The Serpent Bride

by Sara Douglass

  Axis did not respond. He had attention for nothing but the glass pyramid rising in the distance.

  The pyramid had looked large from the distance of Aqhat, but riding closer Axis realized its true size.

  It was gigantic.

  Graceful.

  More beautiful than anything Axis had ever seen—and he’d been privileged to witness some astounding marvels. He’d thought it stunning when he’d viewed it from the balcony of Aqhat…but this close…no words any man could mouth could possibly do it justice. Even though there was still some distance to cover before they reached the pyramid, Axis was now close enough to see that the blue-green glass that coated the stone walls glowed with a preternatural light. The glass almost throbbed, and Axis could feel something deep within himself tug in response.

  He raised his eyes to the very peak of the structure, his neck cricking a little painfully after his earlier exercise, his eyes squinting in the sun.

  The capstone of golden glass reflected so much light it was almost impossible to make out any details. Axis narrowed his eyes even more, and for a moment thought he saw a pillar of blinding light ascend into the sky from the capstone.

  They pulled their horses to a stop perhaps eighty paces away, and Isaiah watched the emotions play over Axis’ face as he gazed at the pyramid.

  “It stands almost two hundred paces tall, from foundations to capstone,” Isaiah said softly. “Its four sides are perfectly aligned, perfectly square. Its builders must have been extraordinary. We could not do this today.”

  Axis managed to find his voice. “Ba’al’uz told me something of its history…built two thousand years ago by ancient mathematical wizards to touch the power of Infinity, abandoned after a rebellion. Dismantled, and then—”

  “We will talk of that later,” said Isaiah. “Not here, not now.”

  They were riding forward again now, very close to the pyramid, and suddenly Axis felt cold, as if the pyramid’s shadow had swept over him, even though he could see it stretching out to the west.

  “I want to take you into the heart of DarkGlass Mountain,” said Isaiah. “I want you to see what lies there, and”—he swiveled on his horse a little so he could look directly at Axis—“I want you to tell me what you think of it.”

  Axis loathed it the moment they set foot inside the structure. He’d been growing progressively uneasier from the moment they’d dismounted outside (a groom appearing from a shadow to hold their horses) and stepped inside via a small door set unobtrusively into the pyramid’s northern face.

  The outside of the pyramid throbbed with beauty and reflected light.

  Inside, the pyramid seemed to eat light and life and breath.

  Isaiah led Axis along corridors lined on walls, ceiling, and floor with black glass that to Axis looked as if it had been melted, or in some manner otherwise fused, to the underlying stone. Every now and then he’d glimpse red light flickering through the glass, as if serpents lived under the glass, and spat their forked tongues at him.

  There were torches set into the black glassed walls, but the light radiated only a handbreadth or two from its flames before being absorbed utterly by the glass. Axis and Isaiah walked down tunnels of darkness in which the only illumination was provided by the intermittent lamps and the odd flickering of red deep within the glass itself.

  As they passed one lamp Axis peered at Isaiah, a pace or two ahead.

  His shoulders and back were stiff.

  Why has he brought me here?

  “This is a strange place, Isaiah,” Axis said softly, wanting to say, This is a bad place, Isaiah, but understanding, even after such a short time within the pyramid, that those would be unwise words to speak…

  Within the pyramid’s hearing.

  “We do not have far to go now, Axis,” Isaiah said softly, “until we reach this structure’s golden heart. Be quiet until then.”

  By now every nerve in Axis’ body was screaming at him to turn around and walk out—if DarkGlass Mountain would allow him that privilege—but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Isaiah stopped, and turned about.

  “We’re here,” he said, his face barely visible in the gloom. “There’s light ahead.”

  Somehow Axis doubted that—visual light, maybe, but he wondered if whatever lay at the heart of this structure could ever be characterized with a concept such as “light.”

  Isaiah turned about, touched something on the wall with his hand, and Axis heard the soft sound of a door sliding open.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Pelemere, the Central Kingdoms

  The situation in Pelemere had deteriorated from the bad to the abysmal. The Outlands Council and King Sirus of Pelemere had ceased talking to each other—which was in its own way a relief, as their words had become ever more bitter and vengeful—and had moved instead to overt militarization. The Outlanders claimed Sirus, allied with King Fulmer of Hosea, had murdered Rilm Evenor as an initial strike in a planned invasion; Sirus and Fulmer believed the Outlanders had murdered Evenor themselves in order to invent a reason to war against the Central Kingdoms.

  Maximilian felt increasingly uneasy as he became ensnarled in the middle of this diplomatic catastrophe. Sirus and Fulmer believed that Maximilian should be their natural ally…but Maximilian not only did not want to involve Escator in what he believed would be a fruitless and ultimately devastating war, but also felt it was the last thing he could do, given that his new wife was an Outlander herself. He was having enough trouble trying to work his way past Ishbel’s outer reserve without alienating her by involving himself in a war against her home.

  For the past ten days or more Maximilian had been engaged in a delicate dance of evasion; today he would not be so lucky.

  Ishbel and Maximilian were lunching with Sirus. This involved not only eating with the king, but with half of Sirus’ court, as well as servants and sundry hangers-on and curiosity seekers—Sirus kept, to Maximilian’s thinking, a dangerously open court. They were all seated within the great hall of Sirus’ palace, Maximilian and Ishbel at the high table on the dais closest to the huge fires used to heat the hall, everyone else seated according to rank at varying distances from both kings and fires, at long tables that ran at right angles to the high table.

  Ishbel was seated next to Sirus’ right hand, but was looking isolated and bored, which Maximilian knew meant she was intensely uncomfortable. He wondered if it was the baby—recently Ishbel had been feeling nauseous during the day—or Sirus’ glowering face. Maximilian, seated two places farther down from Ishbel, was sandwiched between Baron Allemorte—supposed assassin of Evenor—who sat to Ishbel’s right, and another of Sirus’ barons, a man called Veremont.

  Given the topic of conversation—the looming war with the Outlands—Maximilian thought it far more likely that it was the angry words surrounding Ishbel making her uncomfortable, rather than the baby.

  At the rear of the hall a man slipped in, unremarked by the guards. He was of an unthreatening demeanor, true, and clad in the garb of a servant, but it was more likely Ba’al’uz’ use of power that caused the guards’ eyes to drift over him rather than anything else.

  Ba’al’uz and his Eight had traveled hard and fast to reach Pelemere this quickly. Nonetheless, they’d spared time to inflame the burgeoning war between the Outlanders and the two kingdoms to their east by intercepting—and augmenting the inflammatory comment therein—many of the diplomatic messages flying via carrier bird between the combatants. Ba’al’uz was never one to miss an opportunity.

  That was precisely why he was here today. He didn’t think Maximilian and his new wife would long linger in Pelemere—not with Sirus glowering in such fashion—and he wanted an opportunity to study Ishbel, and gauge, if he could, the best way to murder her at the first opportunity.

  Which might be today, were luck to fall his way. Kanubai wanted only two simple things from Ba’al’uz, sacrifice and this strange object called the Weeper from Coroleas, and the first of those Ba’al’uz h
oped to accomplish today.

  For a while Ba’al’uz lingered toward the rear of the hall, helping the servants fill goblets and refresh platters of food. After a while, confident that no one would remark on his presence, Ba’al’uz worked his way closer, very gradually, to the high table.

  “I need to know your mind on this,” said Sirus, King of Pelemere, leaning impolitely past Ishbel and looking in Maximilian’s direction. “I need to know if you are willing to—”

  “Sirus,” Maximilian broke in, “I have no part in this, surely. I am moving through your territories only in order to collect a wife, and—”

  “An Outlander wife,” murmured Allemorte, who nursed his own private grudge against the Outlanders for accusing him of Evenor’s murder.

  “Horseshit,” Sirus said, slapping a hand down on the table and making Ishbel flinch back in her chair. “Your damned wife is an Outlander herself, you’re a damned, cursed king, and I want to know if you are going to back your new wife’s people or me in this war.”

  “Sirus!” Maximilian said, appalled that Sirus referred to Ishbel as if she were not present.

  Sirus leaned back a little and looked at Ishbel. “My apologies, my dear. Have I spoken my mind too true for comfort? Perhaps to reassure me, and perhaps even your husband, who must be wondering what murderousness he has married into, you can offer me your support in this little matter. Perhaps even a small revocation of loyalty to the Outlands themselves?”

  “My lord—” Ishbel began, her face white, her voice very quiet, but Maximilian interrupted.

  “There is nothing you need say, Ishbel,” he said, catching her gaze. Then he looked back to Sirus. “Ishbel plays no part in this matter, Sirus. Leave her out of it, please. And me, too. I play no part in this matter. I am sorry that you and Fulmer have been caught up in this dispute with the Outlands, but I beg you understand that it is your dispute, and not mine.”

  Sirus opened his mouth, his face red with anger, but had to lean back momentarily as a serving man lifted away his platter.

  Sirus glowered at him, but the man had already faded into the background.

  “Easy words,” muttered Allemorte, very low, “for a coward.”

  Ba’al’uz thought Maximilian might actually strike Allemorte at that. Ba’al’uz had just taken away Sirus’ platter, and was hovering behind Ishbel’s chair, about to reach for her virtually untouched platter, when Allemorte spoke so foolishly.

  Maximilian went completely white, half rising from his own chair, and Ba’al’uz took a step back into the shadows by the chimney breast in anticipation of physical violence.

  If he was fortunate enough, Maximilian would goad Sirus or Allemorte into murdering Ishbel for him, right here and now.

  “Allemorte spoke a little too hastily,” Sirus said, “but you can surely understand his level of ill feeling. Half of my country, including myself, can vouch to his presence here in Pelemere when the Outlander Council insist he was murdering Evenor, but still they insist.”

  Maximilian sank back into his chair. “Ishbel has nothing to do with this dispute, Sirus,” he said. “She deserves none of your ill will. Leave her be.”

  Sirus glanced at Ishbel, who was leaning toward him as the serving man collected her platter. He thought she was looking very angry, and he wondered at it. Was her temper caused by his goading, or because, as an Outlander, she loathed him and his kingdom?

  He distrusted all this pretty silence on her part. He distrusted even more the fact that she’d arrived just as news of the murder had broken in Pelemere. Was she a part of the plot? A spy, sent by the Outlander Council? An agent, perhaps, intent on harming Pelemere’s interests in any way she could? Well might Maximilian champion her, but then he was sleeping with her, and Sirus had no doubts that Ishbel had enough bed tricks up her sleeve to keep her new husband quite besotted.

  “I would like to hear from Lady Ishbel herself,” Sirus said quietly, “of her views on this matter.”

  Ba’al’uz was almost beside himself with anticipation. No one was taking any notice of him, and now he hummed with the power of Kanubai. He could take Ishbel today, sacrifice her easily, and make it appear as if by Sirus’ hand.

  Gods, that would set the entire Northern Kingdoms aflame—Ba’al’uz was by now enjoying this exercise for its own sake rather than in the hope of pleasing Isaiah or Lister—and earn Kanubai’s unending gratitude.

  For a moment, hovering back in the shadows, he imagined what words of praise Kanubai would murmur in his mind tonight, what rewards he might have awaiting him on his return, but then, with supreme effort, Ba’al’uz managed to concentrate on the task at hand. He slipped a hand inside the pocket of his waistcoat, fingering the vial of poison he had secreted within. It was a special brew, something he carried with him always, and all it would take was a single brush against Ishbel’s skin to have her dead within ten heartbeats.

  He tipped the vial up and down, coating the stopper’s tongue, then carefully withdrew the stopper, palming it in a well-practiced maneuver, and moved forward as if to refill Ishbel’s wine goblet.

  Ishbel was furious: with Sirus, with Allemorte, with Maximilian, with the damned servant who kept hovering about the back of her chair, and with the entire cursed situation. She hated these words against the Outlanders, even though she had been distanced from them for so long within Serpent’s Nest. This was her blood they were cursing and deriding and plotting to spill, and this her heritage they insulted.

  Maximilian was trying his best to fence-sit on the matter, and Ishbel could have screamed with frustration. What in all gods’ names did the Great Serpent think she could do here? Married to Maximilian and forced to listen to this drivel from men who were less than any of the peasants and criminals she had sent to the grave? How, just half a year ago, could she ever have imagined that the archpriestess of the Coil could be sunk so low?

  And with this damned baby in her belly, which even now was sending cold waves of nausea through her. Ishbel was terrified that if she so much as opened her mouth she’d spew forth the little she had managed to eat.

  But no, here was Sirus leering at her, demanding that she say something to stoke even further the fires of his bigotry. That she justify herself.

  The servant had now stepped forward again (what was wrong with the man, could he not stand still for more than five heartbeats?) and was making as if to reach for her wine goblet. Now irritated beyond measure, Ishbel waved a hand at the man, meaning to brush him away, as at the same moment she opened her mouth to put the damned Sirus in his place once and for all.

  But all that came out from her mouth was a low moan of distress as Maximilian’s ring suddenly screamed—

  Danger, danger, darling Ishbel! Danger, danger! Murder, murder!

  Two seats down Maximilian leapt to his feet, shoving Allemorte aside in his haste to reach his wife.

  At the same instant the ring shrieked, Kanubai also screamed into Ba’al’uz’ mind.

  She is not the sacrifice, fool! It is her child I want!

  Ba’al’uz cloaked himself in power the instant Kanubai spoke in his mind, shrinking back once more into the shadows of the great hearth, sliding the poisonous stopper safely into its vile home. He was safe for the moment, for no one’s attention was on him. Sirus had thought Maximilian was lunging for Sirus himself (and Maximilian may well have been, for all Ba’al’uz knew), Ishbel did not have a single idea what was happening about her, Allemorte was still trying to recover from Maximilian’s shove, and everything else was in confusion.

  He could step forward again, step into the confusion, and wipe the stopper against the soft skin of Ishbel’s neck.

  But Kanubai wanted her child more than he wanted Ishbel (Ba’al’uz wasted a moment of indignation that Kanubai had left it until the very last instant to make this clear). Ba’al’uz understood that Ishbel would need to die as well, of course, but not just yet…not just yet.

  So Ba’al’uz did not murder Ishbel as he had planned.
But Ba’al’uz was primed to murder, he wanted it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to settle if he didn’t do it, and so, while Allemorte struggled to regain his footing amid the pushing and shoving, and as, to Ba’al’uz’ perception, every guard within a hundred leagues rushed to protect Sirus, Ba’al’uz withdrew the stopper once more from its vial and wiped it gently, caressingly, against Allemorte’s wrist as the baron tried to grab at the back of a chair for balance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Palace of Aqhat, Tyranny of Isembaard

  Axis had thought the outside of the pyramid amazing, but it was as nothing compared to this internal chamber, shaped as a pyramid itself, and about fifteen paces square at the base. Both walls and floor were covered in intricately carved golden glass of such workmanship and beauty that Axis was dumbstruck. He walked over to one of the walls, running his hand softly along the glass.

  “This is the Infinity Chamber,” said Isaiah. “The golden heart of Dark-Glass Mountain. Beautiful, eh?”

  “It is…” Axis began, unable to find the words to continue.

  “Extraordinary,” Isaiah said. “No one now has the skills to carve glass like this.”

  Axis remembered what Ba’al’uz had said about the pyramid. A doorway. A means by which to touch Creation.

  A means to touch the Star Dance again, Axis.

  Axis went cold. He glanced at Isaiah, but the tyrant was walking slowly about the chamber, running several fingers over the carved glass.

  That had not been Isaiah.

  Wouldn’t you like to feel the thrum of the stars through your body again, Axis? Wouldn’t you like the power that once you enjoyed? This is a gateway, Axis. Just like the Star Gate, and if—

  Axis blocked out the voice, turning to Isaiah just as the tyrant spoke.

  “Tell me what you feel here, Axis.”

  It just spoke to me, Isaiah! But how can I speak that, here and now?