Page 25 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)
The kuveti were notoriously organized, keeping records of every arrest. Eliza had said she wanted to know why the Stone Caster was arrested, and Silas felt fairly confident they could at least get that information.
And, if they were lucky, they could find out if Henry and the magic stealer had actually been arrested.
Getting anyone out of prison was a demand he couldn’t meet, but this was a place to start, and before they planned anything, they needed to know if they were even on the right path.
With Eliza as disguised as he could hope for, he led them through the streets to the kuveti prison house near the Nephew King’s palace, an area of Izili he had previously avoided.
The prison looked as oppressive as the purpose implied. There were no splashes of color common to Izili architecture, only dull stone, bricked in hard lines. An iron portcullis blocked the entryway, and on either side, the structure rose in spikes, like the overturned fangs of a dead serpent.
“This is a terrible idea,” Silas muttered.
“It’s not as if you’re spending all your money on unknown magic,” Eliza said with a self-deprecating smile. “The worst they can do is turn us away.”
That was not even close to the worst. But sometimes information was only gained by risk.
She slipped her hand into his, jolting awareness up his arm, and in answer to his sharp look, she said, “I can’t just cower in your shadow. That would draw attention. No one cowers in this country.”
She wasn’t wrong. Still, she was wildly distracting. Silas tried to ignore the sensation of her soft fingers threaded through his as he led the way to the front guardhouse, tensing under the eyes of a half dozen veiled men at the gate.
A barrel-chested man came to greet them, his hooked nose holding his black veil a full inch away from the rest of his face. He had the eyes of a predatory wildcat.
Silas wished he had a veil of his own, wished he had a reason to reveal his snake form so he could experience bows of reverence rather than hard stares of evaluation.
“You arrested a female Stone Caster in the market,” he said, making his voice as commanding as possible. “I want to know what for and when she’ll be out. She owes me for this false Cast!”
He brandished his wrist, and the guard’s eyes flickered to the gold bracelet.
Silas was prepared for pushback or bartering. What he wasn’t prepared for was—
“No such arrest,” said the guard shortly.
Silas blinked, then frowned. Finally, he said, “The arrest was witnessed.”
The guard took a threatening step forward. “Are you a captain? Do you command the kuveti? There has been no arrest in the outer market in a week. Shall I arrange for yours?”
In response, Silas bared his fangs, both because he was scared and because, in Pravusat, it was better to be aggressive than afraid.
The guard’s predatory eyes crinkled approvingly in response, and he waved them on their way.
With no other option, Silas turned away. He would have to think of a different approach, though he couldn’t imagine—
“Don’t lie!” Eliza burst out. “You took her! Tell us why!”
If her accent wasn’t bad enough, she used the noun form of lie instead of the verb form, meaning she’d shouted don’t liar.
Silas clutched her hand, trying to pull her away before she could do any more damage. But he saw a whisper pass between the guards at the gate, the pointed attention on Eliza.
Clothes could only do so much. She was too pale for Pravusat, her hair too light, and she’d just revealed the voice of a foreigner.
“For future reference,” he snarled quietly, “it’s yalan for lie. And, here in a moment, you’ll want to know gravmak.”
The shortened form of gravdan kazmak, which meant outrun the strike. Run faster than the snake could bite.
“Stop them!” barked one of the guards. “That’s the island’s runaway princess!”
Eliza paled. But she broke into a run, and Silas ran with her, ducking beneath the iron portcullis before it could be dropped.
Shouts of pursuit came from behind as they spilled into Izili’s main thoroughfare.
No one parted for the kuveti, choosing instead to pretend they saw nothing.
Of course, no one parted for Silas and Eliza either.
Eliza kept surging ahead, dragging his hand, then slowing her pace, looking back.
Silas almost suggested splitting up, then bit his tongue on the impossibility.
Had she been on her own, she would have lost the guards as quickly as she had in the market, winding between houses and people in a mousy flash until she’d scurried away entirely.
Silas wasn’t a runner, and his tall build wasn’t meant for slipping between people. He was going to get her captured.
He thought of calling for snakes, but that worked best if he could corner an enemy, not while he was on the run from one. If he’d laid a trap, maybe, but he couldn’t manage that now.
So he focused on the roads that led toward the university. If they could get back on campus, they’d be safe. The kuveti wouldn’t cross the campus guard.
“This way!” Eliza yanked him the opposite direction, ducking into the narrow opening between two buildings.
Silas hissed as he scraped the skin off his elbow.
The moment they burst into open air again, she found another narrow alley and dragged him through that one, too, until finally stopping in a sheltered alcove where they stood with thundering hearts, listening as the shouts of the kuveti faded away.
Sagging in relief, Eliza released his hand and doubled over, gasping in air. Silas wiped the sweat from his brow and prodded at his bloodied elbow.
“You were worried about drawing attention by cowering,” he snapped. “Then you go and—”
“You were about to walk away!” she shot back. “You hadn’t even asked about Henry or the girl!”
“Because I was threatened with arrest! You don’t poke a cobra with its hood flared.”
“It was just blustering. Like all the merchants.”
“One of those merchants actually made good on her threat, and prison is a lot more dangerous than a shoe.”
“You still should have taken the risk.”
“If I didn’t have this”—he shook his wrist at her—“there wouldn’t have been a risk at all! I could have slithered into the guardhouse and looked at their records myself.”
“Of course. No matter how you look at it, I’m the problem.” She gave a dry laugh.
“I didn’t say that.” Though he basically had. “I said—”
“I heard you. And thanks to this”—she shook her wrist at him—“I understand the venom in any language.”
Silas clenched his jaw.
“You know what? I’m tired of your sanctimonious attitude.
” Eliza stepped closer, though there was hardly any space in their shadowed hollow, and she jabbed a finger in his chest. “You think you’re so smart, Silas Bennett, with your magic and your linguistics and your grand university education, but you don’t know anything about the most important things! ”
“What,” he drawled, “like love sonnets?”
“Yes, like love. Like caring about other people. Like fighting to help because you can, because it’s right.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’m not a knight,” he said coldly.
Eliza’s face paled, her freckles stark against her skin, and he wished he could take it back. For all his accusations that the princess was reckless, he was just as bad—lured by different bait. Her by love and him by . . .
He didn’t know. Something made him lash out, strike first. The feeling of being cornered, perhaps. No snake in history managed that feeling well.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She gave a sharp nod. “Me too—because you’re right. This Cast is the problem. We are irreconcilable opposites, and as long as we’re stuck together, neither of us is going to get what we want.”
She stalked out of the alcove and rummaged in the alley, producing a small crate missing one of its boards.
He thought she might pry another off and threaten to club him with it, but she marched the whole thing back to him, set it on the ground, and stepped up on it.
For the first time, they were truly eye to eye. The better to yell at him, he supposed.
“Look, Highness—”
That was as far as he got. Eliza seized him by the face and yanked him forward. For just a moment, Silas flashed back to the last time he’d been kissed. A magic stealer with eyes of blue.
This time, it was a princess with eyes of brown.