Page 25 of Daughter of the Serpent

More men advanced, and blood spattered and dirt flew as they swayed and bowed in the lethal dance of combat. Despite being outnumbered, the stranger held his ground, his focus unwavering. He ducked again under a swinging sword, driving his ax upward into his opponent’s chest. As the man collapsed, the stranger spun around, parrying another attack and driving his body into his second opponent, tumbling him backward using his own brute force. Regaininghis balance, his ax sliced through the air with a mind of its own, landing blow after blow with deadly precision.

He moved like a shifting shadow in the night, leaving three more bodies dropping to the muddied earth.

One by one, the Baldr’s men fell, their cries of pain and rage filling the air.

She closed her eyes, still fading in and out of the darkness. The pound of the drum could be heard in the distance, the faint cheers from the thriving crowd still in celebration.

No one could hear the screams.

The smell of death lingered. Fresh blood ripe and poignant, fear permeating the energy that seemed to have suddenly flourished. She could feel it in waves, pulsing strong and true, almost tangible. It felt as if she had strayed into a dream, fading in and out, never sure of what was real and what wasn't. Baldr laid unconscious against one of the trees to the side of her, and his chest rising and falling with a steady effort. The stranger approached him, his stride smooth and purposeful. His grip pulsed the ax held in his hand, knuckles tensing white. His face was unreadable, but his motives were clear.

He was going to kill him.

Sylvie cried out, her voice a mere crack against the cold breeze, yet it was loud enough to capture his attention.

“Spare…him…” She croaked.

He froze, his face revealing nothing.

She could feel the darkness finding her again, her body on near surrender, her senses closing down with the weight of her exhaustion. She breathed, her chest labored and constricted. Her eyes were closing, her lids fighting to keep open.

With a final glance at the fallen men, the stranger turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the trail of broken bodies in his wake.

Chapter Six

Yellow teeth flashed between gulps of spiced wine, the contents of the drinking horn sloshing over its mouth, spilling over in streams onto slim pale fingers. Salted meat and dried fruits from summer lay spread across the long table, the wood old and well used over decades of feasting and revelry. There the high priest sat, propped up by red dyed pillows, scarlet jewels dripping from his throat and gleaming from his threaded crown. The sacred knot etched into the cloak around his shoulders was embroidered boldly so any who gazed upon him knew immediately his position of power. Not that he needed any open statements to do so. Anyone with eyes in Mardova could see the untouched hands, unworn and strangers to hard work or toil, and the regalness of his features - eyes that looked like that of a viper, skin unwrinkled by time, unleathered by the sun. The high priest had spent most of his days under the forgiving shade of the temple walls, hidden away in dark corners with his incantations and witchery that kept him youthful, unaged, and handsome, and seldom did anyone protest. He was revered among the people as closest to the gods, his lips dripping with the untelling mixture of blessing and curse - for none could tell which would be their fate.

His words were the words of the gods.

Yet, Sylvie often found them dripping with poison.

It hadn't gone unnoticed when he consistently chose her last for blessings, and first for the most grueling tasks. He seemed to delight in going out of his way to shame her, highlighting her abnormalities and perceived shortcomings. Rederick’s disdain for her was palpable, more intense than for anyone else, and he made no effort to hide it.

“I see you have recovered from your expeditions.” His voice sounded out into the hall, echoing off the polished stone, breaking the silence. His dark eyes narrowed in on her, almost black, his dissatisfaction laced in every word as that dripped from his mouth. “Unfortunately, many others cannot say the same.”

Pulling a chicken leg from its carcass he snapped the bone in two, shoveling the broken skin and meat between his teeth with a ravenous hunger, grease trailing down his chin.

After the events of last night, Sylvie had been found unconscious under the trees.

Her last memories were hazy flashes. Arms lifting her. Sara's stern but kind eyes. Melvie's gentle hands as they hovered over her, weaving their healing magic. The cool touch of their fingertips on her fevered skin. The faint scent of herbal balms, and the soft murmur of their reassuring voices. It was all a blur of comforting sensations as they worked tirelessly to mend her. It was no doubt her magic had exhausted her completely, her reserves of energy dangerously low - forcing her to sleep for what felt like days, but had only been mere hours.

Yet, the moment she had opened her eyes, she had been dragged from her bed to face her judgment.

“Pray tell me, what was one of my servants of the light doing at the celebrations last night?” Rederick licked his lips, the smell of roasted meat and honeyed ale wafting from the table, causing her mouth to water. She couldn’t recall the last time she ate, yet her hunger was the least of the worries she had on her mind.

Sylvie cleared her throat, words caught on her tongue. She knewshe needed to be incredibly cautious - Rederick was cunning and could easily decipher a lie, yet she also needed to protect Tara from harm. She still had no knowledge of what had preceded her last memories - Baldr’s healing, her sudden ability to channel, the overwhelming exhaustion, and the ambered eyed stranger.

“Choose your words carefully, child of the serpent. You will not find any grace from me.” His eyes seemed to penetrate even at a distance, his voice clipped.

“I disobeyed orders.” She began. “I accept the full consequences of my actions.”

“Yet you were not alone, were you.” His eyes borrowed into hers. “Was it you who provoked such disobedience?”

“It was me, alone, your grace.” Sylvie was quick to defend.

He sat up, making his way from the feasting table till he faced her head on.

“Such a pretty mouth,” He said, his thumb coming to her lips, tracing their outline wantonly. Taking his time he stared down at her, pinching her cheeks together with his thumb and pointer finger, pursing her lips. “Too bad it’s laced with poison.”