Page 15 of Embrace the Serpent

They were keeping things from me. The Serpent King and his huntsmen disappeared briefly, and when they returned, he was scowling.

I told myself to go along with it as I was bundled into the Serpent King’s carriage by a gaggle of handmaidens. Mirandel came

in at the last, with a small drawstring bag that she pressed into my palm. “These are for you to lead us to the kingdom.”

Inside were clear stones with dark hairlike inclusions. They were clearly all chipped from a single stone, and I’d have bet

the hairlike pieces were shards of a lodestone. It was my first time seeing tracker stones, and I itched to pull out my jewelsmithing

glasses and take a closer look.

But Mirandel leaned in, and with a smirk of evil delight, she said, “Enjoy your wedding night. Tomorrow you’ll be a real woman.”

The carriage door shut, and we were off.

And for the next three hours, her words echoed in my head.

There were more important things to worry about, like that I was no more free than I had been in the city.

Because, though the city was a speck on the horizon, and we were gliding past endless desert dunes in the Serpent King’s well-appointed carriage, we were still surrounded by Imperial Guards.

And behind them was a small village of people who called themselves things like handmaidens and servants but were clearly Lady Incarnadine’s spies.

The swaying of the carriage made me sick. The sweet smell of my skin—those bath oils and powders had sunk deep into my bones—made

me sick. Sweat pooled in the small of my back. I pulled the drapes aside, and the breeze that came through was hot and moist

and made me think of a giant breathing in my face.

I shifted in my seat. I had to pee, but I wasn’t about to go find a nice sand dune with an audience of dozens.

I missed the city, with its shady trees and easy access to privies. It seemed I’d given up everything I knew and yet Lady

Incarnadine was still breathing down my neck. And now I had to worry about a wedding night.

And what did she mean by a real woman ? When I first got my monthly courses, Galen had brought one of his lady friends to the workshop. She had lips red as pomegranate

juice and a drawn-on beauty mark under her eye, and she gave me a handful of cloths and told me what to do. She said, “Don’t

cry, love. You’re a real woman now.”

Did a woman become real in fits and starts? When would I be done? Were the little stooped ladies with white hair and wrinkles

the realest women around?

I stole a glance at the Serpent King, who sat across from me. He stared out the window, his foot tapping an endless beat.

Was he a real man? Or did that come tonight, too?

“So,” I began.

“Don’t talk.”

“I just was going to ask about—”

“I said, do not speak.”

I stared at him.

He glanced in my direction. “Don’t look at me, either.” He shifted, so his hair shielded his face.

Somehow marriage had worsened his disposition. I’d heard women at the market bemoaning that their husbands changed after their

weddings, but I hadn’t realized the change happened so quickly.

Grimney put his hand in mine. He sat at my side, kicking his tiny legs in the air. I squeezed his hand. Somehow, it wasn’t

comforting. Maybe because his hand was a rock.

The Serpent King opened the door connecting the driver. They had a conversation that the wind stole, but I made out the words

Cobalt Town .

That was perhaps a day’s ride from the Imperial City, thanks to the Emperor’s pet project, the Imperial Road. He’d proclaimed

that all roads across the six kingdoms of the Empire would now lead to the Imperial City.

It was a matter of perspective. It was equally accurate to say that all roads led away from the city, but when I said that

to Galen, he’d laughed and laughed and then told me not to be too clever. I was nine, and it was the summer of the big celebration

when the last of the great stone markers was set along the main road.

I didn’t want to think about Galen. I didn’t care that he would have to find a way to keep the shop going without me. I didn’t

care that Lady Incarnadine would have his head if she found out the truth. There was a part of me that wondered if I’d made

the right choice. I’d still ended up married.

But when I thought of Galen and wedding night, my mouth filled with bile.

I tried to picture the Serpent King. Instead, I remembered Mirandel dancing for him.

Unbidden, my mind conjured an image of Rane’s face. My face heated.

Truth was, I only had the vaguest idea of the mechanics of the act. With my mother’s ring, I’d avoided being the target of

most of the catcalls and crude words that were thrown around markets and drinking holes. Those folks made it sound decidedly

unpleasant.

But Galen spent a lot of time with his lady friends, and he brought back constant bits of gossip of folks who were caught

with the wrong person or in the wrong place. It seemed that there must be something they liked about it if people were going

through all that trouble.

I busied myself with squinting out the window at a tall shape shimmering in the heat haze and praying it was a stone marker

and not another mirage.

Each stone marker along the Imperial Road was a half day’s ride apart, and nearby would be little villages and roadside inns

that had sprouted to serve travelers.

The shape solidified into a dark stone monolith. A marker. And rising out of the sands, a collection of buildings around a

well. “Let’s stop here, please,” I said. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” the Serpent King said. “Well, we were stopping anyway.”

The carriage had barely come to a halt when I jumped out the door and ran to the nearest privy. When I came out, well relieved, it was to near a dozen pairs of eyes on me, from Imperial Guards to my so-called handmaidens.

A voice spoke. “How are you holding up?” Rane leaned on a wall, entirely at ease. He was in his huntsman’s uniform, his helm

tucked under his arm, upside down, so it could hold a small collection of stuff. His skin glistened with a hint of sweat,

and strands of his hair stuck to his neck in waves.

I shrugged.

“He’s not being rude, is he? I’ll give him a talking-to.”

“It’s all right. I can bear it.”

Something delicious-smelling was passed under my nose, wrapped in coconut-leaf. “Want lunch?”

I took it. A flatbread, still steaming, with sweet bean paste inside. “Thank you.”

“They’re famous for that here. At least that’s what the fellow at the inn told me. I also got these for you.”

He dropped a bag into my palm. Inside were squares of sugared ginger. “What are these for?”

“I noticed you looking a little green. They’ll help.”

He noticed me? How? “I didn’t see you.”

He tapped his nose. “That’s ’cause I’m good at my job. Now, tell me, what’s the Serpent King been saying?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t want to talk at all.”

“Well,” he said. “Maybe that’s for the best.” He glanced meaningfully at the Imperial Guards.

“I don’t understand how we’ll be free—”

He put a finger to his lips.

I sighed. “You’re saying the same thing as him, you’re just using a lot more words.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

Were we? I took a bite of the flatbread so I didn’t have to answer.

He shook his upside-down helm, and a clattering came from within. “I got these for the little fellow. You think he’ll like

them?” He tilted it at me so I could see.

A pile of desert rocks, scratching up the inside of his helm. My chest felt strange. Perhaps it was the nausea returning.

“Grimney can’t be bribed,” I said.

He huffed a laugh. “You’ll tell me if you want anything, won’t you?”

I shrugged.

“You’re the Serpent King’s consort. There is a bright side. You can ask for anything, and someone will find a way to get it

to you.”

I met his gaze. “You know what I want.”

I meant the shop and the new identity, but Rane startled as if I’d asked for his liver.

He pulled the collar of his uniform away from his neck. “Goodness, it’s hot. I’d better...” He gestured vaguely and left.

It was hot, I’d give him that. I finished up the flatbread and pocketed the ginger. He’d left his upturned helm at my feet,

with the rocks. There was no point in wasting nice rocks. And Rane probably needed his helm.

I took it and glanced around, avoiding the assorted gazes of Incarnadine’s spies. Folks were watering and feeding the horses,

some checking the wheels of the assorted carriages, others milling around.

Rane disappeared behind the Serpent King’s carriage. I went after him, but as I skirted the carriage’s backside, I caught a glimpse of silver and slowed my steps.

The Serpent King paced, stretching his long legs. He and Rane were with another huntsman who was tending to the horses.

The Serpent King said, “I can’t bear this much longer.”

Rane said, “All you have to do is sit with a lovely girl.”

“You are welcome to take my place.” He glared at Rane and then at the other huntsman. “Or you. Anyone.”

“You drew the straw, my friend,” the other huntsman said, and clapped his shoulder.

Great. I slunk back around and got in the carriage. I shook out Rane’s helm, and Grimney dove into the stones. He popped up,

munching happily.

I propped my chin on my palm and watched him.

There was something beautiful about the way he’d rearranged himself. He’d kept all the most colorful and beautifully patterned

rocks from his larger body, and there was something amazing about that. It was fanciful thinking—all the texts and all the

great jewelsmiths said golems were a product of the orders that animated them. But sometimes I wanted to believe that Grimney

was more than that.

“Grims, I think we made a mistake,” I whispered.

“Rzzpdch?” We could run?

I smiled. He could be counted on to suggest running. Maybe it was something in his nature, maybe all rocks dreamed of rolling

and tumbling. “We are running.” From Galen, from Incarnadine. The only way we could stop running was if Rane came through on the deal.