Page 20 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

Silas had not exaggerated the hike.

At first, they climbed the winding paths that led to the top of Izili’s cliffs and the university, but when the paths diverged, Silas took the route directly along the cliff edge.

At the peak, Eliza paused, marveling at the beauty of the ocean from this height.

The horizon stretched into eternity, a never-ending expanse of sparkling water.

She stood on a divider. To her left, the cliff overlooked civilization, bustling city streets and brightly painted buildings.

To her right, the edge fell away into an empty, sandy landscape, a long stretch of tan and beige bordering the ocean, marked only by a worn footpath.

“I come out here sometimes to read,” Silas said. An ocean breeze ruffled his hair, tossing it all to the left in an adorably lopsided way.

Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. “To read? Not to . . . I don’t know, look at the ocean?”

“I look at the ocean between pages. Unless the book is particularly enthralling.”

All her life, people had told Eliza she read too much. She should have introduced them to Silas.

As soon as she had the thought, her chest tightened.

Introducing him to anyone in Loegria would mean his death.

The world tilted, like her body thought it was back on the ship to Pravusat, swaying without solid ground.

“Highness?” Silas frowned.

“It’s high,” she managed, though that wasn’t the problem at all.

She didn’t want to think about the real problem.

Silas led the way down the other side of the cliffs, and she followed in silence. Beneath the withering afternoon sun, her clothing quickly grew sweat-soaked and constricting, the silk of her shirt trying to escape the heat by becoming one with her skin.

Her cheeks tingled, little pricks in her skin warning against the sun’s burn. At home, the palace physician could have given her cooling balms, but here, she would have to live with the blistered skin. She attempted to shade her face as she walked, but the path continued, and her arms grew weary.

Eliza flapped her shirt against her chest. The puffs of air against her throat were almost more torture than relief.

Then, finally, she saw it. Or at least, something.

It wasn’t a building so much as a tent. A very large tent, rectangular and blocky, with thick posts holding its shape. It was both larger and closer than she’d realized because it was the same dusty beige of the landscape, camouflaged against the sand.

As they drew closer, she saw a limestone statue near the entrance, an enormous serpent with fangs bared. Because of course it was.

And Silas, of course, paused to admire it.

“They probably worship it, don’t they?” Eliza said, and her bitterness really had nothing to do with snakes at all.

Actually, it did. But just with one.

“Sarazan?” Silas smirked. “Well, he’s what they named all the tabernacles after, so I suppose that’s answer enough.

He’s a mythological sea serpent, but there are conflicting legends.

Some say he’s the transformed state of the god of the ocean.

Others claim that he’s only a guardian, protecting the gate to the spirit world. ”

“Do you believe in him?” It would be just like him to call love a myth while believing in a big magic snake.

But Silas shook his head. “Once, I thought I sensed something out there in the ocean, something big. Perhaps there’s a sea snake grown so large, it’s inspired legends. Or perhaps people are seeing the shadows of driftwood in the dark and spinning tales.”

He stepped through the tent flap, and Eliza followed.

The interior had a breeze. It startled Eliza so greatly that she stood in the entrance, feeling blessedly cool air swirl against her face and clothing, until she almost shivered beneath the silk.

Her eyes adjusted to the shaded surroundings, and she realized the tent had been divided into multiple sections by sheets of gauzy material, offering a measure of privacy but also openness.

Shadows moved behind the barriers, and the light smell of incense tickled her nose until she sneezed.

One of the curtains parted, and a girl perhaps a few years older than Eliza approached, dressed in flowing robes with her hair tied beneath a green scarf. She smiled and greeted them in a soft, friendly voice, introducing herself as a “sister of Sarazan.”

Silas wasted no time.

“There was a shipwreck two weeks ago,” he said. “Loegrian crew and passengers. Did you care for any survivors?”

Eliza took a step back. This was the answer she’d been searching for, and now that it was directly in front of her, she couldn’t bear to hear it in case it was the end of everything. She needed a moment to prepare. Needed—

“Yes,” said the sister.

Like a shooting star, Eliza’s heart shot from her chest, right into the sky, almost tugging her along with it. She grabbed Silas’s arm, shaking it. “Ask about Henry!”

“I’m getting there, apta.” But his voice was hardly chastising. Quickly, he outlined Henry’s description.

The answer was another yes.

He was here. Definitively. The sister described his unconscious state and the long gash on his arm, slow to heal. Eliza barely heard the details because her ears were full of the sound of his name, repeating in her mind like a chant, like a prayer. Henry, Henry, Henry.

She was floating. She was flying. If she closed her eyes, surely she would fly right to him.

Silas was frowning. He couldn’t even enjoy good news.

Then he asked, “Were there any others?”

Guilt sliced through Eliza for not considering anyone but Henry.

The sister nodded. “One other, but she was a Pravish girl, and she bore no serious wounds. She brought the boy for treatment, and when he woke, they left together.”

Silas looked at Eliza sharply, as if he expected her to be able to explain that, but all she could do was stare.

Finally, he said, “So she found him washed up on the beach?”

The sister shook her head. “No, she was on the ship. I could not speak to the boy, of course, but he showed no panic around her, the way he did around most of our staff. She seemed trustworthy to him. Familiar, at the very least.”

Silas looked at Eliza again, and this time, she bristled. “What?”

He shrugged, but the movement was far from casual.

Eliza huffed. “I’m here with you. Why shouldn’t Henry have depended on this girl for help?”

Then she thought about the bracelet on her wrist and everything she’d hopelessly tangled herself in, and she prayed Henry’s situation wasn’t as complicated as that.

“Do you remember anything about this girl?” Silas asked the Sarazan healer.

The sister gave a brief description—taller than Eliza, dark hair, blue eyes.

“She protected a small white box,” the woman added. “Strange black markings.”

Silas stiffened at that, his jaw tightening. Clearly it meant something to him. All at once, he was out of questions, thanking the tabernacle worker for her time and taking his leave.

Eliza scrambled after him. “What was that?”

Silas shook his head.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop on the sand. “Don’t you dare keep this from me! You know something!”

He grimaced. “I’ve met that girl before—the one with the box.”

“That’s wonderful! So you know where to find Henry!” This day just kept climbing.

Until he shook his head. “It was a chance meeting. She’s . . . dangerous.”

“Like you?” Eliza said heatedly.

He narrowed his eyes. “More so. And if she’s interested in Henry Wycliff, it’s not for any charitable reason. Henry may not be who you think he is.”

Every good thing, he had to sour. Eliza turned away, shaking her head. “You don’t know him. And the important thing is that Henry’s alive. We’ll go back to Izili, and . . .”

Her voice trailed as she realized the angle of the quickly lowering sun, saw her shadow thrown out long beside her. By the time they made it back up the cliffs, it would be dusk.

That’s fine, she thought, setting her jaw. They’d pick the search up again.

“Tomorrow—” she started.

“Is my day to work,” Silas said.

Eliza ground her teeth, but she refused to let him dampen her spirit. Henry was alive. The entire world felt alive again.

She began a determined march back to the university, and Silas fell into step beside her, looking at her strangely.

“Is Lord Henry a Caster?” he asked.

“What?” Eliza frowned. “No, he’s a knight.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive. Does he come from a Caster bloodline?”

“I . . .” She faltered, stumbling over a rough piece of brush. “No, he’s just—he’s just Henry.”

Silas squinted, his lips thin, and Eliza suddenly felt like she’d exposed a secret.

“How well do you know this boy?” he demanded.

She glared at him. “I know Henry.”

“How long have you known him? How much time have you spent together?”

“Long enough and time enough.”

“You’ve met his family?”

“I’ve met his . . . father.” Heat grew along Eliza’s neck, and she blamed it on the lowering sun, even though its fierceness had gentled into sunset.

Silas was relentless. “How many months did you court before he was banished?”

“We never had a chance to officially court, but he’d declared his intentions.

At least to me.” Had the tournament not gone so horribly wrong, Henry would have asked her father’s permission at the celebratory feast. Instead, everyone had spent the feast congratulating him on his chance to marry Aria.

Eliza swallowed the bitter memory.

Silas gave a short, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t even court him. What, did you see the chivalrous knight compete in one tournament and ‘fall madly in love’?”

She flared as red as the setting sun, and he turned away with a groan.

“Sarazan kurta beni,” he muttered. Sarazan save me. Of course he would appeal to a mythical snake.

“I don’t need your approval,” Eliza huffed. “And I plan to spend all the time in the world with Henry, as soon as I have him back.”

“This is why I can’t take declarations of love seriously. What exactly are you in love with? How good he looks while galloping on a horse? Yes, I see—the ultimate meaning of life.”

Eliza came to an abrupt halt, spraying sand. Fiercely, she glared at the boy beside her, who matched her dangerous expression with his own.

He was trying to embarrass her, make her feel ashamed about loving Henry, but he couldn’t. She may have been blown by whims in other things, but not in this. She loved Henry, and she was right to love Henry.

“I met Henry at the ball for my seventeenth birthday,” she said softly, “and we shared the final dance of the evening. He was kind, and he made me laugh. After that, he invented an excuse to see me again as soon as possible. He brought flowers. When he competed in the next castle tournament, it meant everything to him, but he still snuck away to see me beforehand. When I say I love Henry, it’s because I love his thoughtfulness and his easy humor and his genuine interest in me.

I love the way he makes me feel and the way I feel like I could do anything to help him. ”

Her tone grew challenging. “And, as a matter of fact, he does look good while galloping on a horse.”

For once, Silas made no retort. He slid his hands in his pockets, and his gaze dropped from hers first. Satisfied, Eliza continued walking.

Wherever Henry was now, whoever he was with, she was going to find him. If she had to endure the presence of a cynical shapeshifter a few more days to accomplish that, then she would.