Page 25 of Embrace the Serpent

It was jeweldust. The powder Incarnadine had poured in the bath was part of a tracker stone, ground finer than sand, finer

than dust. She hadn’t trusted me with the bag of stones; she’d never expected me to willingly spy for her. Instead, she’d

found a way to make a spy of me without my consent.

I could imagine it: the rest of the stone set in a compass made of gold and orichalcum. A filigree arrow pointing straight

to me, no matter where I ran, no matter what disguise I wore.

My skin itched. I needed to bathe.

The theater troupe was eating with the garrison. The commander had given the soldiers wine with their dinner, and it had worked

to turn would-be brawls into camaraderie.

At one end of the courtyard stood a water pump. Perfect. From the wagon, I grabbed a bucket, dumped out a pile of fake crowns,

and strode to the pump.

“Where are you going?” Rane jogged after me.

“There’s jeweldust all over me,” I said. “I’m the tracker.” I explained everything about Incarnadine and the bath, about my

stupidity in not realizing it sooner.

He shushed me. “You figured it out, and we’ll fix it.” He took the bucket from me and filled it. His gaze scanned the courtyard, full of soldiers. “But where will you bathe?”

I was far beyond concern for my modesty. I would have jumped into a pig pen and rolled in the mud if it meant getting the

tracker dust off of me.

“Hold on,” he said as I reached for the bucket where we stood. “Come with me.”

The troupe’s painted wagon was tucked against one wall of the courtyard, with just enough of a gap behind it for me to squeeze

in. Rane disappeared into the wagon and returned with a handful of soap shavings, a washcloth, and a ladle.

“I’ll stand watch, shall I?” He stood at the mouth of the gap, back to me, arms crossed.

I kept my gaze on him as I unfastened the pin that kept the folds of my borrowed costume against my skin. The fabric unspooled,

slipping down my body, and I caught it before it hit the ground, folding it into a bundle that I shoved into the wagon’s wheel

well. The costume wasn’t mine to burn, but the jeweldust would have wormed its way deep into the fibers and I didn’t know

if I could wash them well enough.

Rane hadn’t moved. In fact, he held himself so still he might have been turned to stone.

I ladled icy water over my head and worked the soap into my hair. My teeth chattered and my skin pebbled. The washcloth was

softer than what I wanted—I wanted to scour every inch of my skin—but I scrubbed and scrubbed with it until my skin smarted.

It fell from my fingers into the bucket.

My fingers were numb. I dug it out of the water, and it slipped again, landing with a plop . I cursed and my chattering teeth bit my tongue. I cursed again.

“What’s wrong?”

“N—n—nothing.”

“Perhaps that’s enough.”

I gripped the ladle and poured more water over me. The rivulets on the ground sparkled.

The ladle slipped from my fingers, landing with a clatter.

“Saphira,” Rane said, in a low, commanding voice. “It won’t help anyone if you freeze to death.”

It wasn’t a problem. I couldn’t really feel the cold anymore. “I d-don’t want her to find m-me.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “I know. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“What if it’s not all g-gone?”

“You’ve washed a lot off, haven’t you? So the guards will be thrown off your scent no matter what. And if you find that there’s

still dust on you, tomorrow you’ll wash again. With warm water.”

My mind felt fuzzy. I couldn’t find holes in his logic. “I c-can’t wear my old clothes again.”

He held out an arm. Draped across his forearm was his cloak.

I tiptoed to him and took it, drawing it around me. It was warm and smelled like him. “I’m turning around.”

Gently, he tugged my damp hair out from under his cloak and dried it with another washcloth. He combed it with his fingers,

his nails scratching softly at my scalp, and something electric followed his touch. He braided it.

My body shivered, a burning warmth tickled my hands, my feet, my core.

He didn’t meet my gaze. He was intent on the work.

“You’re good at this,” I said.

Now his eyes met mine. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“How did you learn?”

He paused. “My lord has a lot of hair.”

I imagined him sitting behind the Serpent King, braiding his hair. It was too odd a picture.

“It’s not that funny,” Rane said, but the corner of his lips curled.

I tried to hide my smile. “All part of a huntsman’s job, is it?”

“Yes. And I’m your huntsman now.”

“Now,” I repeated. “Until we reach the kingdom.”

“Until then,” he promised. His gaze fell to my lips.

My body heated, tingling all over, and I didn’t know if it was the cold or—or something else. I couldn’t breathe. No. I didn’t

want something else .

I ducked my head and pushed past him. “I—” I tried to say something lighthearted, but nothing came.

The wagon was the safest place I had, so I crept into it. Maras was there, and I mumbled some explanation. She offered me

a pair of trousers and a long tunic and refused payment. She murmured something.

I nodded, but I was only half paying attention. I didn’t understand the terror squeezing my chest, the way my ears were starkly

aware of every footfall and breath from outside the wagon, from where I’d left Rane.

True to his word, in the morning the commander ordered the gates opened, and our painted wagon rambled out of the fortress while the sky was still dark. Rane’s gaze landed on me gently, like a butterfly settling on a flower, and I glanced up at his eyes.

He smiled, his eyes going molten soft, and I jumped like I’d been stuck with a dagger. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep.

A soft laugh came from his direction.

I tugged the hood of his cloak down over my head and tucked my face into my knees. It was maddening, frustrating, my skin

all aflutter. There was no reason in it. Rane and I—there was no “Rane and I.” For one, I was technically married to his king.

Two, I’d never done this, whatever this was.

Admitting it out loud, this roiling thing in me, seemed like insanity. I might as well carve out my heart and liver and whatever

else was important in me and give them to him on a platter.

This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The wagon’s rumbling slowed, and we came to a stop.

A hand brushed my shoulder. “Saphira?”

I opened my eyes and met his legs. Even his legs made something in me feel strange—I met his eyes—that was also a bad idea—and

glanced to the side. Pale pink dawn light poured into the wagon through the parted curtains.

“I need to stretch my legs,” I mumbled, and scrambled out.

I picked up a few rocks for Grimney as an offering and an apology for having him stay hidden since yesterday. If I felt trapped,

how much worse would he be feeling?

Pink light moved over the landscape, slowly, dreamily, a gauzy blanket being drawn across the craggy steppes and over woods nestled in low valleys.

The fort was a dollhouse atop a distant hill. I squinted. Something was moving along the road, raising a dust cloud in its

wake.

Barad stepped up beside me, peering through a spyglass. “Imperial riders,” he said.

When he offered the spyglass to me, I took it. There was dust trapped between the lenses making the view fuzzy, but there

was no mistaking the Imperial outriders, escorting a dark carriage that looked awfully like the one that carried Mirandel

in Copperton.

She was like a dog nipping at my heels. But was she chasing me, or was she herding us to the Serpent Kingdom? We would’ve

led her right there, if I hadn’t discovered the jeweldust.

She was like that. Tricky, conniving. I hadn’t seen it when we were small. For months, she wouldn’t leave me alone. She’d

find me, no matter what corner of the Rose Palace I ran to. After a while, I let her in. I showed her my secret routes, the

tiny door at the back of the dry goods pantry that led to the wine cellars and out into the Palace Quarter gardens, the dusty

stairwell behind a tapestry that spanned the height of the palace, the secret balcony that you could get to by climbing the

trellis to the fourth floor. I shared them all with her. I thought we were friends, united, carving out a little freedom in

a world ruled by Lady Incarnadine.

One day, I opened the little door and found the way sealed. On the balcony, I had kept little mementoes—daisy chains, rocks

I’d liked—and those were gone.

They were waiting for me. Instead, I ran. I had kept one secret from Mirandel, a path that led out of the Palace Quarter entirely. That day, I took it and never looked back.

My heart still ached with an echo of that pain. It wasn’t just that she’d betrayed my secrets. It was that she proved that

she’d never cared for me. She was applauded for discovering those passageways. And the next time Incarnadine came, Mirandel

was chosen.

Rane wasn’t Mirandel. But also, these feelings felt bigger, more dangerous. If Rane turned on me, it would hurt far, far worse.

But he wasn’t her. He wasn’t anything like her. He’d been honest with me.

I was suddenly aware of someone beside me. My body tingled, and I didn’t have to look to know it was Rane.

I offered him the spyglass, but instead, his fingers encircled my wrist. He drew my sleeve up and held my arm up to the light.

His eyelashes were dark, his gaze intent on my skin.

I sucked in a breath. Pinpricks of light caught on my skin. Far fewer than before, but the jeweldust was still there.

His gaze held mine. “We’ll figure it out.”

My heart was trying to flutter out my throat. It felt strange and dangerous to admit it to myself, but I trusted him.

We parted ways with the theater troupe not long after, at one of the many roadside villages that catered to travelers. Maras

told me she would sell my old clothes in a town far from here with such a knowing look in her eye that I realized they knew

we were on the run, and they still chose to help us.

“Thank you,” I said.