Page 34 of Embrace the Serpent

The Saphira reflected in the pool looked offended. The illusions fell away as Rane switched us back. “It’s not about being

intimidating.”

“Isn’t it? What about an illusion that no one would pay much attention to?”

His hands stilled. “You’re thinking about your payment, your shop.”

I hadn’t been, but now I was.

Rane went on. “If that’s still what you want, it’s yours. But... you could stay here.”

And hide my jewelsmithing, for as long as I lived.

Oh. Was this the price?

“You don’t want to stay here?” he asked, reading my expression.

“Your people would not be happy if they knew what I am.”

“I very much like what you are, and I am their king,” he said. “Give them time. I will make them see you as I do.”

Maybe. I didn’t want to think about it, not now. “Make me into something else.”

His magic spilled over us, a cascade, and we changed again and again, becoming anyone and anything. A thousand faces he wore, and in each of them, I found hints of him, like each strange face was a door to his soul and they were all unlocked to me.

His gaze seared into me, the same intense look, unchanging, as the rest changed, and then his eyes were familiar, the dark

gray of shadows on a moonlit night, and his lashes were silver, and he wore his true, secret face. The air between us was

thick and charged and still.

I drew a ragged breath—and the scent of him, aquatic and the crisp green of ivy and something else, something that was only

his. My head tilted back as he drew closer, to keep holding his gaze.

His hand moved to my face and the callused tips of his fingers brushed my cheek. I shivered. My skin tingled where his fingers

touched, warmth spreading down my neck.

His breath caressed my lips, a question.

The space between us shrank infinitesimally; this was my answer. My heart pounded, and my eyes fluttered shut.

I felt the soft brush of his lips, barely a touch. All the world narrowed, every nerve in my body attuned to him, to the next

touch, the next breath.

His lips met mine. And I knew more about him; the soft way he kissed, tender, exploring. His lips were warm and firm, and

my body was liquid, and I curved into him, my hand finding his neck, his arm wrapping around my lower back and drawing me

closer.

I felt him smile against my lips. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek with a tenderness that made me feel

strange and soft and seen.

When we finally broke apart, it felt like something new was between us, an invisible thread that tied my heart to his.

Our breaths mingled, and my chest felt alight.

My eyes fluttered open to find him watching me, his gaze filled with a mixture of wonder and something deeper, something that felt like home.

The water reflected us. I met my gaze; my face, the dark hair, the large dark eyes, my nose, my lips, but there was something

different. “What did you change?” I asked.

He pressed a kiss to my hair. “There’s no illusion on you.”

As we descended, the air became cooler, and human craftsmanship gave way to the designs of nature. Hallways became tunnels,

until we came at last to a vast cavern. The craggy rock walls were spotted with stalagmites that glowed a ghostly green.

Our footsteps echoed fourfold, and I took pains to tread softly. Rane carried a lantern he’d pulled from a sconce, and it

cast a small radius of warm light. A path wound around huge rock spires that rose upward, disappearing into the dark above

our heads, each so wide around that to encircle one would take five of me standing fingertip to fingertip.

The path leveled out before a pool that was suffused with light. Stepping stones made a path across it, to a small domed shrine

that gleamed in the dark, like a pearl in an oyster.

Rane went first across the pool, and I followed, as drawn to the shrine as if it had a hook around my spine.

White marbled columns supported a domed roof of palest alabaster. And hanging between the columns were threads of gold strewn

with jewels that glistened like raindrops.

A stone plinth stood in the center of the shrine, and on it was what looked like an immense globe made of concentric rings.

It was the greatest working of jewelsmithing I had ever seen.

Gold, silver, orichalcum, copper, electrum, ashtadhatu—almost every metal that a jewelsmith could use was there.

And the jewels, hundreds of little ones, all working together.

I stepped inside, through a gap in the golden thread work. The loops and whorls of the setting were all around me, and I imagined

this was what it would be like if I were the size of a dust mote and had found myself inside the setting of a magnificent

medallion.

I was absorbed, following the threads, working out the meaning, and understanding the design of a long-gone jewelsmith. It

was endlessly complex, fascinatingly clever, and it felt familiar. Somewhere, somehow, I had met this jewelsmith’s work before.

Picking carefully through the jewelwork, I began to decipher the setting.

Here, on the outer ring, were clever ways to mark the border of the kingdom. Small stones encircled in gold; the latticework

said they were references, shards of greater stones that were buried somewhere above in a corresponding location.

And here was the structure of the enchantment. It would allow to pass those recognized by the heart of the setting. Those

it recognized could then let others in by claiming them as their own.

Deeper was the gold that said the kingdom would disappear from the world, none would be able to find it, even if they knew

where it was on a map.

All the kingdom was here, rendered by a hand who had taken great pains to understand it intimately. There was great love in this working.

All the golden lines led to the center. All the power came from the heart of the setting. A great red-orange stone.

It was almost the color of a ruby, but unlike rubies, it was not cheeky, playful, trying to burn.

It was tired.

The stone drew me in, and a crushing weight fell on my shoulders, followed by a sneaking fear that crept around my ankles

and sank into me, hollowing me out, whispering that if I ever let that weight down, everything I cared for would be lost.

My muscles strained, my neck bowed, my shoulders stiffened and trembled under the weight. I couldn’t bear it—but neither could

I bear losing everything I held dear.

I thought of Grimney. My mother. I thought of Rane.

“Saphira?” A warmth between my shoulder blades, a hand, stroking lightly, bringing me back to myself.

The jewel’s influence fell away. There were tears on my lashes, and I scrubbed them away. The fear that came from the gem

was so like my own, the fear that had been my shadow and my teacher ever since I was taken from my home. In a way, the working

was like my mother’s ring, but instead of shielding one person, it protected an entire kingdom. “This is incredible.”

“My great-grandfather had it made,” Rane said.

“It was in his father’s time—my great-great-grandfather—that the Emperor first rose to power, with the aid of the jewelsmith Darvald.

My people had not worried much, even when the first stories came, of a tinkerer who had bent peris to his will.

Not when he captured the ghoul lights in jewels.

And then Darvald captured a djinn, and it was too late.

“My great-grandfather loved birds. He fed them daily. Can you imagine a serpent lord whom birds adore? He was gentle in that

way. Beloved by his family, his people. And though he was not a warrior king, he took up the war that he inherited. He forged

alliances with the other divine peoples, which was more difficult than you might imagine. Some of us, like the serpent lords

and the eagle folk, had leaders and territories, but many of us were wild, prone to mischief, unwilling to change or to believe

we were at risk. You must understand, for centuries, we had become accustomed to living amongst your kind, perhaps the way

crows are accustomed to hummingbirds. We thought we were the more powerful.

“My great-grandfather forged those alliances, and then he met with Darvald. He risked his life to show Darvald who we were

and convince him that he was wrong. It took a rare genius to invent what Darvald had done, but copying his work took only

ordinary skill. Darvald wept, but what he had unleashed could not be contained.

“My great-grandfather’s last hope was this enchantment. He was born with a heartstone, which is uncommon for our kind. Some

are born with other stones, a jewel between their eyes, a jewel in their navel. But a heartstone is a sign of rare power.

“He made the greatest sacrifice our people can: he gave his heartstone to power it. And without his heart, he changed. Birds

did not please him. He slapped his wife. He grew horrid. Died young, alone, ostracized from the kingdom he saved. The stories

of the Serpent King’s cruelty come from that time.

“The working was kept a secret, so even today, few know what he sacrificed. He became a monster, for us. Because of him, we survived.”

Rane let me take his hand. “I can’t let it fall apart under me,” he said.

“It won’t.”

I turned back to the setting, with the knowledge that it was Darvald’s work. That was why something about this had felt familiar.

I was again following in his footsteps.

On first look, there had been nothing that jumped out as obviously wrong. Some of the work was old-fashioned, using twice

the metal it would need with modern methods. But it wasn’t wrong ; it would still work fine.

I made a note of the outer ring, of the stones that corresponded to ones above. Perhaps some of those had shifted with time.

That was worth checking.

As I worked my way inward, I grew more confused. It was in astonishing condition, the work pristine, the jewels firmly set—Darvald

had even thought to add a layer to protect the setting by purifying the air and keeping the metals from tarnishing.

After a good hour, I sat back on my heels. The setting was perfect. That left only—

My teeth stung as if I had bitten into ice, and my tongue coated with something bitter.

I stepped closer to the heartstone. It was beautifully cut in long facets to make its power flow as strongly as possible.

“I need more light,” I said.

Rane held his lantern higher, angling it toward me.

In the light I saw the problem, and my heart sank.

A crack. It started in the base of the jewel, a single deep crack rising up through the center, almost perfectly parallel with the facets, so that it was concealed from casual observation.

The light shifted, and I realized it wasn’t just a single crack.

There were hundreds, splintering fractures that ran through the entirety of the jewel, fractures so thin that they seemed to disappear entirely if I came at it from the side by even the slightest angle.

I could redo every inch of this setting, and it wouldn’t matter. All the power came from the heartstone, and the heartstone

had succumbed to the pressure of a hundred years of fear.

“Rane.” My voice trembled with emotion. I swallowed and whispered. “I can’t fix this.”

“You’re the best jewelsmith in the Empire,” he said. “Of course you can.”

His words would have made me blush any other day. “It’s not that.”

He shook his head smilingly, his brows pulled together. Confusion was his last shield from the truth. “Whatever materials

you need, however rare, I can get for you.”

“It’s not that, either.”

A silence fell.

“Please,” he said, and his smile was gone. I didn’t know if he was begging me to tell him or to spare him from the truth.

“The heartstone is cracked. It’s holding on by a thread. The whole thing could shatter at any moment.”

“Saphira,” he said, and his hands cradled my head, so gently. “You’re so smart. So brilliant. There must be something we can

do.”

“The stone can’t be saved,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

He stepped back out of the light, and shadows fell over his features. “This stone can’t. But what if you had another?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking. “That would work. With another that is its equal—” I cut off, something rising in me that felt like

a dark omen.

Rane’s hand rose to his chest, to his heart. “There is one other.”