Page 32 of Embrace the Serpent

“My lord,” came a lilting voice. A green-haired nature spirit greeted Rane. She was all rounded edges and lush curves, and

as she turned her dark green eyes on me, such warmth and darkness radiated from them that I was sure that there would be no

softer or more nourishing place than in her arms, tucked against her softness.

The hand around my waist squeezed, and a voice said, “I would thank you not to flirt with my wife.”

She laughed, and it sounded like the wind rustling through leaves. “Forgive me, my lord.”

The trance fell. Oh, horsepiss. I took another swig of wine.

“Are you all right?” Rane murmured in my ear.

“I’m fine,” I said.

His brow raised. “Are you?”

I was out of my depth. Pretending to be enamored with Rane was one thing. At this point I was sure I could do that in my sleep.

But to pretend to be a queen? I had none of the qualities that made a good queen. I wasn’t even sure what those qualities

were. Probably it involved talking. And not being flustered by a cup or by the first guest to say hello.

I said, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Rane took that as an invitation to delve through the crowd, greeting people and taking their well-wishes. I was happy to nod

and smile, until a voice addressed me directly. “My lady.”

Rane was midconversation with a bear in elegant silks and didn’t notice.

I turned to the voice. A tall figure with feathers, an eagle-like curve to his nose and lips. Ancient. Scarred, burns along

one wing. “Tell me, do you know of the Cloud-Head Mountains?”

I shook my head.

“They are the most beautiful mountains, above the cloud layer. My ancestors had an eyrie perched on the highest tip of the

eastern one, the one that first greets the sun. You should go, if you can. You would blend in with the invaders.”

I took a swig of wine in lieu of responding.

“I can never return. My children, my grandchildren... none of us can.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He inclined his head.

Rane pulled me away before I could say anything else. “There’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

We moved through the garden, and I watched the party with different eyes. A small, well-wrinkled fellow floated by on a levitating

carpet, bundled up as if the mild temperature was the iciest of chills. A well-muscled man with the head of a crane stood

alone, looking out over the water, goblet clutched in his hand. There was what appeared to be a very large rat standing on

its hind legs, who was garbed in robes tied in an elaborate fashion and topped with a headpiece that would be the envy of

any noble in the Imperial City. He was in conversation with a tigress who slunk ever closer to him, with a rather hungry look

in her eye.

However beautiful this kingdom was, however they danced and made merry, there was an undercurrent of tension, of loss. Somehow,

it made me like them better.

The sounds of merriment faded the deeper we moved through the gardens. Rane paused before a bridge that led to a small island.

He looked nervous.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Someone who came to us from Marehold.” He paused. “If you don’t want to meet her—”

“No,” I said. “I do.”

He hung back as I crossed the bridge and stepped through a trellis-covered arch. My heart began to pound.

She sat alone, her fingers tracing patterns in the dust on the bench, her back straight but not tense.

There was a scar on her temple, a pale, jagged line that stretched over her ear.

She wore it neither proudly nor shamefully; her hair did not grow where the scar marked her, but she didn’t hide it.

She turned when she sensed my presence, her eyes meeting mine. They were the same eyes I remembered from my childhood, the

ones I had seen in my dreams for twelve years, the ones I thought I had lost forever.

She opened her mouth, and I knew what would come, her lips would shape the words: Hide. Don’t let them find you.

She said, “My little Aria.”

I swallowed, trying to find words that wouldn’t betray the wild hope inside me. “Mother?”

Her smile was small, hesitant. “You remember me?”

I looked away, out at the gardens. The flowers were beginning to open, their colors vivid against the green. “I never forgot

you,” I said, my voice steady but quiet.

She rose from her seat, leaning heavily on a cane and crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. She stopped a few paces

away, close enough to touch but far enough to respect the distance I needed. “You’ve grown so much.” she said, and wiped her

eyes.

I moved to her, but I didn’t know how to do this, how to embrace her, and my arms were wooden. All at once, she wrapped her

arms around my stiff body and pulled me close. She was so soft, and smelled like I remembered, and suddenly the thing I’d

been bottling up for my whole life spilled over, and I wept and wept, loud and ungraceful, as she murmured into my hair, running

her hands up and down my back.

I calmed after some time. “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling.

“Oh, my dear.” Her eyes shone, and I felt guilty for her tears. “Life has been difficult for you, hasn’t it?”

I swallowed again, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t go. “How did you survive?”

Her hand moved to her scar, a reflexive gesture. “The Serpent King found me. He offered refuge to those who survived. I didn’t

know... It was a month before I woke, months again before I could see. I didn’t know you had been taken. I thought you

had been k—” She stopped, composed herself. “When he called me today and told me that someone had survived, I hoped it was

you. I’ve thought of you every single day.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

Her hand gripped mine. She found the ring. “My old ring.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s broken. B-but it helped me survive.”

“Then it has done everything I hoped.”

It hurt to look at her. It felt like she was a phantasm, a gift that would disappear upon waking. I wanted desperately to

make her stay with me, to never let her go, but another part of me felt like the sun was growing in my chest, a warmth that

threatened to burn, and I had better protect myself and squash it now. That part didn’t trust that she wouldn’t disappear

again. It didn’t trust that I would survive if she did.

I met her eyes. “I want to know you,” I said.

Her fingers tightened around mine in a silent promise. “We have time,” she said softly. “We’re safe now.”