Page 1 of Embrace the Serpent

You can’t be hurt if no one knows you exist. That was the last thing my mother ever said to me, though not exactly in those

words. “Hide, darling,” she whispered. “The djinn mustn’t find you.” And she pressed into my little hands a sapphire ring,

the stone cloudy and speckled, a jewel of power meant for thieves and pranksters and a shy duchess who preferred blending

into the wallpaper over socializing. Once on my finger, its power settled over me like a damp chill, and I became nearly invisible—not

invisible like a vanishing act, but invisible like a third footman at a palace gala, or a mouse in tall grass.

But for it to work, a footman must not step out of line, a mouse should not squeak, and a five-year-old hiding in her mother’s

wardrobe had better not cry. The djinn found me, because even though the ring made me appear as interesting as a bundle of

clothes, it was hard not to notice a bundle of clothes that was sniveling like a girl who’d just been demoted to the rank

of orphan.

I spent the next twelve years of my life getting better at being invisible, getting so good at it, in fact, that I was certain

the djinn who found me that day would never find me again.

The rickshaw rattled along with me from where I sat in the low backward seat, wearing my usual armor: sacklike livery in the trademark dusty purple and gold of Master Galen’s Jewelsmithery, buttoned all the way to my neck despite the heat; my mother’s ring on my left pointer finger; the vacantly attentive smile of a servant who wasn’t too bright.

Galen was happy. I could tell because he was lecturing. “Lemme tell you one thing, Saphira,” he said, speaking loudly to be

heard over the rickshaw’s wheels rattling across pavement and the excitable hum of a city on festival day. “Lemme give you

a pearl of wisdom. You know what it is we’re selling?”

“Jewelry,” I said.

He laughed like I was a dog who’d done an excellent trick. His flask peeked out from his jacket pocket. “Jewelry isn’t jewelry,

kid. Jewels are”—he leaned in for emphasis—“ ideas . How’d you think I sold that nasty pair of emeralds? I told that Lady—that Lady Whosit, Whasshername, you know the one, face

like a pig on a horse’s neck—I said, ‘Can’t you just imagine going to the first garden party of the Season, and the flowers

opening just as you walk by—can’t you see all the handsome ladies and pretty lords coming to ooh and ahh over you? No one

has these, not a thing like them in all of Gem Lane. Why, you’ll be the center of attention. They’ll be green with envy!’”

“So wise,” I said dryly. Those emeralds had left twin patches of moss and mildew on my worktable and I feared for Lady Whasshername’s

gowns.

Somewhere between Gem Lane and the posh streets of Caelan Hill, our rickshaw slowed to a crawl.

A palanquin jogged by; it was so majestically proportioned and of such a striking red, that all one saw was the pale, long-fingered hand parting the gauzy veil.

Hardly any of the passersby glanced at the four strapping lads jogging in perfect unison, on whose shoulders the palanquin rested.

“You know what sold those baby bracelets?” Galen was saying. “I said to her, ‘Look, these little rubies will make sure your

grandbaby always has a little warmth with her. She’ll grow up feeling the warmth of her grandma’s love.’” He snapped his fingers.

“Sold like that. Love is our number one customer. Well, maybe number two. This clasp has been doing numbers, kid. We’re gonna

get the Emperor’s commendation this year, I know it. Hey, what’s the holdup?”

Our rickshaw driver—who had done a very decent job of making himself beneath notice—scowled. “It be the Season, good sir.

Them’s all want a glimpse. They say he’s been seen not a day’s ride away.”

“He?” Galen said.

The driver looked doubtfully at Galen. “Don’t you know?”

“Spit it out, man.”

“ The Serpent King ,” he hissed, and then made a sign of protection.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Galen clicked his teeth. “On foot, then. Let’s go. Keep a good grip on that, now.”

He disembarked. I grabbed the jewel box from the seat and slipped it into the folds of my livery, which was oversized for the purpose of carrying everything we might need.

Galen strode down the pavement without a care, clad in pristine ivory, with his salt-and-pepper hair teased into a wave that rose toward the sky, and swinging a lavender and gold enameled cane with the aplomb of a man who needed no such aid to walk.

He was as easy to ignore as an eyelash in the eye.

I put some distance between us. A good walk, an invisible walk, has to be a little slow ’cause some people get competitive

if you walk faster than they do, but it can’t be a mincing, shy sort of walk either, for the same reason that a cat can always

tell when a mouse is trying to hide. You don’t want to turn it into a hunt.

Two pickpockets stumbled into Galen, groping for a purse that wasn’t there. They skulked back into the crowd to bump into

someone else. A woman too young for Galen batted her eyelashes at him, but he didn’t take the bait. There were a few other

bids for Galen’s attention, but nothing noteworthy.

We were almost to the customer’s house when I finally noticed him.

He was very tall, in the way of someone who had just turned the corner from gangly to graceful, and his face had that same

sort of quality, of bold features that had not yet come to play nicely together but had at least called a truce on all-out

warfare. His hair was dark, his clothes of perfectly middling color and quality.

I recognized him, the way a traveler in a strange land recognizes a whisper of their hometown dialect. He was like me. A pretender.

He was watching Galen; he wasn’t obvious about it, but with every casual sweep of his head, his gaze rested ever so briefly

on my dear boss.

Was he a thief?

Something came over me, and I slowed down to follow him. We wove through the crowds, Galen’s fluff of hair our north star.

He was humming to himself; what kind of thief hums?

He stopped abruptly at a street vendor pushing a steaming cart. An expression of delight crossed his face as he exchanged a coin for a brown thing on a stick. The right corner of his mouth tilted up higher than the left.

What kind of thief stops for a snack?

He crossed the street, snacking happily on his treat. A palanquin—a tall black one with only two bearers—crossed between us.

When it passed, his back was to me and shrinking into the distance.

My feet skipped a step, and I bumped into a red-faced woman who barked, “Watch yourself, girl.”

I checked myself. My mother’s ring was on my finger, the wet-chill feeling of it working was on me, the jewel box was safe.

Very slowly, it dawned on me that perhaps I was wrong. I scratched my ear, ignoring the way my body heated. A man with a hammer

sees nails everywhere, after all, or however the saying goes. So maybe I saw threats where there were none. That’s the price

of staying safe.

I shrugged it off and carried on.

At the time, I didn’t consider that I had been right. And that he was simply better at pretending than I was.

I doubled my speed and followed Galen up to Caelan Hill, past the massive marbled manors of one kind of rich people, to the

winding lane filled with modestly sized antique homes that belonged to the oldest, most powerful families in the six kingdoms.

These were called the Great Houses.

Galen took the jewel box from me and raised his cane to rap smartly on the gate. It opened with a whisper of oiled hinges. A servant in gray guided us though the garden, and up the stone stairs to the front door.

My neck prickled with nerves that I couldn’t allow to show.

The House of Lord and Lady Pewter was gray. Their ancestral lands sat on the Empire’s largest pewter mine, and they had taken

that quirk of fate as a commandment on design. Dark gray doors opened to a medium gray corridor, a house like a charcoal drawing.

A shriek came. “It’s here!”

Miss Ella Pewter bounded out, dimples armed and ready. A charm offensive. The society papers called her one of the most eligible

this Season, outside of the Imperial Wards, of course. It was part on account of her family’s connections and power, and part

on account of her charms. We’d met when she came to the workshop, alone but for a pair of servants. I’d taken her measurements,

wrapping tape gently around her neck, but she showed no sign of recognition now.

“Calm yourself, Ella.” A tall woman stood with her back to the light.

“Yes, Mother,” said Ella.

Her mother, Lady Pewter, gestured to a door. “Do come in, Master Galen. Do you take tea?”

The sitting room was bathed in soft afternoon light that turned the velvety pale gray of the walls and drapes into a gentle

lavender. With the bearing of a queen, Lady Pewter took a seat. She was beautiful. You were struck with it before her features

actually registered. She was young, almost too young to have a daughter of eighteen or so.

And then I saw it. Her low-cut dress revealed the tops of her breasts, and between them was the silvery scar in the shape

of a rosette.

My hand itched to check that my own was hidden under my servant’s livery.

Lady Pewter’s was more elaborate than mine. She had a band of stylized fire encircling the rosette, which said that she was

not just an Imperial Ward, but one who had been chosen specially by the Emperor’s right hand. A woman who led the Emperor’s

armies, who conquered kingdoms and stole their children. My mother called her the djinn. Everyone else called her Lady Incarnadine.

I was already a little rattled, and this set my nerves aflame. There’s no escaping the Imperial Wards—they’re all over the

city—but I don’t like being near one. Especially not one that Lady Incarnadine handpicked.

I folded my hands behind my back and stood at the door, in a perfect imitation of a good servant. They chattered on.

“Well, then,” Lady Pewter was saying. “Show us the piece.”