Page 18 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

He raised his eyebrows, and the round, wire frames of his spectacles exaggerated the disbelief.

“Is this snakeskin?” he asked, opening and closing one hand, displaying his long brown fingers. “Blood will bleed, and tissue will rot, even with magic beneath. Magic is a powerful weapon, not a shield against all ills. Ready, Silas?”

In answer, Silas gave a surly grunt. His eyes darted to Eliza, then away. She tensed, expecting them to be red viper eyes, but they were his usual deep brown. She was almost surprised when he vanished in a puff of vapor.

The gray snake with a string of black diamonds down its back looked like an ordinary—if deadly—animal, and Eliza’s throat filled with questions that she held clenched behind her teeth. Was he still aware as a snake? Could he communicate? Could he control himself?

Reaching down, Kerem lifted the viper like it was nothing more than a fallen scarf. The reptile twisted around his arm.

He stared at her expectantly.

“If you’re too fearful,” he said, “set the vial on the desk and step away.”

She looked down and found her hand shaking. Images of Daisy rose in her mind, joined by the echo of the pony’s terrified scream mingling with Eliza’s own. She forced the memories back down.

She was not afraid. She would not be afraid.

She was more than a whim.

Swallowing, she braced the vial with both hands, one palm beneath it, her fingers around it.

Kerem watched until he seemed satisfied. Silas’s snake eyes were watching her, too, but a mere glance at their crimson coloring made sweat break out across her skin. She focused on her hands, on the glass warm in her grip.

Holding tense, she waited for the viper to lunge for the vial.

Instead, Kerem took hold of the snake’s head, holding it with the same firm grip she’d seen her father’s hound trainers use on unruly puppies.

He pulled his arm away, and Silas’s deadly snake body fell limp, dangling from Kerem’s hand like a lifeless body from the gallows. Kerem could have crushed his head.

Was it that easy to kill a snake?

Was it that easy to kill a shapeshifter?

Kerem pressed the snake’s mouth to the linen covering on the vial, and Eliza watched a colorless liquid drip from twin fangs that looked too thin and fragile for their murderous capabilities.

Until, finally, Kerem said, “There we are. Set the vial on my desk. Carefully.”

While Eliza had her back turned, Silas transformed into a human once more. She found herself staring at him. She hadn’t expected the whole experience to be so . . . vulnerable. It almost felt as if she’d witnessed something she shouldn’t have. Something private. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Kerem examined the vial, replacing the linen covering with something more permanent, then spoke to Silas about toxins and experiments and something about Fluid Casters.

Silas nodded and gave curt answers, the muscles of his neck visibly tense.

He looked at his professor but still wouldn’t glance at Eliza.

For the first time, she realized he had a scar along his neck, pale against his skin. It was long and thin, perfectly straight, paralleling his jaw. Like he’d been caught by a blade.

“Did someone do that to you?” she asked before she could reconsider. Nervously, she touched her own throat. “The scar on your neck.”

At Kerem’s raised eyebrow, she realized she’d spoken right over the professor, and her cheeks heated, but it wasn’t as if she could take the question back. The silence stretched awkwardly.

Without looking at her, Silas finally said, “Well, I didn’t fall out of a tree onto the sword, if that’s what you mean.”

He spoke Pravish, as if to spite her. Or to distance himself.

Someone had tried to kill him. They’d nearly succeeded.

Taking the vial from Kerem, Silas transferred it to a locked chest beneath one of the shelves. Though his body obscured the view, Eliza assumed there were similar vials within. A box of poison. Did the professor sell it to assassins? Her skin crawled at the thought.

Kerem leaned against his desk, and even though it was a nonthreatening action, Eliza took a step back. His sharp eyes said he didn’t miss the movement.

“I’m given to understand,” he said, “that a sword to the throat is the most common greeting for Affiliates in Loegria. Weren’t you aware?”

Eliza’s jaw worked wordlessly as a shiver rattled her spine. However laid-back he presented himself, however non-red his eyes were, she had to remember that Kerem was a snake as well.

He waved a hand as if to ease her.

“Your shock must be at a father trying to kill his own son, choosing law over family in any country. It’s a shock to me as well. Certainly not the decision I would make. After all, the loss of Silas Bennett would rob this world of its finest young mind.”

He motioned Silas back over, and the two of them resumed work. Eliza stepped into the hallway, needing the fresh air. She stood just outside the door, at the end of her leash. Out of sight.

For a moment, she’d been lulled by false vulnerability. She’d doubted. The law in Loegria was to kill a shapeshifter upon discovery, no exceptions. If even Silas’s father thought that was the best course of action, what kind of monster was really hiding within the snakeskin?

Eliza had almost been lured in by a shapeshifter. Two. Of course they trusted each other.

She rubbed her arms, shivering, and didn’t return to the office.

Once Silas finished his work, she followed him to the dining hall, where they ate in silence. That night, she sat wrapped in a blanket on her cushion, both hands on her dagger, watching him in the dark and pinching herself to remain awake.

In the morning, they would find Henry, and she would be free of this nightmare.