Page 28

Or so I intend. I easily fend off the men carrying me away, but new men take their place. There are too many. “Monster!” they shout. “Demon!”

You cannot fight them alone, the vipers insist. Let us help you, our queen.

Our queen. The Serpent King never named a successor after he died, but because he gave his life for me, and poisoned my blood to make it deadlier than any other snake’s, many consider me his rightful heir. They would die to protect me, if needed.

I take in the blur of angry faces, the raised scythes and fistfuls of stone. Maybe I do need help.

I stop fighting and start grasping at pockets, satchels, baskets. Straw hats and coin purses are of no use to me. I need something bigger. A durian would be ideal. A coconut will do.

There’s one rolling on the ground. I strain for it, stretching until I can clasp it between my fingers. Then I throw. Never has my aim been truer.

Meguh’s pot shatters, piercing the mantle of noise, and the vipers spill free.

Like soldiers, they lurch to defend me—they weave toward me, crawling up my arms and legs until my attackers drop me in terror.

The villagers yelp and back away. I’m quite a sight, wreathed in snakes, with vipers hissing out of my hair, striking at any who dare come close.

The coils of rope chafe my arms, and as I slide them off, I breathe shakily. Thank you.

Give the command, and we will execute King Meguh and his men, one viper says. We will do so with pleasure.

Tempting. But there are too many people here. Too many children who might get hurt if Meguh’s men were to retaliate.

No, I reply, holding in a cough. You’ve helped enough. Go, be free.

Very well, Lady Green.

Weaving through the fallen crates and smashed fruit, they make their escape.

Before long, Rongyo’s guards arrive. They clear a space in the middle of the square, and as I wipe the dust from my eyes, Vanna rushes to my side.

Panic and concern crease her brow. She’s shaking me, words tumbling out of her lips. I can barely understand them.

My skin still aches, phantom ropes burning my flesh, even though I am safe. Every part of me hurts, to be honest, but what propels me out of my delirium is the need to check myself for one thing.

Blood.

I’ve bruises and welts all over, but no blood was drawn.

My worry dissolves with relief. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep my voice steady. “I’m fine.”

While Vanna helps me to my feet, I keep my head down. Everyone has already seen my face, so I shouldn’t care if they see it again. But my cheeks cannot help smarting with shame, even while Vanna guides me toward the temple.

“That thing is your sister?” one of the suitors shouts.

“Gadda’s grief!” spits King Hoa Tho. “You thought to hide this from us, shaman? If the Golden One’s family is cursed, I want no part of it.”

Others quickly agree. Only Emperor Hanriyu does not fling insults upon me. He is taller than he looked from afar, and he offers me a handkerchief. The gesture catches me off guard, and I take it gingerly.

The silk is soft. I bring it to my face, inhaling a floral scent I cannot recognize. It’s crisp and not too sweet. I breathe it in again because I like it and want to remember it, then dab my cheek—a mistake, for a spot of dirt soils the delicate cloth. “Serpents of Hell,” I start. “I’m sorry, I…”

“There’s no need to apologize,” says Hanriyu. “Please, keep it.”

He speaks as though he’s caused me offense, not the other way around. Usually I’d attribute such words to pity, but there’s a sincerity to his voice that I actually believe.

I fold the handkerchief in one hand. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” The emperor bows his head politely, and then he leaves to offer his well-wishes to Prince Rongyo and Vanna. He slips away, unnoticed by anyone except me.