Page 42 of Embrace the Serpent

The Emperor’s tent was easy enough to find; it was the largest and bore flags emblazoned with the crown. Grimney was at my

side, and to my great displeasure, so was Mirandel.

As we drew closer, I drew the collar around my neck, holding it in place with one hand. I tried to muster up gratitude that

Mirandel had only sliced through the clasp and not through a part of the goldwork that would have rendered the collar useless,

but gratitude proved too ambitious of me. I settled on ignoring her.

She made it hard. She stole looks at the collar, scoffing every few seconds, and as I called a halt and peeked around the

corner at the tent’s entrance, she finally found her words. “Don’t you think I tried to get the lamp when I had the collar?”

“Maybe you did,” I said. “But I’m not you.”

I scampered toward the mouth of the tent where two guards stood.

She followed, trying to kill me with her eyes alone. “You are not better than me.”

I shushed her, mimed at her to cover her ears. I cleared my throat and said, “You will fall asleep.”

They collapsed, chests rising and falling.

Mirandel snorted. “You stole that from me.”

“It was a good idea,” I said.

She scowled like I’d insulted her, and in that fleeting second, I saw the little gargoyle girl she had once been.

We snuck through the flap, into a sitting room of sorts, where a half dozen courtiers jumped to their feet in alarm. They

fell asleep at my command, and we moved deeper into the tent. My heart thudded every time I pulled aside a fabric curtain,

not knowing what I would find.

Mirandel scoffed at my jumpiness.

It got on my nerves. “That’s the thing,” I hissed. “I never wanted to be better than you. I never tried to be better than

you. I wasn’t competing. You wanted Incarnadine’s favor so much that you saw me as a rival.”

“You never understood her. In her way, she gave us power.”

“And you don’t understand me. I don’t want power, not if it comes her way.”

She fell quiet.

At last, in the very back of the tent, we found the Emperor.

He was asleep on a settee, and for a moment, I thought that somehow I had put him to sleep, that my voice had miraculously

carried across the distance and through the layers of thick fabric that made up the tent’s walls. But on the small table beside

him lay the remains of a lavish meal, and I realized we had merely caught him during his post-lunch nap.

Anger heated my belly. The Serpent King was out there, and the divine peoples were fighting for their freedom, their lives.

And the Emperor was sleeping. The lamp peeked out of the red sash at his waist.

I had hated Incarnadine for so long, and that had blinded me to my true enemy. But the truth had always been before me. The Imperial Army had destroyed my home. I had been forced to become an Imperial Ward. Whose brand was on my chest, on every chest? The crown of the Empire.

He was a very old man. Without the regal robes, he looked like any one of Galen’s friends, the ones who drank and indulged

until it showed on their faces.

The title of Emperor was like a veil that bestowed grandeur, presence, power. But behind it, he was nothing. A slaver and

a glutton. The only difference between him and Galen was the degree of power that they wielded.

He was the true monster.

Mirandel crossed her arms, tapping her foot.

I scanned the room.

A medallion lay on the ground beside the settee, the Emperor’s slack hand almost brushing it as he slept. I crept closer.

A pale lavender chalcedony was surrounded by smaller jewels. A setting of protection.

I knelt and observed it from a few steps away. I didn’t want to enter its radius of influence and trigger its power. The piece

slowly revealed its secrets as I studied the pattern of gold and orichalcum. It created a sort of barrier around the wearer.

If I stepped forward, I’d find that my movements would slow the closer I got to it, until I was frozen and vulnerable.

The chalcedony that was prominently set in the center was a decoy. There were fail-safes galore.

It was impressive work. The work of my old friend Darvald, I thought. I was beginning to think that Darvald had become a legend mostly because he gave powerful people the means to stay powerful.

A grunt came at my back.

Mirandel smacked a guard, and he staggered back. She hissed, “Hurry up, or give me the collar.”

I held the collar to my neck. “Sit,” I said to the guard. He slumped down, and I added, “Take a nap.”

Another guard came in on his heels, and with sweep of her foot and an elegant twist, Mirandel had him kneeling and disarmed.

I spared a second to send him sleeping before I turned back to the medallion.

There. The weak point was the small spinel just right of the chalcedony.

“Mirandel,” I whispered. “We need to hit that spinel—the small gray one. But we need to do it from here—we can’t get any closer

than this.”

She tilted her head and drew out a small knife. She weighed it, then judged the distance.

With a flick of her wrist, she hit the gem, knocking it so cleanly out of the setting that the medallion only twitched.

She smiled like a cat, proud and preening.

I tiptoed to the Emperor’s side, and pinched the lamp’s brass handle between my thumb and forefinger, and as slowly and carefully

as I dared, I tugged it from the Emperor’s sash.

It was almost out when it snagged on something.

I held my breath and yanked it free.

The Emperor’s eyes opened. “ Who dares—? ”

“Sleep!” I hissed.

His eyes rolled back. Oh horsepiss. He’d seen my face.

Mirandel grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

We fought our way through another three guards—well, Mirandel fought, and I sent people into their dreams. I pulled the collar

away—my neck felt scalded from the heat it was giving off—and caught my breath. “When did you get good at fighting?”

She did a showy twirl of her blade. “It’s not so different from dancing.”

I hesitated for a second. “So it took you a long time.”

She glared at me, and I braced—there was a sword in her hand, she was definitely going to hit me—but slowly, she cracked a

tiny smile. “A very long time.” She hesitated, then said, “You’re the only one who remembers me from back then, who knows

who I was.”

“It’s the same for me.” We weren’t friends, but we were witness to each other’s childhoods. Keepers of each other’s memories.

We made it out into the sunshine, past another few guards—Mirandel pulled me behind her and deflected a blow. She thwacked

a guard on the side of the head, and their helmet rang like a bell—and we ran, leaving a trail of sleeping people in our wake.

Mirandel laughed, giddy with having the lamp in our hands. She turned to me. “You’re truly doing all this for the Serpent

King?”

I raised a brow back at her. “You’re doing this for Lady Incarnadine?”

“I’m loyal.”

I shrugged. “I’m in love.”

She rubbed her nose. “No one says that out loud.”

We made it to Incarnadine’s tent, and Mirandel held the flap open for me. She slipped in behind me and told Incarnadine of

our success, but my focus was on the lamp.

I knelt by a light and tinkered with it. The little brass lid popped off, and heat caressed my skin. A flame flickered inside,

sultry, smokeless. The flames did not move with the wind but seemed to dance in a pattern of their own making. It was a heart

that suited Incarnadine.

Inset inside the body of the lamp, studded into the gold and brass, were several jewels arranged in a geometric design. This

was what trapped her, what bound her to the lamp and to whoever possessed it.

She wouldn’t be free until it was undone.

In an odd way, it was similar to the jewelsmithing that made Grimney. Grimney’s was a series of stones that felt to me like they told the story

of who he was. A design of creation, of holding him together, one that he was free to alter. This was a series of stones that

said, This being’s free will belongs to— a ruby? No. A glass piece, made of blood. The Emperor’s blood.

I met Grimney’s gaze, and a jolt of inspiration zipped down my spine.

I didn’t have to destroy it.

If I replaced that stone, I could alter the lamp into an amulet that would protect Incarnadine from ever being trapped in

the same way. I dug through my bag and brought out the tools I needed.

I got to work, letting jewelsmithing cast a trance over me. There was no fear in me; I knew I could do this. Rane had given me the gift of being able to see myself though his eyes, and that had changed me. They could take Rane from me, but they couldn’t take that.

Mirandel came to my side, saying something about time and people waking up, but her words faded into a distant murmur.

As I reworked Darvald’s design, I imagined the ghost of him watching over me. Maybe the man he had become in his old age,

the one who had built the border enchantments to protect the divine peoples from his legacy, would approve of what I did.

One last twist, and it was done.

Incarnadine inhaled sharply. All the air in the tent drew toward her, and then she exhaled and grew. The air trembled around

her, and a gust of desert wind shook the tent, tearing the cords and sending the roof flapping. The sunlight fell on her,

dividing her into light and shadow.

Her face was shadow but for the pinpricks of fire in her eyes.

She drew me into her arms and kissed me, and it felt like sticking my head in a furnace. The peach fuzz on my face might have

melted away, and I could only hope I still had my eyebrows.

“Will you keep your word?” I asked.

She beckoned, and Mirandel brought her a beautifully engraved lead-lined box. With one gold-tipped finger, Incarnadine unlatched

the box and lifted the lid.

The heartstone gleamed from a bed of velvet. I clutched it to my chest, feeling the sweet warmth of it wash over me. Rane’s

curiosity, his protectiveness, his joy.

I met Incarnadine’s gaze, and understanding passed between us.

As I left, I heard Mirandel ask, “My lady, what now?”