hand to stop him.

  “Our orders include only the Champion and Lord Kaith.” Her blue eyes were cold, emotionless. They bore no sympathy for the boy who would be left behind.

  Before Rune could say a word, Rhyllyn closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a hug. With his hands still shackled, Rune wiggled his arms free and lifted his hands over the youth's head to squeeze him close. Rhyllyn made no sound, but his shoulders trembled and hot tears dampened the shoulder of Rune's shirt.

  “Alira will come for you soon,” Rune said. “Within a few days, you'll have Garam, too. You won't be alone.”

  Rhyllyn's arms tightened around his ribs.

  “We must depart,” the mage said.

  Slowly, Rune raised his hands and Rhyllyn let go. Before he could slip away, Rune caught his shoulder.

  “Remember,” he murmured, catching the boy's gaze. “We aren't the monsters they've made us.”

  Tears brimmed on his dark lashes and Rhyllyn tore his eyes away.

  “Let's go,” Garam said softly.

  Rune nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to his brother's temple. Then he turned with his head high and followed the mage into the Gating parlor.

  “You are destined first for the Grand College of Lore,” the mage announced as the portal stabilized. The college often bustled with merchants and sailors coming and going, but today, a group of white-robed mages waited on the other side, ready to intercept them.

  Garam leaned close as they waited for permission to pass through. “What kind of monster are you supposed to be?” he mused softly.

  Rune's eyes darkened and he chuckled. “Just wait and see.”

  7

  New wars

  Though it was too late to do anything, Firal inspected the map spread across her desk one last time. She'd done her best to help ensure every mage outpost was marked. Temar had helped fill in the ones she forgot. The court Master worked more closely with the temple than Firal did. In some ways it was a relief to have someone else look after the affairs of mages and only bring her the important matters. In others, it seemed a bad idea.

  Now more than ever, Firal was isolated. It had been bad enough when she was expelled from the temple and landed among the Underlings, forced to make a new home. It had been worse when she was named queen, pulled from the wilds and placed upon the throne. She hadn't known anyone in Ilmenhith, save the temple Masters present in the city at the time. Now she didn't deal with the mages at all. Her chief court Master handled mage relations so Firal was free to tend other things.

  She'd done a poor job of maintaining friendships with
her comrades in the temple. She regretted it, but couldn't see how it could have been different. Being queen meant great demands on her time, and though her rule had been stable for years, there were always whispers behind her back.

  That she'd been raised in the temple and trained as a mage was a point against her in the eyes of some. Mages were meant to serve everyone in need, not only their own people. Some thought that made her untrustworthy and too sympathetic to potential enemies. Others thought her too lax with the mages, liable to let the temple run over the kingdom roughshod, the way her father had. So she had tried to distance herself from the mages, the only thing she knew to do, and as a result even her relationship with Kytenia had grown cool and formal.

  The isolation had been tolerable when Medreal was present, or when Vahn was there. But now they were gone—one forever—and for the first time in her life, she felt truly alone.

  And so the letter on her desk couldn't have come at a better time. Cross-referencing Anaide's list of outposts with the one Temar had helped her put together was exactly the sort of busywork she needed. It was progress, useful, yet mind-numbing at the same time. She picked up the letter to look it over again.

  Firal read and re-read the names of cities and outposts on the map until she was sure they had remembered every active station, hoping the task would distract her from the thoughts of Lulu that clouded her mind. Was her daughter crying? Frightened? Cared for? Would they harm her? Why couldn't Envesi simply make demands? Firal would have given half the kingdom—Lifetree's mercy, the whole kingdom—to have her back.

  There was a time she'd felt the same way about Rune.

  She squeezed her eyes closed as thoughts of him joined her worries. She'd fought so hard to keep them at bay, but in the wake of Vahn's request that the rest of the world be scoured to find him, they'd been difficult to restrain. He'd been so confident Rune would be found alive. But he'd never answered her Calling, and after the last time she'd seen him had ended with Anaide demanding he hang, she struggled to believe he still lived.