Page 24 of Embrace the Serpent

the plate to my mouth and have food spill in. I had to take a piece daintily, eating a meal a crumb at a time. Still, I loved

it. Maybe, once I’d finished the job for Rane... with a new identity, so Incarnadine would stop looking for me, I could

return to the village.

I put it carefully away and got out the tools I’d need. I shifted Grimney from my pocket to my bag so he’d be out of my way.

He woke grumpily and turned over.

I set myself to taking apart my mother’s ring, looking for any sign of alteration.

Rane and Maras chitchatted like old friends, and I listened as I worked.

“Earlier, you mentioned a villain on the loose...,” Rane pried.

“You haven’t heard? The Serpent King tore ten men limb from limb.”

“No,” Rane said. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Lucky you found us, then. It’s not safe to be out alone. He could be anywhere.”

Barad rolled his eyes. “Maras, he’s not hiding in every shadow. And for one, I don’t trust the guards and their stories.”

Maras tutted. “You think he didn’t steal away that poor jewelsmith?”

My hands slipped. I shot an urgent glance at Grimney, who scowled sleepily in return, but obligingly crawled deeper into the

bag to hide himself. One look at him and the actors would have a lot of questions about how we came by a creature born of

jewelsmithing.

“If he did, perhaps he had a good reason.”

“Why do you defend him?” Rane asked.

Barad chuckled. “Does it not make your blood sing, to hear the stories of the divine peoples? That’s what we’ve been doing

this last year. In the northern mountains, a village reported being visited by the eagle folk. Can you imagine? They saved

a child who’d gotten lost in the snow. And then, in a small place in the eastern jungles, we collected a story about a talking

tiger that was so persuasive it convinced a hunter to put his head between its teeth.”

Maras cut in. “He loves the stories so much that he thinks the Serpent King must be a grand figure, to protect them all so.

But, my love, of the stories we’ve collected, how many of them are of the divine peoples being kind, and how many are of them

causing harm?”

“Perhaps they’re just like people,” Rane said. “The bad ones cause harm, and we hear their stories more. The good ones know

to keep to themselves.”

I stepped on his foot.

Rane glanced at me, and a tightness in his face softened. “We’ll let you get to sleep.”

Barad and Maras found their hammocks and extinguished the oil lamp.

The moon gave us just enough light to maneuver. There was a place for Rane and me on the wagon floor. I finished setting my

mother’s ring to rights and put away my tools. I was relieved: there was nothing to indicate it was how they were finding

us.

Rane curled up on the floor, and after a moment, I curled up next to him. His body cast a faint warmth.

I whispered, so quietly I feared he wouldn’t hear me. “Do you think the stories are true? That the divine peoples are returning?”

Rane turned around, putting us face-to-face. “Perhaps,” he breathed.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He took a moment. “They’ll only be captured and enslaved.”

“What’s home like?”

His eyes lit up. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

I met his gaze.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing my cheek, and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I hope you’ll love it.”

I woke with Rane’s arm around me. But something was wrong. The wagon was slowing.

Rane’s arm squeezed me, and he mumbled against my neck. I could tell the exact moment he woke up—he released me and put a

foot of distance between us.

“There’s something up ahead,” one of the drivers called back. “They’ve closed the road.”

Maras slid open a small wood window. “Imperial Guards,” she said.

A moment later, a knock came. “Everybody out.”

We all scrambled out into the sunshine. The earth was flat and dark. The road wound through a stone arch, a checkpoint. The

gates were closed. On the high ground, overlooking the gate, squatted a lumpy-looking fortress. From its turrets flew flags

that bore the crown of the Empire, as well as ones bearing a symbol of a frog on a shield.

A reedy-looking guard tapped the hilt of his sword against the wagon’s painted side.

“We’re a theater troupe,” said Barad.

The guard frowned. “All of you?”

“Yes.”

He called to another guard, this one with an important-looking mustache. “Them says they’re actors.”

“Can’t take ’em at their word,” the mustached guard said. “Remember the priestesses.”

Rane glanced at me.

“Well?” the reedy one said. “What can you do?”

“We can do anything you’d like,” Barad said. “Perhaps a wedding play? We can do delighted ones, somber ones, ones with murder.

Maras here is a particular student of death. She can make death sublime. Khoshi and Ruda can manufacture any sort of love

you desire. Anything you want to believe, we can make-believe.”

“I like weddings,” the reedy one said.

The mustached one grunted.

Maras clutched her bosom and toppled into Barad’s arms. “My sweet love!” he shouted.

He burst into a monologue as the others enacted strange little snippets of plays.

The doe-eyed one vowed vengeance on the musician, the drivers did a silent comedy routine, even Rane threw himself into a long soliloquy about not knowing if he truly was a man or a worm.

“What about her?” A guard pointed at me.

I swallowed.

Rane came to my rescue. “She’s deep in character. An orphan with a heart of gold. See the pain in her eyes? And the sweetness

of her smile? It’s our newest play. She doesn’t know who she will become, if she’ll allow herself to fall in love, or if she’ll

let the horrors of her past keep her from the joys of her future.”

Uncertainly, I smiled.

“That’s real good,” the reedy guard said, nodding like he was impressed. “You can really feel a sense of ’er fragile hope.”

Behind him, Rane winked at me.

“All right,” said the mustached guard. “You check with the commander if they’ve got a place for you inside, or else you’ll

have to camp outside the fort.”

Rane spoke up. “We were hoping to continue on.”

“No can do. Road’s closed.”

“Until when?”

The guard shrugged.

There were times to act and times to keep my head down and gather information. The frog-like fortress had a drawbridge like

an upturned mouth, and with one look at the painted wagon, the guards there allowed us through.

The commander was instantly recognizable by the extra sashes and ornaments on his uniform.

He was frazzled. “Ah yes, exactly what I need. They’ve sent dozens of guards from the capital with no notice.

They’ve been stirring up my garrison men, country boys with a chip on their shoulder.

It’ll come to fisticuffs. You’ll be a good distraction for them. ”

“If you mean you’d like us to put on a performance,” Barad said, “we are happy to discuss payment.”

The commander’s demeanor sharpened. “You will be allowed to sleep, eat, and leave. Is that payment enough?”

Barad bowed. “That will do nicely.”

In hardly any time at all, the wagon was parked in the fortress’s courtyard, and the horses were unhitched and rubbed down.

The troupe conferred amongst themselves, and Rane and I did the same, though we were concerned not with tonight’s play, but

with the five watchtowers that ringed the fortress. From up there, the guards would see anyone attempting to leave as long

as there was light out.

Rane was telling me why it wouldn’t work for us to be illused as donkeys—something about having to walk on all fours to sell

the illusion, plus where would donkeys have come from, anyway?—when Barad approached.

“Ah, my two lovebirds,” Barad interrupted. “We should discuss what parts you two will play.” He attempted to throw an arm

over Rane’s shoulder, but Rane was too tall.

“We’d be happy to play no part,” Rane said. “In fact, we’re considering getting out of your hair entirely.”

“That would be a problem, see, as they’ve noted how many are in our party. It would make things difficult for us.” He raised a quelling hand as Rane protested. “You have no transport. It’s in your best interest to work with us and leave with us well before dawn.”

Rane glanced at me. I winced. On one hand, they had been good to us, and I didn’t want to repay them with trouble. On the

other hand, if it meant having to get up on a stage and perform, I’d much rather have died.

“As you wish,” Rane said to Barad, but he held my gaze. He quirked his brow in a silent question.

He would do what I wanted, I realized. He’d run with me if I said we should run.

I sighed and gave a small nod in Barad’s direction.

Rane’s eyes softened in answer. To Barad, he said, “Tell us more about this play....”

The stage was set: one side of the wagon cranked down to become an elevated platform. By way of illumination, we had two ingenious

oil lamps with mirrored backs. They sat on the outside corners of the stage, casting a great amount of light and heat.

Manning the lamps were two troupe members—the two who’d been up front, driving—and they thrust colored silks before the lamps

to change the color of the light.

Barad cornered Rane and me. “Do your best,” he said. “If the commander thinks you might not be actors, it’ll be all our heads.”

“Maybe I should have a smaller role,” I said, fidgeting in my costume. Silk gathered at one shoulder and wrapped around me,

leaving my arms bare.

Barad cracked a worried smile. “But you already have the smallest one.”

“She’ll be fine,” Rane said.

“What about their jobs?” I pointed at the lamp minders. “Can’t I do that?”

“That’s what they do in addition to their roles. He’s the narrator, and she’s the mother of our hero.” Barad’s smile grew wild.

“She’ll be fine,” Ran said again. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. I was going to die. My stomach was turning cartwheels, and it felt like it was trying to leap out

of my throat and escape before the whole ship went down.

“Good,” Barad said. “Good. Let’s go on.”

The musician strummed a dashing, romantic tune, and the light turned a pale blue.

The play began.

Maras glided across the stage, draped in lightweight red silks that floated about her feet. She was a djinn, she told the

audience, and she longed to be known, to be loved.

Barad entered, outfitted in a boldly patterned jacket and draped trousers, and the crown of a prince. They met in the middle

of the stage, and the light turned a soft gold.

She loved him, but he did not love her. He was, however, happy to marry her. It took them almost half an hour to say this

through poetics and dance.

Rane played Maras’s brother, who begged her to see that the prince didn’t love her.

She would not see it. She went through with the wedding.

Barad fell in love with another, a human princess, played by the doe-eyed member of the troupe.

The djinn wept. Then fury grew in her heart.

The musician beat a drum in time with her heartbeat.

The doe-eyed princess wandered the gardens of her castle, waiting for Barad. She was attended by her innocent maidservant,

which was me.

A hand pushed me up the stairs, and I was blinded. The heat of the lamps made my upper lip sweat. Or perhaps it was the terror.

Dozens upon dozens of guards had their eyes trained on me. Unfriendly, unsmiling faces.

I vaguely registered Maras rising from the shadows and monologuing about being a djinn, being in love, and being superior

to the princess in every way. She killed the princess, who crumpled beautifully to the floor.

There was a pause.

My mouth was dry, my mind was empty. I needed to be something, to spin a lie, so they couldn’t see me.

“What dost thou say?” Maras said, “Do you beat at your chest and tear your hair and bemoan the passing of your mistress?”

“Oh,” I said. I tugged at my hair and thumped my chest. “My mistress! I bemoan thee!”

A chuckle came from the audience.

“You are not part of this, but I cannot let you go!” Maras proclaimed. “My love has brought me low! To have the blood of an

innocent upon my hands!”

My face burned. I ducked my head. In the intense light, my arms glittered. That was odd. The backs of my hands sparkled more

than my palms.

A pressure jabbed at my side. Maras was holding a hilt to my waist, and the blade, presumably, was inside me.

I blinked at her.

“Fall,” Maras hissed without moving her lips.

I collapsed like a felled tree, cracking my elbows on the stage.

In the audience, several someones laughed.

Of all the things that had happened to me recently, my body was convinced this was the most horrifying. I swallowed down my

nausea, staring up at the night sky, at the dark clouds veiling the crescent moon.

I breathed in, and out.

And realized I’d missed my cue to slink off the stage.

The dialogue went on above me. Barad wept over his princess. Maras stepped over me, her red silks brushing my face, her dagger

raised.

At the last moment, she dropped it. “I can’t kill you, my love.”

“I know,” Barad said, and killed her.

The audience gasped. Someone shouted, “ No! ”

Silence fell. I couldn’t see what was happening, not without turning my head.

A twang of music.

It was probably safe. I sat up, and there was a shocked silence. Someone laughed.

The commander was in the front seat. He met my gaze and frowned.

Maras and Barad were frozen, mid-embrace, and they turned to me with identical stricken expressions.

“A ghost has risen!” Rane said, coming to my rescue. He helped me up. “For no matter how evil the deeds of men, they leave an echo.”

He squeezed my hand. “The truth will always come out,” I found myself saying.

Barad recovered. “That is the true lesson, indeed. Do not tarry with those who are selfish with thy love.”

“And do not let your heart fester, lest you end up like the Loveless Djinn.” Maras said.

She reached for my other hand, and together, we bowed.

My skin caught my eye. How it glittered, like I was covered in diamonds smaller than a grain of sand, as small as powder.

My breath left me. I knew how they were tracking us.

The guards cheered, hooting and hollering.

Rane shot me a smile, and together, we bowed again.