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T he following is a short excerpt from Slither: The Game’s Origins

Slither was born in the deep sands of Balivartia. People were drawn to it much the same way a mouse is drawn to a venomous snake – the sparkling pieces, like shards of glass caught in the oasis’ shores; the gliding motions of manicured hands moving their Bandits across a marble board; the insatiable look in the eyes of the players, like a hungry mouth about to meet bread.

It was irresistible.

Thought to have been originally created in Cesscounthe, the Western Capital of Siacchi, Slither is no common duplicate. The Siacchians lack the soul to create such a game.

No, no one other than one blessed by the Lady Mother’s sweet mind and wicked, scarlet smile would have been able to invent such a torment.

Especially not the barbaric Northern Kiterans.

Such animals are much like the monstrous occupants of Alimaris; they lack creativity just as much as they lack elegance –

“Cassian?”

The boy stiffens on his brother’s bed at the sound of his mother’s voice. Linne’s footsteps echo in the hall, approaching Luka’s rooms. “Cassian?” she calls again, closer now. Angrier now. The hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck rise as he looks about the room. Linne’s footsteps are just outside the door.

Cassian only has a moment to dive beneath the wooden bed frame before she opens the door.

He presses himself against the cold bamboo, the chill seeping through his thin sweater. He shivers, watching his mother’s legs, just visible between the rise of the bed and the flat of the floor.

Linne Lockehart pauses in the threshold long enough for Cassian to start to sweat. Surely she could hear his racing heart. He swallows, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. She takes a step forward. Inhales deeply.

Just as Cassian is about to reveal himself – the punishment will be surely worse if he is found hiding – Linne turns, closing the door behind her.

Cassian’s sigh of relief isn’t audible as he relaxes against the bamboo, pressing his now-damp forehead to the floor. Luka’s book digs into his stomach, and as he crawls from beneath the bed, he examines the cover. There, on the inside flap, written in unfamiliar handwriting, is a message addressed to his brother that reads, See – I told you. Slither was ours all along.

Cassian presses his lips together as he embraces the book, his chin trembling. Three months now Luka has been gone.

Three months now, since his brother apparently betrayed his people to the barbaric Kiterans that attacked them.

Cassian has never missed anyone so fiercely.

He slides the book back onto the shelf and tiptoes to the door, easing it open. He cannot linger in the room – any longer, and the tears burning his eyes will surely flow free – and he cannot disappoint his brother by losing control of his emotions like this.

He most certainly cannot disappoint his mother.

You’re too old for such things, Linne said when she saw Cassian weeping at the start of it all, when Luka first disappeared. He is just your brother. Dry your tears. You have more important things to focus on. She pressed her hand against her stomach as she spoke, her eyes sharp.

Cassian creeps along the hallway, half lost in thought, his teeth digging into his lip. He is about to turn the corner when Linne’s sharp voice fills the air, freezing him mid-stride and mid-heartbeat.

“And what else should I do, Carlo?”

“Anything but that, Linne. Please.” His father always sounds so worn now, like a piece of leather stretched and stressed until it has gone soft. Pliant. “I can’t do this again.”

“Well, I can’t simply have you pay someone off to swap the score again,” Linne snaps. “Not now. Not with so many eyes on me.”

“I told you – allying yourself with that Kiteran wouldn’t result in anything good. You were too close to him to see –”

Linne snorts. “What else would you have had me do?”

“You can’t trust him –”

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a fool. And I’m not the problem here. Your son is.”

Cassian muffles his alarmed squeak with a fist. He presses himself flat against the wall, willing his heartbeat to slow. Sometimes, when he’s hiding from his mother, it seems she can find him by the sound of the blood pounding in his veins. Or maybe by the smell of his fear – sour and dark.

So now, he focuses on inhaling and exhaling slowly – and listening carefully.

“You saw the scores for the recent Bombani pretest I had him retake,” Linne says. She’s calmer now – which is somehow worse. She speaks to Carlo the same way she speaks to Cassian – like each word is a pocket that she must carefully turn inside out to prove to them that no, she carries no weapons, and they are fools for thinking otherwise.

“He’ll do better,” Carlo mutters.

“He’ll fail. Just like Luka did.”

Cassian’s eyes widen. Luka didn’t fail his test.

…did he?

“The test is still nine weeks away,” Carlo says. “Give him another two months. Please. It doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Fine,” Linne says. “But should he fail…”

Cassian closes his eyes. Of course his mother thinks he would fail.

“Yes,” Carlo whispers. “Yes. I will do it. But with all his tutors – with all the time he dedicates to his studies – he must get a good score, Linne.”

Linne laughs, the noise pale and joyless. “The Lockehart bloodline is dirty, Carlo, and it always has been. If Luka didn’t prove that, you know that Alessan –”

“Don’t.” Carlo’s voice is so quiet, Cassian almost can’t hear him. “Don’t speak his name.”

A long pause.

Cassian looks back the way he came, but he’s too afraid to move. If Linne finds him here, she’ll be enraged. Even a step in the other direction seems too loud. Too dangerous.

“Is it even mine?” Carlo asks. “Is it – is it – his?”

“Does it matter?”

“In a way,” Carlo whispers. “It would be easier.”

“Cheer yourself, Carlo,” Linne says. “Luka still lives.”

“Not by your good graces.”

“He betrayed us all, Carlo. Us – Cesscounthe – all of Siacchi. He was always a monster inside, but at least he used to fight it. Now he’s given in. And he is our enemy .”

Cassian winces as the knot in his throat – and burn of tears –returns. He looks back toward Luka’s room again, the door still shut, and imagines a world where he could run to his brother’s chambers. He would throw the doors open and there Luka would be, like he’d never left. He would smile crookedly and spin Cassian around.

But Luka is gone.

And Luka is a traitor.

Cassian presses himself against the wall as he takes one tentative step away. They continue to argue, voices raising as Cassian takes another step – and then another.

When he is certain he is out of earshot, he breaks into a quiet run, sprinting back into Luka’s room and closing the door swiftly and silently. Cassian throws himself onto Luka’s bed and hopes, though his brother is a traitor to his family, his people – to Cassian – that wherever Luka is, he is safe.