Page 67 of Embrace the Serpent

It was probably safe. I sat up, and there was a shocked silence. Someone laughed.

The commander was in the front seat. He met my gaze and frowned.

Maras and Barad were frozen, mid-embrace, and they turned to me with identical stricken expressions.

“A ghost has risen!” Rane said, coming to my rescue. He helped me up. “For no matter how evil the deeds of men, they leave an echo.”

He squeezed my hand. “The truth will always come out,” I found myself saying.

Barad recovered. “That is the true lesson, indeed. Do not tarry with those who are selfish with thy love.”

“And do not let your heart fester, lest you end up like the Loveless Djinn.” Maras said.

She reached for my other hand, and together, we bowed.

My skin caught my eye. How it glittered, like I was covered in diamonds smaller than a grain of sand, as small as powder.

My breath left me. I knew how they were tracking us.

The guards cheered, hooting and hollering.

Rane shot me a smile, and together, we bowed again.

13

It was jeweldust. The powder Incarnadine had poured in the bath was part of a tracker stone, ground finer than sand, finer than dust. She hadn’t trusted me with the bag of stones; she’d never expected me to willingly spy for her. Instead, she’d found a way to make a spy of me without my consent.

I could imagine it: the rest of the stone set in a compass made of gold and orichalcum. A filigree arrow pointing straight to me, no matter where I ran, no matter what disguise I wore.

My skin itched. I needed to bathe.

The theater troupe was eating with the garrison. The commander had given the soldiers wine with their dinner, and it had worked to turn would-be brawls into camaraderie.

At one end of the courtyard stood a water pump. Perfect. From the wagon, I grabbed a bucket, dumped out a pile of fake crowns, and strode to the pump.

“Where are you going?” Rane jogged after me.

“There’s jeweldust all over me,” I said. “I’m the tracker.” I explained everything about Incarnadine and the bath, about my stupidity in not realizing it sooner.

He shushed me. “You figured it out, and we’ll fix it.” He tookthe bucket from me and filled it. His gaze scanned the courtyard, full of soldiers. “But where will you bathe?”

I was far beyond concern for my modesty. I would have jumped into a pig pen and rolled in the mud if it meant getting the tracker dust off of me.

“Hold on,” he said as I reached for the bucket where we stood. “Come with me.”

The troupe’s painted wagon was tucked against one wall of the courtyard, with just enough of a gap behind it for me to squeeze in. Rane disappeared into the wagon and returned with a handful of soap shavings, a washcloth, and a ladle.

“I’ll stand watch, shall I?” He stood at the mouth of the gap, back to me, arms crossed.

I kept my gaze on him as I unfastened the pin that kept the folds of my borrowed costume against my skin. The fabric unspooled, slipping down my body, and I caught it before it hit the ground, folding it into a bundle that I shoved into the wagon’s wheel well. The costume wasn’t mine to burn, but the jeweldust would have wormed its way deep into the fibers and I didn’t know if I could wash them well enough.

Rane hadn’t moved. In fact, he held himself so still he might have been turned to stone.

I ladled icy water over my head and worked the soap into my hair. My teeth chattered and my skin pebbled. The washcloth was softer than what I wanted—I wanted to scour every inch of my skin—but I scrubbed and scrubbed with it until my skin smarted. It fell from my fingers into the bucket.

My fingers were numb. I dug it out of the water, and it slipped again, landing with aplop. I cursed and my chattering teeth bit my tongue. I cursed again.

“What’s wrong?”