Page 9 of Embrace the Serpent

Galen took the news well; so well in fact that he decided he no longer had to play the part of an eccentric artist cooped

up in his workshop and instead went shopping. Packages upon packages were delivered on our stoop, the couriers lingering as

if they could snatch a peek of Lady Incarnadine’s jewel from the front window.

Galen showered himself with gifts, as was his way, but he also bought Grimney a whole pile of semiprecious stones that Grimney

popped like they were sugared sweets.

To my surprise—really, my absolute astonishment—Galen bought me several articles of clothing—two fine skirts with matching

tops, nicer than anything I’d ever had, close enough to my size but a little long in the leg, like he’d bullied a dressmaker

into selling him pieces meant for another, slightly taller, customer. And then there was the gown. It was horribly ornate,

in pale lilac, heavily embroidered. I assumed he had temporarily lost his mind and would take it back shortly. He also bought

me boots, a pearl hair comb, pots of carmine and kohl—strange things that had begun to take over a corner of my room with

the steadfast forward march of an invading army.

Galen hovered and chatted my ear off every time he delivered a parcel, something about our new life together, but I’d stopped listening about three days ago.

The necklace consumed me. I think it really, truly, wanted to eat me up. Jewels have a personality, which you’re not really

supposed to admit out loud, since it’s one of those things that most people never notice and therefore find it pretentious

of you to do so. But it’s true.

This jewel was nasty. Even shut tight in its lead-lined box, I could almost feel it seething about the way I’d recut it. I’d

nearly finished the goldwork, five teardrop shapes with careful embossing, which I’d set in silver. The design was not unlike

a peacock’s tail; it would be five sections, the tourmaline in the center, flanked by blue beryl to amplify the wearer’s voice.

It would take another day to finish. And then would come the moment of truth, when I set the tourmaline. The more powerful

the gem, the greater the chance of recoil. Most smaller rubies, for example, were always trying to burn you, but they did

so in a playful way. This jewel, however, would take the tiniest flaw as an invitation to, I don’t know, hypnotize me into

gnawing off my own hand.

Honestly, that would be a fairly lucky outcome. I’d just borrow a trick from Master Vyalis and get a nice pair of gloves.

With enough padding, no one would notice, and with enough time, I was sure I’d learn to jewelsmith one-handed.

The part of me that knew jewels, that felt their personalities and understood what they wanted—that part of me was confident in my design. The other

part of me, the one that always knew where the exits were in any room, was shaking like a leaf in a monsoon because my design

looked nothing like the drawing of Lady Delphina.

I’d know soon enough which was right. Or the jewel would melt my mind and I’d know nothing at all. A coin toss, really.

On the positive side, the necklace gave me an excuse not to think about Mirandel. I’d pushed her out of mind as far as she’d

go, which was somewhere behind my left ear, where she whispered little threats that I ignored but notably involved dancing

on my corpse.

That excuse lasted until I caught a glimpse of movement out on the street. A pair of prancing white horses pulled a gleaming

pearly-white carriage that bore the crest of the Rose Palace. It rolled to a stop right before our workshop, and Mirandel

got out.

I ducked down, my heart hammering. I hated her for recognizing me. And I feared her. She’d turned my being invisible from

something that protected me into something that marked me.

I’d just wait for her to leave before I went downstairs. I didn’t have to see her.

“Saphira!” Galen bellowed. “Bring Mirandel’s rings! And make some tea!”

Oh, horsepiss.

I gathered her rings, then, out of an abundance of caution, doubled back and gathered up the pieces of the collar and shoved

everything into the jewel box with a few of my sketches.

I snuck downstairs. Galen was waiting for me at the landing.

He pointed over his shoulder as he strode to the door. “Put it on my worktable.”

“Wait—” I started.

He opened the door. “What a surprise! Come, in.”

I dove for the shadows of the hallway and sprinted to the kitchen.

Grimney was organizing his new stones by color, and he jumped when I entered.

“Tea, Grimney,” I hissed.

Grimney got to it, and I inched my head out of the doorway. Mirandel and Galen were chattering in the entryway. Galen gestured

for her to come into the showroom.

That was my cue.

On tiptoe, I snuck into Galen’s workroom. There were two entrances; the little door from the hallway that I took, and the

large double doors with frosted glass that led in from the showroom. I crouched so they wouldn’t see my silhouette through

the glass.

When Mirandel’s silhouette took a seat, I made my move.

A layer of dust covered everything, but there wasn’t time to do more than clear a place for the tourmaline’s jewel box and

the pieces of the necklace. Instead of stacking my sketches neatly like I did on my own worktable, I strewed them around,

on the floor and across the table, in what I hoped was an artistic way.

Mirandel’s rings went in a small jewel box on the edge of the table, in clear sight of the double doors. I gave myself a moment

to eavesdrop.

Their voices were muffled.

“...honored you would visit. I hear the Serpent King is keeping you rather busy.”

Mirandel laughed. “I don’t let my time be monopolized by any one man.”

“I daresay many men would be delighted to know that the rumors are false.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“So a wedding date has been set?”

“What long ears you have, Master Galen—”

A crash came from the kitchen. Oh, Grims.

I hurried back, half-crouched, on tiptoes, to the kitchen.

At Grimney’s feet were the remains of a teacup. The handle was still pinched between his stone fingers.

“It’s all right,” I said. “No worries. I’ll just get another—”

Grimney lurched forward, blocking my hand.

Oh. My hands. Dark with fine metal dust and soot and whatever dust was on Galen’s worktable. I scrubbed them in the kitchen

sink, where, under interrogation by hot water and lemony soap, a dozen new scrapes and cuts made themselves known. My nails

went from dark gray to light gray, and that was as good as it would get.

I set the tray quickly and held it out to Grimney. “Here, it’s all good. You can take it out.”

He shook his head.

“Oh come on, please?”

“Gzlen grzzen.”

“I know he doesn’t like it, but it’s just this one time.”

Grimney wrung his hands until one of them popped off. He hid it guiltily behind his back.

Galen rang the bell.

I gave Grimney a dirty look—regretting it immediately when his lower lip trembled—and took the tray out.

“Here’s the tea,” Galen said cheerfully as I walked into the showroom. “How many sugars?”

“Two, thanks.” Mirandel said, flicking her long, glossy hair over one shoulder. “It’s just you, isn’t it? I hear you have no apprentices. Just an assistant?”

I poured the tea out and handed a cup to her without once meeting her gaze.

Galen said, “Yes, it’s just me. My dear Saphira takes care of me.” He patted my arm, and I nearly sloshed tea on his trousers.

“And I have a golem for a cook.”

Mirandel laughed. “How eccentric.”

I moved away, standing by the door like a proper servant. My skin crawled where Galen had petted it. Since when was I my dear?

“Well, I know why you’re here.” Galen stood and strode into his workroom, leaving the doors cracked just enough to offer Mirandel

a peek.

She took it without shame, craning her neck from her seat. I stared at her through my eyelashes, waiting for her to move in

for the kill, but she didn’t once glance my way.

Galen reappeared bearing a small box, which he opened with a small flourish, tilted just so to capture the light.

Her rings shone; the jewels in the serpents’ eyes gleamed and glittered.

Mirandel gasped and took them reverently. “Good gods, Galen. How did you have the time?”

“How could I not?” Galen said as he retook his seat. “If you hadn’t, Lady Incarnadine wouldn’t have given me such an opportunity.”

Mirandel tore her eyes away from the rings, and her demeanor changed.

“Yes. In truth, that is why I am here.” She took a deep breath and leaned in.

“I have come to advise you, if you will forgive my presumptuousness. You must go and apologize to Lady Incarnadine. Grovel properly, and she will be merciful. Perhaps enough that she will let you keep this place. You are a good jewelsmith—one of the best we have—and she will recognize that. You’ll take a hit, of course.

No one will dare commission you for some time.

But if you can hold out for, oh, six months or so, and if your work remains at this level, they will be back. ”

Galen’s eyes gleamed. “I thank you most kindly for your advice. But there is no need. The task that Lady Incarnadine asked

of me will be completed soon.”

Mirandel huffed. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I’m on your side. She doesn’t expect you to actually do it. She’s

trying to teach you a lesson. Vyalis is her little pet.”

“Nevertheless,” Galen said, growing slightly more pompous with every breath, “it will be done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mirandel’s eyes narrowed. “You do know that piece was originally made by the Great Master Darvald—”

I choked on my spit.

Mirandel continued without pause. “With respect, Master Galen, no matter how nice your work is, how good you may be, you can’t

expect anyone to believe you’ve done it. Drop the charade, and we can figure out how to save you.”

I was stuck on Darvald . Darvald, the legendary jewelsmith, whose work drove the divine peoples into the Serpent Kingdom.