Page 19 of Embrace the Serpent

Blood rushed in my ears. A path through the trees. Nothing else existed. My breath tore itself from my lungs.

A distant light penetrated the gloom of the forest, like a beacon. I burst out of the forest onto a dirt road that curved

down a hill. A gust of wind, cold and bracing, knocked into me. I breathed it in, and the terror settled down, and my mind

cleared.

My legs were shaking. How long had I been running?

I held my breath and listened for any sound of someone following me. The Serpent King might not have seen me—he was turned

to the side—but if he had returned to the carriage and found me gone...

Faintly, from the direction of my ankles, came a soft “Srzzp.” Grimney gripped my torn skirts, looking small and terrified.

“Oh gods.” I knelt and cradled him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He patted my cheek.

“That was rather silly of me, wasn’t it?”

A bird trilled behind me, and another answered deep within the trees. The forest stretched dark and terrifying, and the Serpent

King was in there, covered in blood—

No, thank you.

I got up. “Let’s go that way.”

The dirt road stretched into the distance, ringing around the hills like the last bit of hair around a bald man’s head.

“Gwzzl?” Grimney asked.

“We’re doing what you wanted,” I said. “We’re running.”

Grimney sat on my shoulder, and we set off.

I was moderately certain that we were heading in the opposite direction of the Imperial Guards and the Serpent King, though

I couldn’t be sure, on account of my mad little run in the forest. I stuck to the tree line in case I needed to duck out of

sight of someone coming along the road.

It was quite generous of ’em to call it a road. It was more a farmer’s track, with twin grooves scored into the earth by the

wide wheels of oxcarts. Unlike the Imperial Road, it was too narrow for the marching of battalions of soldiers, and it was

too meandering for anyone who wanted to get anywhere fast.

The sun had lowered enough to shoot right into my eyes. My legs ached. Somewhere behind me was the future Rane promised. And

maybe it was a better deal than whatever I was headed toward, with no plan and no money. But the Serpent King had become a

problem. And the wonderful thing about problems is that you can choose not to face them.

Grimney moaned.

“Are we where yet? Do you see anything?”

He grumbled.

“Darling, if you have energy to complain, why don’t you carry me for a bit, eh?”

He pinched my ear.

A clip-clop of hooves. I dove into the trees.

An oxcart shambled up the dirt road, driven by a stout farmer. She looked friendly enough, I supposed. She was frowning, but

that might just have been how her face looked. The kerchief covering her hair was embroidered with cute yellow flowers, and

no one with a sour disposition would go for that. Probably.

But maybe it was better to walk. No need to owe someone.

Grimney barked in my ear.

I yelped, and the farmer turned her head. I pocketed Grimney, took a deep breath, and hurried onto the road.

She clicked her teeth, and her oxen slowed to a stop.

“Could you give me a lift?” I asked.

Her eyebrows disappeared under her kerchief as she looked me up and down.

Oh. The hem of my dress was more mud than fabric, and what was still cloth was torn and hanging in shreds. Her gaze went up,

and I patted my hair. My hands met a mass of knots studded with twigs. A spider fell onto my shoulder, and I jerked my arm

until it fled.

Her frown deepened.

“I’m sorry, never mind,” I said.

She sighed. “I can take you to the next village. That’s it.”

“Thank you—so much.” I hopped onto the back of the cart. It was full of bags of grain, which gave me something to lean on.

I picked the debris out of my hair and combed it with my fingers, tying it into a braid with a bit of loose thread. My dress

was hopeless, though I peeled off the worst of the mud, like picking scabs.

I nodded off and woke to Grimney climbing on me, his foot jabbing into my collarbone as he craned his head over the cart’s edge.

The sun was low, and the hills were dryer and yellower.

Grimney pointed. A small village, nestled in at the base of a cliff. Some ways away was a decrepit bridge over the whitish

carcass of what might have once been a river.

The farmer clicked her teeth, and the oxen slowed to a stop. “As close as I get,” she said.

I took the hint and scampered out of the cart. She brushed off any attempt to repay her. That was for the best, really, since

I didn’t know what I’d have done if she accepted. Probably asked Grimney to cough up a stone.

She cleared her throat. “Good luck, kid. It gets better, if you live long enough.” And without waiting for a response, she

left. I watched her go.

“I’m completely fine,” I said, once she was a speck in the distance.

Fishbones cracked under my feet as I crossed the riverbed. The shadow of the cliff was inching across the cracked earth, shrouding

half the village. The other half was bathed in orange light, which cast a romantic pall over deserted storefronts and decaying

buildings.

I passed a little one-room shrine, neatly swept and with incense still burning before the altar. A blacksmith with no smoke

coming out of the chimney. A cluster of homes, some with laundry hanging on lines outside.

My stomach growled. I needed food, and ideally a place to sleep.

Half in shadow was a large lopsided building, made more lopsided by the additions that sprouted like mushrooms. It had a battered

sign that read “Inn and Trading Post and Stables.”

The door scraped open, and the bell clunked in an aggrieved manner.

I tiptoed, feeling like I was intruding. The store was crammed full of stuff.

“Hello?” I called.

A thump came from a table covered in odds and ends. A tiny old man poked his head out from behind it, blinking through thick

glasses that magnified his eyes. “Yes, yes, leave it there—by the stars, a stranger!”

A delighted grin crinkled his face.

“Uh.” I felt for the doorknob behind me.

“Come in, come in!” He elbowed a stack of clay pots, and they teetered, then righted themselves. “Whatever you want, I have

it. Ink of darkest black, darker than the night sky. A map, perhaps, of the Empire? Or perhaps a map of before the Empire?”

He whispered the last as if it were naughty. He kept pulling things out of cubbies and shelves, all a little dingy and moth-eaten.

“A blade of forged steel? A saddle for a war pony? This one came from the steppes, far north. Or, for my most discerning customers—”

“Food,” I said.

He deflated. “None of that, I’m afraid.”

My stomach growled.

“Well,” he said. “I do have one thing...”

He pulled out a tiny bundle of striped cloth tied like a rucksack.

It made a soft clinking sound as he untied it.

Two little place settings, made for dolls.

The plates were no larger than my thumbnail.

He spread the cloth out like a picnic blanket and arranged the tableware.

The cloth was made with the daintiest embroidery in a pattern of twining flowers.

“This is a magic artifact, made by peris before they disappeared from the world. I’ve never seen one of its equal.”

I hid my smile. That was an old trick. Every curio shop in the city had a cabinet of items like that, meant to dupe the unsuspecting

buyer.

“You do not believe?” He tapped the tiny plate with a tiny spoon. An assortment of food appeared, tiny bowls of spiced lamb,

yogurt with pomegranate seeds, herbed flatbreads.

My mouth was agape, and I shut it hastily. “Where does the food come from?”

“That’s for the peris to know, and for us to wonder.”

Even if I had to eat every meal crumb by crumb, it was probably worth it. “How much?”

He named a price that made my eyes water.

“No thanks,” I said. “How about clothes? The cheapest you have.”

His enthusiasm waned. He brought out bolts of cloth, and a small stack of already stitched clothing. Most several decades

out of style, in an assortment of sizes. I picked a flowing pair of drawstring trousers and a long deep-green overdress that

came with a shawl. Simple, a little faded, but soft and good for travel. “How much for this?”

He peered at me more closely, taking in the mud on my dress. “Ah,” he said.

“No, I can pay—well, I can trade.” I dug through my bag for Galen’s lilac dress.

“ Ah ,” he said, much more happily, shaking it out and observing it. “Yes, fine work. Very fine.”

“Would that get me a place to sleep and perhaps some dinner?”

He glanced out the window. “Oh, all right. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“I... shan’t,” I said.

He took the dress and bustled in back. I found myself idly looking over the maps he’d pulled out. A name caught my eye. Marehold .

My home. It was like a hollow in my chest suddenly filled partway. I wanted to see it. It was where the Marimer River met

the sea, not far off the Imperial Road. But, judging by the distance between the city and Cobalt Town, it was some eight or

nine days’ ride away.

He came back with a small flatbread and a thimble’s worth of water.

The aroma of spiced lentils made my mouth water. I lifted a bite to my lips. And another, and the plate was empty, and the

vaguest memory of flavor lingered on my tongue. I licked my lips and looked at the man hopefully.

Just then, the bell over the door clanged, that same reluctant sound. I downed the thimble of water, and the man grabbed the

plate and hid it.

A thin voice called, “Father?” An austere woman followed, the skin of her face pulled tight over delicate bones. “Goodness.

Who is this?”

“I’m a traveler,” I said.

“She’s staying the night,” the shopkeeper said, eyes darting everywhere but his daughter’s face. “She traded a lovely dress.”

“ Father ,” the woman said. “Did you give her your meal? Your water?”

“Er,” he said. “Darling...”

I ate his meal? Guilt stirred in me.

“Shall I also give her the water out of my son’s mouth?”

“No thank you,” I said, but was ignored.