Page 36 of Daughter of the Serpent

A man stood in the doorway, cloaked in shadow.

Chapter Eight

“Let me pass.” A voice deep and commanding cut through the silence.

Brunhilda’s eyes widened, her gaze stretching upward as her fiery curls caught the dim light. “And who are you?” She asked, her tone clipped and carrying a certain sharpness.

His broad shoulders filled the doorway, as he stepped past her, his shadow casting long over the room.

Brunhilda’s cheeks flushed as she spun to face him, her hands balling into fists. “I asked you a question,” she barked, her voice rising like the crack of a whip. Yet her words fell over him like rain on stone. He didn’t slow, nor turn his head, his eyes fixed ahead.

“I demand to know who you are!” She huffed once more, her face reddening with her anger.

Finally he paused, turning just enough for his molten eyes to settle on her. “This woman is under my charge,” he said, his voice low, but laced with an authority that left no room for argument.

As if the matter was settled he turned his back, his eyes connecting with Sylvie on the opposite side of the room.

Her breath hitched.

His eyes - like golden flames - locked onto hers, pinning her in place.

“You…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Brunhilda stepped forward, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Does the high priest know you’re here?”

“I do not answer to fools.” The stranger said after a moment as his eyes swept the room. “Not even fools who hold power.”

Sylvie’s jaw slackened at his bluntness, her eyes pinned on the stranger in fear and yet a new found fascination. She had never heard anyone speak of Rederick like that, nor dare to openly express defiance - it was as startling as it was dangerous.

When his gaze fell on the basket of herbs and ointments sitting untouched by Sylvie’s feet, his expression hardened.

“How dare - ” Brundilda began, but he was quick to cut her off.

“Why has this woman not been tended to?” he asked, his tone as sharp as ice. There was an undeniable edge to him - a wildness etched into his eyes and woven into the way he moved.

Brunhilda stiffened in response, her nostrils flaring. “Who are you to question me?” she shot back, her voice quivering with anger. “She is cursed - marked by the serpent - and stands accused of murder. I will not waste my efforts on one already destined for doom.”

Sylvie could feel the stranger’s presence shift - an almost imperceptible change as he let out a soft, mirthless huff. His eyes narrowed on Brunhilda, as if a wolf happening upon prey.

“Then you are clearly no longer of use.”

Turning his back to her, his full attention fell on Sylvie, his expression unreadable under his hood.

“Leave us.”

The last words dropped from his lips as if a command, and Sylvie could feel the weight in his voice. It wasn’t loud, but there was a certain power in it - a force that cut straight through the air and settled deep in her bones.

“Who are you to dismiss me?” Brunhilda bellowed, her voiceechoing off the stone walls behind him. “I have served as head of the servants for over twenty years - ”

“And yet you fail to perform the duties in which you are assigned,” he cut in, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. His amber eyes narrowed. “I will take it from here.”

Brunhilda’s anger flared like a struck match. She crossed her arms. “By all means, then,” she hissed. “But proceed at your own peril. That girl deserves neither your time nor your mercy - only the justice of a sharp blade.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening as he turned to face her fully.

“And who are you,” he asked, his voice low, “to pass such a judgment?” His eyes burned into hers. He stepped closer, his boots thudding against the floor as the gap between them vanished, and Brunhilda was quickly swallowed by his shadow. “Do you assume to know the higher workings of the gods?”

Brunhilda let out an involuntary gasp.