Page 44 of Embrace the Serpent

I considered myself married to Rane, and I wasn’t too bothered about which of our weddings—the first to the Serpent King,

or the second in secret—was the official one. After all, a wedding didn’t matter as much as the life we were building together.

On this, I was quickly corrected.

The consensus was unanimous between Rane’s grandmother, my mother, and about two dozen divine people whose names I hadn’t

yet learned, but who were surprisingly opinionated about my life, nonetheless. The wedding festivities—for a proper wedding—would be resumed at once.

“It’ll lift up everyone’s spirits,” my mother said. “Rebuilding has been so hard on the townspeople, especially.”

Rane, the coward, smiled at me with stars in his eyes. “Whatever you want, my love.”

“Fine,” I said, and a cheer broke out so loudly that I was afraid no one heard me continue, “but let’s keep it simple.”

It was not simple. It was fifty times more elaborate and tedious than the festivities they had planned when we first arrived.

“Well, when you first arrived,” Rane’s grandmother explained when I grumbled about it, “you were a strange girl we did not

know.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Now you have saved us all from the Emperor, and from fear.” She tapped the amulet I had made her, of a rare metal that was almost blue. “You will have the best we can give you.”

It was fine, for a while. The preparations took months, and the town grew livelier as people rebuilt in the hopes of having

things in good shape for the wedding.

I didn’t even mind the weeks of dinners or bestowing gifts on the townspeople.

But then, before the last ceremony, it all went downhill.

“What do you mean, we have to be kept apart for a week ?” My face went warm as I realized I was admitting to a room of people that I couldn’t be away from Rane that long. Across

the room, Rane’s lips twitched. He was standing between my mother and a few of his huntsmen, none of whose eyes I wanted to

meet.

“It’s tradition,” Rane’s grandmother said.

Rane crossed to me, and under the cover of a hug, whispered into my ear, “Let’s humor them. We’ll find a way to meet.”

“Fine,” I said.

But the huntsmen and castle staff seemed to multiply overnight, guarding every door I even thought about opening, and I couldn’t

walk five steps without someone apologizing and redirecting me.

We’d gotten lucky five days ago, when we’d passed each other in the hall. Rane had run to me and swept me up into his arms

for one glorious moment, until his grandmother came brandishing her cane and yelling, “ Inauspicious! ”

We’d underestimated her. And with each passing day, my mood had darkened, until I seemed to carry gloomy thundercloud everywhere

I went.

“You know, most of them have only been married once,” I grumbled to Grimney under my breath. “I’m the one with the most experience here.”

He patted my knee consolingly. My arms were stretched out, as two tiny peri women painted designs across my skin in a dark

green paste.

I glanced at the polished brass mirror, checking the reflection to see if anyone was looking at me. My mother had just left

the room, Rane’s grandmother slumbered in a chair, and Rane’s mother was speaking with a slim woman carrying bundles of marigolds.

“In my pocket,” I hissed to Grimney. He drew out the folded note, slid it between his teeth, and saluted.

The peris paused to watch as he shimmied down the leg of my chair and concealed himself in a bundle of silk—someone’s shawl,

by the looks of it. The shawl slouched across the floor, past Rane’s mother’s feet, and out the door.

My shoulders relaxed. One of the peris wrung her hands. “It is unlucky, my lady. And it is only one more day until the final

ceremony, no?”

I eyed her, thinking rude thoughts.

The other peri coughed, sending meaningful looks at her companion. “My lady, what do you think?” She gestured at my arms.

I gasped. It was far finer than last time—far too fine to be made by hands other than the tiny, skilled ones of the peris.

A story unfolded on my skin, in thin, intricate lines.

It began above my elbows with a mosaic of jewels and a handful of tools, and then a stylized carriage rolled across my forearm, following a twisting road to little towns, through a curtain of leaves, across waves, and then, on my palms, the road became a serpent at the base of the submerged palace.

Delicate ivy twined around my fingers, highlighting my calluses and making them somehow beautiful.

I couldn’t find the words, but they smiled at the look on my face. They bowed and left me, with orders to let the paste dry.

Others took their places. A frog-like woman with bold red lips treated my face to a series of concoctions and goopy creams

that smelled so strongly of herbs that I figured I might as well have stuck my face in a shrub. Another massaged oil into

my hair, tutting at every knot, gasping at the few locks that ended abruptly where I’d burned them while working.

Rane’s mother spoke to them appreciatively. They were not servants, but divine folk coming to pay their respects and help

prepare me. Tomorrow is the final ceremony , they kept saying. Aren’t you excited to see him?

Were they taunting me? I tried to keep a mild, grateful smile on my face, but somehow it kept sliding down into a scowl. As

they covered my face and shoulders in yellow goop, I let the smile drop. No one could see anyway.

My gaze was on the door. Grimney was nowhere to be seen. But a jolt of hope shot through me every time the door opened.

The sun set, and my hopes dimmed. They scraped the creams from my face but left the paste on my arms.

I went to bed in a foul mood. Grimney had forsaken me. And my skin was covered in gunk. Was Rane being subjected to this,

too?

Eventually, I fell into a surly sort of sleep, and it felt like no time at all had passed before dawn broke.

The door opened—a jolt of hope—but two burly people came in, carrying a copper tub. They filled it with steaming water, and a willowy blue-skinned woman came in, followed by Rane’s mother. They drew a screen for privacy, but the blue-skinned woman stayed. “Happy wedding day, my lady.”

My last one, I hoped. I sighed and let her help me bathe. But I stopped her when she uncapped a bottle of salts. “Not that.

No powders, no salts, please.”

She obliged me with the demeanor of someone coddling a toddler.

The oils were washed from my hair, the residue from my face, the paste scraped from my arms. Lines of deep, dark red had soaked

into my skin, and I twisted my arms, taking in the design, surprised at how ornamented and beautiful I felt.

I rose from the bath and dried off, feeling soft and tender and new, and a traitorous thought whispered through my mind: maybe

there was a thing or two about weddings I didn’t know. She drew an enchanted comb through my hair that dried it instantly,

into a glossy mane.

The door opened—I dared not hope—and my mother came in with a bundle of red silk in her arms.

“Come,” she said, smiling, and for a moment Grimney wasn’t forefront in my mind.

My mother draped me in silk, wrapping and pleating around me, pinning it with care. Each touch of her fingers felt like a

hug, filling a deep, hungry well within me. I watched her hands work, memorizing the way she held a pin between her lips.

She stepped back, turning away and wiping the corner of her eye.

I blinked hard. I didn’t want to cry.

“My beautiful girl.” She made a gesture to ward away the evil eye, to protect me.

I hesitated for a moment, before wrapping my arms around her.

Over her shoulder, my gaze went to the door. It opened a crack. Grimney snuck through the door on all fours, a note clenched

between his teeth. Elation sizzled through me. He pressed himself to the wall and, like a crab, scuttled along it, toward

me.

“Let’s finish getting you ready,” my mother said, and guided me back into the seat before the brass mirror. I gestured for

Grimney to hide in the folds of my dress, and then I met my gaze in the mirror. My skin was glowing, my hair shone like glass.

My reflection’s lips curved in an impressed expression. They had polished me up the same way I polished up a raw jewel. “I

look great,” I said. “Aren’t we done?”

A handful of laughs cut off sharply when they realized I wasn’t joking. Grimney tapped my ankle, and I lowered my hand. A

note was pressed into my palm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of bottles of cosmetics being placed on the vanity. I unfolded the note, concealing

it in my palm.

Rane’s sinewy, energetic handwriting, in deep green ink.

Say the word and I’ll climb up the balcony and steal you away. But you’re the girl who faced the Emperor, what could you ever

be afraid of?

I hid a smile. The answer was his grandmother.

One more thing, don’t be alarmed, but—

The note was torn out of my hands. Rane’s grandmother tutted. “Don’t you bring fate down on your heads now, when you only have hours left,” she said, tucking the note into her dress.

I scowled, too irritated to hide my feelings like I usually would.

To my surprise, she smiled. “If you’ll fight me for him, then he’s picked well.”

Hesitantly, I smiled back.

“And, if you’re so eager to read,” she said as she pulled out a stack of envelopes, “you had better attend to your wedding

correspondence. Some of our neighboring rulers will have written.”

Oh good. Exactly what I wanted to deal with on my wedding day. Letters from strangers, who no doubt expected a response. I

made to shove them aside, but the one on top caught my eye: it was addressed to Aria, not Saphira.

As I opened the envelope, a dried weed fell onto my lap. The letter said

I owe you. If you ever need my aid, I will come. And, I’m happy for you. You have always deserved happiness.

—Mirandel.

I looked closer at the dried thing on my lap. Three stems had been braided together—a memory came to me, of stealing flowers