Page 39 of Embrace the Serpent

His huntsmen surrounded him the moment he stepped out into the corridor, a half dozen of them speaking at once, their gazes

sweeping him from head to toe.

I stood with the healer in the dark of the room, watching Rane through the doorway. The healer turned to me, his face drawn

and desperately sad, and gave me a thick velvet cloth. Carefully, I wrapped the heartstone in layers until it was safely bundled

up.

I nodded my thanks to the healer—I didn’t trust that I could speak around the knot in my throat—and stepped out into the hallway,

joining the cluster of huntsmen.

They loomed like giants in the tight quarters of the corridor, and I would’ve been intimidated if it weren’t for the soft

looks of worry that they all wore.

My gaze went to Rane. There was something different about his Serpent King guise. The long silver hair, the inhumanly sharp

cheekbones, all that was the same. But his gestures, his expressions, they felt somehow heavier, more solid. He no longer

wore it like a costume that was several sizes too big.

The Serpent King spoke. “We have only a few hours before dawn. Tell me what has changed.”

A huntsman with trembling hands dropped her pen. Before, Rane would’ve shot her a smile to set her at ease, to bolster her courage. Now he merely nodded curtly, his lips pressed into a thin line, and said, “No need for that.” The huntsman straightened, her fear replaced by a rigid obedience.

The Serpent King gestured for the huntsmen to draw closer. They encircled him, and a few ducked their heads as he neared,

a gesture of respect for their king. A huntsman began, “The eagle folk are in position. We think they will attempt to cross

the lake.”

My mind painted an image of Rane in his dark-haired illusion, sharing a joke that cut the tension and uplifted their spirits.

But the Serpent King listened to their reports without a single emotion crossing his features, and his responses were just

as even.

I followed him with my eyes, my chest tightening with each step he took away from me. He never looked back. His huntsmen watched

me warily, guessing what it was that I clutched to my chest. I dropped my gaze to the floor. Some wore decidedly unfriendly

expressions, and I longed to disappear, to blend in with the wall.

“My lady. Is there anything I can help you with?” a feminine voice said. A huntsman whose dark brown hair was tied in warrior’s

braids gave me a small nod of acknowledgment.

“A worktable. A jewelsmith’s forge.” I paused at the way her lips thinned. I guessed they didn’t have those. But I could make

one. “Fire brick, charcoal, fire starter.”

She nodded.

Over her shoulder, I met his eyes. He had turned at the sound of my voice.

For a moment, the world fell away, and I searched every inch of his face.

There was no quick softening around his eyes, no beautiful crinkling, and his lips were flat, perfectly even, and I missed the way they used to cant up to one side, even when he was resting, like he was always quietly amused.

His heartstone was warm against my chest, but the man before me was so cold he might have been carved from marble.

He came to me, and he seemed taller, and his eyes were strange. His pupils had become slits. “You should get to work.”

“I’m going now.” I took a step back and hesitated. “How do you feel?”

There was a flicker of something, a flicker of what might be Rane. “...Feel?” He paused. “I am not what I was. But I will

be what my people need.”

I wanted to say something else, but what could I say in front of all his huntsmen? How would it look if, on the eve of battle,

his little wife asked him if he loved her still?

I nodded. I turned and strode down the hall without looking back. It was too embarrassing, too painful to meet his gaze and

know what his answer would’ve been.

The submerged levels no longer felt strange to me as I descended the steps. The tall windows revealed a lake as dark as the

night sky; that is, black but for the softly glowing sea creatures that swam in the distance. One swam close, its ridged body

peppered with pinpricks that shone like blue-green candles, and it trained its dark, bulbous eye on me.

There was intelligence in its look, and when I gave it a little bow, it bobbed its head in return.

A throat was cleared behind me. A handful of huntsmen followed me like immense, well-muscled ducklings, their arms laden with everything I would need.

“This way,” I said, and led them to the door. Rane and I had tied a thread that went from the door to the shrine, and I used

it to find my way. The distance didn’t seem quite so far without Rane to distract me, or perhaps I was walking faster because

of the heavy footfalls that dogged my every step.

Their gasps rang out as we reached the shrine, awe clear in their wide eyes and agape mouths, though they pasted on neutral,

soldierly expressions when they noticed my gaze.

The golden marvel of jewelsmithing twinkled in the light of our lanterns.

Within a short amount of time, I had everything I needed set up beside the shrine. A vast worktable held my tools and what

I needed to make a padded vise to hold the heartstone. As the huntsmen deposited what they carried, I found quite a few things

I hadn’t asked for, like ancient tools that probably once belonged to a blacksmith, a basket of bits and pieces that may have

once been part of a loom, and large pointy wood-handled things that could’ve been farming implements or fishing harpoons,

for all I knew. It was like they imagined that the more tools I had, the better our odds. But I thanked them because I understood.

They were helpless in the domain of jewelsmithing, the same way I was helpless when it came to getting my Rane back.

I was bent over the heartstone, setting it in the vise, when a nervous cough came from my side.

The braided huntsman. She was the brave one, it seemed, for the others stood far away from the shrine and the jewelsmithing within. “My lady, do you need further assistance?”

Every time she called me my lady , a shiver went down my spine. It was what people called Lady Incarnadine, not me. But all I said was, “No, thank you.”

“We’ll send someone to stay with you,” she said. “I’m afraid the rest of us need to—”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, turning back to my work. “I’ll be fine.”

Their footsteps receded, and my shoulders unclenched.

My little makeshift workroom looked rather out of place in the cavern. It couldn’t be helped. And besides, Darvald would’ve

worked the same way. Maybe even had his table in the same spot. It was the flattest area, right next to the shrine. Maybe

his ghost was here, watching me once again fix one of his pieces.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I’ll fix this,” I said to the air. “But this is the last time I touch your work.”

The air did not respond.

But a hope grew in my chest: if I made this work and the army was forced back beyond the border, then over the next year I

could make the new version that I’d dreamed up. My own work. And then I could give Rane back his heart.

First, I had to do this as quickly as possible.

The fastest path was to cut down Rane’s heartstone to match the old one exactly, so it could fit in its place with a minimum of adjustments.

I measured Rane’s carefully, ignoring the sensations that came from it, playful and curious, warm and protective.

To map out the cuts in advance, I had to make sure there were no imperfections in the stone that would cause it to break in a way I didn’t want.

The only way to measure the old heartstone was to slip into the shrine, lower myself into a careful crouch beside the goldwork,

and as gently as a butterfly landing on a leaf, wrap a cord around the jewel. The tiny marks all along the cord’s length told

me numbers that I jotted down.

I held my breath as I unwrapped the cord and rewrapped it around the old heartstone at a lower angle. Despite the cold, my

hands sweated as I wrapped and rewrapped the cord. Soon, my notepad filled with careful measurements, each facet drawn and

measured. After a dozen measurements, my thighs cramped, and carefully, carefully , I shifted my weight. It would’ve been easier to take it out and bring it to the worktable, but I didn’t want to pull it

out until the last moment, with the new one ready to slot in its place. Otherwise, I’d be giving Incarnadine’s troops a helping

hand by dropping the border enchantment entirely.

The rhythm of the work drew me in like a spell, and the ache in my thighs faded away. I don’t know how long I was like that,

barely conscious of the outside world, until one of the lanterns flickered out, and the sudden dimness pulled me back.

I relit it, and the light fell upon the pool of water, casting shadows on the boulders beyond. It didn’t reach the walls of

the cavern, which loomed so dark and distant that I could almost pretend it was still nighttime. But even though no sunlight

could reach me here, my body knew it was morning. Above, the fighting had begun. Blood was being spilled for every second

I took.

My stomach twisted, and I wasted another dozen seconds willing my hands to stop shaking.

I dove back into my work.

The sound of approaching footsteps barely entered my notice, easy enough to ignore. A cough came, and then another, louder.

A deep voice said, “My lady.”

Sensation returned to me. I sat back on my heels, and my stomach let out a sad little growl like it was about to give up on

ever being fed. My thighs burned, my ankles trembled, and my neck had a crick so well set that when I limped out of the shrine,

I had to hold my head at an angle. I massaged my neck, waving in the direction of whichever poor huntsman had drawn the short

straw of checking in on me. I croaked, “I’m fine.”

“My lady—it’s urgent.”

I snapped my head up. “I can’t leave my work—Vanon?”