Page 33 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

He was too. Or at least he told himself so and refused to look back on the emotions of the last few minutes.

Standing, he peered through the bars at the guard, barely visible past the curve of the hallway.

Thirty feet, maybe? Silas grimaced, then waved Eliza over.

She approached hesitantly, eyeing him like he might suddenly kiss her again.

But reality was back, present in the scent of a rotten cell and the shadows of dim lanterns along a gloomy wall.

Quietly, he said, “You’ll have to lure the guard closer. I can’t reach him if you’re still in here. But wait until I’ve transformed and gone through the bars.”

Eliza’s eyes widened, and she whispered back, “What if he steps on you?”

He smirked. “Your concern is noted, but I’m faster than the average adder.”

“And how do you expect to . . .” Dawning horror paled her cheeks. “Are you going to bite him?”

“Of course I’m going to bite him. Did you expect me to lick his boots?”

“Just a dry bite, right? You wouldn’t . . . poison him?”

“A dry bite will get me stepped on, and it will do nothing to solve our problem. The only way I can take him down is with venom.”

She grabbed his arm, her grip painful. “But you’ll kill him!”

“He’ll be sick for a while. Fever, aches, maybe a scar. But, no, I won’t kill him. The important thing is paralysis. He can’t give chase if he can’t feel his legs, and he can’t shout for help if his vocal cords are out of commission.”

Together with Kerem, Silas had done an exhaustive amount of testing on his own venom.

Unlike a natural snake’s, Silas’s venom could produce different effects, depending on his intention when he struck.

Paralysis was the hardest effect to achieve, and when they’d first started, Silas had only been able to make it last a matter of minutes.

With practice, he’d grown that to a full hour. It would have to be enough.

Eliza recoiled, pulling her hand back as if he’d bitten her. The look in her brown eyes hearkened back to the moment she’d first seen him transform. The moment she’d written him off as a monster.

Silas looked away.

“You can’t do that,” Eliza whispered. “It isn’t right.”

He clenched his jaw, thinking of the scar beneath it. Thinking of the way his father had looked at him, drained of color and affection, just before he drew his sword. Though Silas knew his eyes had changed to viper-red, he looked at the princess anyway, and she took another step back.

“Tell me, Highness, how it isn’t right. Tell me how it’s more unethical than any other option.

” He struggled to keep his voice low. “If I were to sneak up behind the guard and knock him unconscious by smashing a heavy object into his skull, would that be more humane? You’re assigning moral superiority to one type of intentional injury over another.

Were your beloved Henry here, in all his glorious knighthood, maybe he could challenge the guard to a duel.

Then the guard would shout for help, and the entire prison would come down on us.

Would that satisfy your sense of what’s right? ”

Silas flexed his hand, rippling a deep scale pattern across the knuckles, but since he’d spoken his mind, the emotion calmed. Or at least retreated beneath the surface.

Eliza had fallen silent. He could feel her gaze, but he refused to meet it, lest she bring the pain rushing back.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Silas frowned. Before he could stop himself, he was looking at her again, and her sad brown eyes were sincere.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she went on.

“Or at least, I didn’t mean to mean it like that.

I’m so . . . I’m so new to this, and shapeshifters were always—Affiliates, I mean.

I don’t . . .” Drawing in a shaky breath, she said, “It’s not just the magic.

When I was young, I was out in the field with my mother, and a viper killed my horse.

That’s why they scare me. So it’s not you, it’s just . . . history.”

She gave a quiet little grunt, scrunching her freckled nose. It was almost cute. “Can you forgive me?”

Gill was the only person he knew who spoke like that—heartfelt, unguarded. He was the only person who ever asked Silas’s forgiveness, and always for things that didn’t need forgiving. Minor infractions compared to the rest of their friendship.

Was Silas friends with the princess? He wasn’t sure, but somehow he couldn’t convince himself to be enemies with her any longer.

“Are we friends?” he asked, trying to maintain a straight face instead of an awkward wince. Heartfelt conversation did not come naturally to him.

Eliza blinked. “Yes, obviously. I don’t see how we could be anything else considering this.” She gestured to the grimy prison encasing them, which was a good point.

Silas opened his mouth, then closed it. On a second attempt, he said, “I’m sorry about your past experience with snakes.

You have a valid reason to be wary. As for the magic .

. . The first rule of academia is learning to challenge your inherent beliefs.

You’ve been raised in a country that taught you magic is evil, so you believe it in your core, regardless of truth. ”

“I don’t mean—”

He cut her off. “I remember what that’s like. It’s my country too.” He looked away. “I hated shapeshifters . . . before I was one.”

Funny how a single day changed everything. At the time, he would have considered it the worst day of his life, but now he had enough perspective to regard it as one of the best.

“You’ve changed already,” he said. “That matters. Keep at it.” He drew in a quick breath, then added, “And thank you for the apology. That matters too.”

Her eyes were shining, and his skin was itching. That was enough heartfelt confessions for now; it was crucial he keep his emotions under control.

Calmly, he said, “Now, if you would kindly offer a distraction, I’m going to bite a guard.”