Page 6 of Embrace the Serpent

chipper young man had walked right into me with a puzzled “What?” and a boisterous matronly woman had stepped on my feet,

blinking vaguely in my direction with a “So sorry, didn’t see you.”

Dusk made the shadows thick and violet, and the guests shone like stars in a night sky. Attendants lined the way, directing

us to the Rose Palace. It was at full glitter: pink stone walls, a wealth of gleaming glass-paned windows.

A coil tightened in my belly as we entered.

A heady sweet scent enveloped me, of nectar and honey and burnt sugar. It came from the flowers spilling from vases, from

sweet resins smoldering in braziers, from the teas and treats that appeared at Galen’s side on trays held by silent-footed

attendants.

Someone was playing hand drums. Laughter and conversation floated on the air, along with the tinkling of water. We followed

the sound to a central palazzo in all dark green tile, with a fountain that flowed endlessly.

Galen tensed.

Master Vyalis. A thin, unnaturally upright man, with close-cropped hair and fine, small features.

His clothes were of an expensive, delicate weave, but without embroidery or ornamentation.

His only adornment was extraordinarily thin golden-rimmed spectacles that evoked a jewelsmith’s magnifying glasses.

And of course, his signature black gloves.

Rumor was that the decades of jewelsmithing had left him with grotesque burns and scars, and his nails and fingertips were charred black and constantly bleeding.

My hands were scarred, but nowhere near that extent. But I hadn’t worked with jewels of the caliber Master Vyalis was no doubt

used to.

There were nobles from each of the six kingdoms. As a river swirls and diverts around stones, the flow of people moved around

a handful of women and men, each more striking than the last. On each of their chests was the rosette and fire, proudly displayed.

“Master Galen,” a voice called. “Is that you?”

Mirandel. She waved him over. There were rhinestones threaded through her hair and gleaming from a golden waist chain. Her

emerald-green top hung off one shoulder, and her skirt was slung low on her hips. Her stomach was all muscle.

I thumbed my mother’s ring and followed at a distance.

“I’ve decided I want a pair of rings made. Wedding rings, with that snake-head clasp. Can you do it so that once it’s on,

it can’t be taken off?”

One of her friends laughed. “Bit premature, isn’t it, Mirandel?”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Be prepared for victory, my dear.”

Galen cleared his throat. “I’d be glad to make you anything you wish.”

“The clasp... I want it so that if I place it on his hand, only I can remove it. And I’ll let him have the same power over me. Romantic, yes?”

Her friends made sounds of agreement.

My stomach churned. The serpent-head clasps were supposed to be about safety, security. Not this. Not little prisons.

She held her hand out. “Well, don’t you need my measurements?”

My brows pinched together. There was no need, not right now. We could get her measurements later, both hers and her groom’s,

whenever she managed to ensnare one.

But Galen only bowed. “Of course.”

I swallowed a sigh. There’s no better way to measure ring size than to try them on. I had a set made out of iron, with half

sizes, quarter sizes, and every increment in between. I dug it out and handed it to Galen.

Mirandel’s gaze caught on me. “Oh, Master Galen, go on and mingle. Your assistant can take care of me.”

The bundle of rings fell onto my palm. I kept my gaze on her ring finger.

My hands barely shook as I slid the first ring past her knuckles.

Her voice was honey. “It’s nice to see you, Aria.”

Ice ran down my spine. “I’m sorry, my lady, but my name is Saphira. This looks to be your size. Is it comfortable?”

“No, it’s too tight.”

I slid the next size up onto her waiting finger. “How is this?”

“You remind me of her. She was so aggressively uninteresting. It was like my eyes couldn’t bear to look at her.

I hated that. I forced myself to look at her, to pay attention to her face.

And the funny thing is, my eyes can’t bear to look at you in the exact same way. No,” she said, “still too tight.”

I went up a size. My stomach was wound into a knot. She’d recognized me by the power of my mother’s ring?

“I would be so interested to know what became of her.... Perhaps Lady Incarnadine would, too.”

My mouth was dry. “H-how is this size?”

She studied me. Her voice was steely, frustrated. “Why would you choose this life instead of what you could’ve had? You’re

an assistant, not even an apprentice—why would you make yourself subservient to a man like Galen? There are men with more

power. Lady Incarnadine would have bound one to you in marriage. You could have been a lady, a duchess, with land, servants,

a household of your own. Look at what you’re wearing. I haven’t seen more wretched clothes.”

I should have been nothing to her. She had everything she ever wanted. But her eyes were searching me, investigating, like

I had committed a crime.

Galen was too far away to help. He was gesticulating grandly with a drink in hand, already ensconced in a circle of admirers.

I chose my words carefully. “My lady, I don’t know your friend, but I’m sure anyone would be jealous of your life.”

Her hand encircled my wrist. “Are you? Are you jealous of me?”

Most definitely not. But she didn’t know—and she couldn’t know—that I was the true jewelsmith behind Galen. She didn’t know

what jewelsmithing meant to me. “Yes.”

Her hand tightened; the bones of my wrist pressed together. “You’re still a bad liar.”

I flinched and waited for a blow. But a sudden hush had fallen over the party.

An icy wind ruffled hair and rustled gowns and shawls. Gooseflesh prickled on my skin.

I rose on my tiptoes. The Serpent King was head and shoulders taller than the next tallest person in the room. He was built

on an inhuman scale. And though his sharp eyes and aquiline nose were human enough, they were framed by silver skin and hair.

His cheekbones came to an unnatural point, and when his lips parted in an amused, mocking smile, they revealed pointed fangs.

They didn’t part enough to reveal whether his tongue was forked or not, though I was sure someone would find out by the end

of the night.

His cobra’s cowl headpiece and silken wrap gleamed with ornaments and beads, but he wore no jewels at all.

There was something unreal about him. He was everything the stories promised.

He and his kind—the divine peoples—had left us over a hundred years ago, when the great jewelsmith Darvald found a way to

counteract the power they had over us. No longer were renowned poets and scholars stolen away and spirited to hidden kingdoms.

No longer were babies whisked from their prams and replaced with grinning imps. No longer were kings and queens seduced on

the eve of battle and returned bearing the twin marks of a snakebite, with their minds quite changed.

Under the Emperor’s command, Darvald trapped djinn in magic rings, in jewel-studded lamps.

The serpent folk were lured by sweet music from jeweled flutes and hunted.

The eagle people, household spirits, the little village imps, the fey of wild places—Darvald crafted cages for them all that let us use their power for our own purposes.

Until the Serpent King drew all the divine peoples inside the borders of his land and raised an enchanted barrier over his

kingdom and erased it from our maps and our memories. It couldn’t be found; it couldn’t be entered.

And here he was. A fairy-tale beast come to life. His huntsmen flanked him, helmed figures in dark armor.

Mirandel released me, pulling the iron measuring ring from her finger and dropping it onto my palm. “The first size was the

best,” she said without looking at me.

She rose to her full height, focused on the Serpent King.

A narrow escape. I whispered my thanks to the fates for the Serpent King’s timing, and made for the shadows, searching for

Galen. We had to go.

All eyes were on Mirandel and the Serpent King.

She strode to him without a drop of fear. A heroine with blazing eyes, with steadfast purpose.

“My lord, in your honor... I have prepared for you a dance.”

The drums began, low like a heartbeat, and then came the strings, shimmering like a mirage over a sand dune.

I held my breath as her foot rose—embarrassed already, remembering her as a child—but then her foot came down gently, fluidly

followed by the rest of her. She was enthralling. The stomping little gargoyle girl was gone, and in her place was a goddess.

For a moment, I was jealous. Hers would be a big life, the kind stories are written about. She was unafraid of anything.

The Serpent King wouldn’t be able to help falling for her.

I turned away.

Galen was with a ring of admirers. The air was hazy with incense smoke, and drink and compliments had loosened Galen’s lips.

“...Vyalis is a washed up old man—he’s nothing—not anymore. Why, anything he has done, I can do better... I am the greatest

jewelsmith in all the Empire.”

Dangerous words. His gaze was on his rapturous audience. I gestured at him. Shut up, Galen, please. Galen’s eyes slid right past me.

Footsteps sounded; a small man walked past me. He had the quiet demeanor of a powerful servant, and as he turned, the light

caught on Incarnadine’s insignia embroidered into his sleeve.

Galen’s admirers pulled away one by one as they noticed him.

At last Galen turned. His face reddened.

“Master Galen,” the servant said. “Lady Incarnadine is very interested in what you have been saying. She wishes to have a

word with you.”