Page 54 of Sonnets and Serpents (Casters and Crowns #2)

Silas spent three weeks in the healing hall, asleep. Apparently, after hearing about his injuries—specifically his magic being ripped out and replaced—the physicians decided the best treatment was to put him in a tasumak and hope that, without interruptions, his body could sew itself back together.

He woke rested and ravenous, with a greater appreciation for the disorientation Henry had experienced when coming out of his own Stone Caster’s coma.

The physicians brought him enough food to feed an entire class, but they brought something else, something that cracked his heart and made him wish he was still asleep.

A worn, red book, familiar in every threadbare edge.

When he asked about the girl behind it, the news was simple: Gone. She and Henry and Gill had taken a ship back to Loegria. Apparently, they’d tried to delay until he woke, but he’d needed more time to heal, and the ship’s schedule only had so much to give.

Gill had also left him the pardon. Silas stared at the Loegrian royal seal and Eliza’s sonnet book until his raging stomach finally forced him to set everything else aside and eat.

He was grateful when the physicians admitted his first visitor; he needed the distraction.

“Iyal Afshin!” Silas almost sprayed a mouthful of rice, catching himself with the back of his hand. He struggled to untangle from his food tray, but the dean waved for him to stay seated.

“I’m pleased to see you out of bed,” Afshin said, smiling widely.

Silas had taken up residence on the floor, preferring a thin cushion to the blanket that had held him hostage for the last few weeks. He gestured to the other cushion beside him, and Afshin settled atop it.

“If it’s up to me,” Silas muttered, “I’ll never sleep again.”

“I’ll leave it to Iyl Daria’s team to warn you about over-taxation during recovery.” Afshin looked him up and down, as if trying to perceive cracks in his skeleton. “You’re feeling better?”

Silas managed a nod, stuffing his mouth with beans to avoid expounding on that. He was feeling better. Physically.

Even if his eyes kept darting to the red book on his bedside table.

“Good, then we have some things to discuss.”

Understandably, the dean wanted his account of everything that had happened. Although Silas would have preferred to deliver it in written form, he muddled his way through a retelling of his discoveries and the events in the tunnels, filling in gaps as he realized them.

Afshin was clearly familiar with most of it already, but he filled in some gaps of his own.

Yvette had been cleared of suspicion. One of the kuveti captains had surrendered the details of his agreement with Kerem. In addition, Iyal Mazhar had left behind a more detailed research journal than Iyal Havva’s, and in combination with all the witnesses, the condemnation was clear.

“What will happen to Kerem?” Silas asked. Even after everything, he dreaded the answer.

“The execution is already done,” Afshin said gently. “Our guards turned him over to the palace, and, as you can imagine, the Nephew King did not look kindly on a would-be usurper.”

Silas’s stomach lurched, almost rejecting everything he’d eaten thus far. He set his tray aside, his shaking hands rattling the dishes.

“I’m sorry, Silas.”

He couldn’t respond. He was busy trying to remember the last words he and Kerem had said to each other, but he couldn’t. Everything in the caverns had happened so quickly.

What he remembered with clarity was Kerem’s voice saying, Bikmayak kalamak.

My sword breaks here.

Silas pressed his palm to the scar on his throat, feeling his pulse through it, slow and disbelieving.

In the heavy silence, Afshin sighed. He lifted a journal he’d been holding. “I brought this for you, though I’m not certain it will improve anything. Perhaps it might even make matters worse. It was Kerem’s.”

Silas lowered his hand, eyeing the worn brown leather. “I would have expected you to keep all his research.”

“Anything pertaining to what we’re calling the ‘Bone-Box Incident,’ yes, but this is the venom research you conducted together. He kept meticulous notes, and many of them include his thoughts on your specific contributions. He was quite proud of your work.”

Though it went against his better instincts, Silas took the journal. When he opened it, the familiar handwriting nearly undid him, and his own voice haunted him, a warning he’d given to Eliza: People aren’t good or bad, apta. They aren’t simple. They’re just people.

He closed the journal and set it as far from himself as possible. One more relic to taunt him with what could have been.

The dean watched him closely. “There’s one more thing before I go.”

“It can’t be worse,” Silas said quietly.

“No, I hope not. Thanks to the Bone-Box Incident, I’ve had three deaths on my faculty.

Another professor, displeased with my handling of the situation, handed in her resignation yesterday.

Our warlockry department is suffering. In light of the circumstances, and in consideration of your efforts to uncover and avert this disaster, I would be honored to have you join that department. ”

Silas blinked, trying to absorb that. The room felt too small, like the ceiling was lowering and the bed was growing. Perhaps he was shrinking.

After opening his mouth twice, he finally managed to speak. “I’d be replacing Kerem.”

“Kerem Aytac is irreplaceable, I daresay. As are we all.” Afshin’s voice softened.

“There are many people indebted to him for his creation of antivenom, for his clarity of teaching, for his relentless encouragement to discover the unknown. There are also many people dead at his hands. If you could somehow separate and build upon the good of his legacy, I’m sure there would be benefit.

“Regardless, I’m certain you will have your hands quite full building your own legacy, and I look forward to the results. Of course, if you need time to consider it . . .”

He left it hanging.

A real professorship. Mere weeks ago, Silas had begged for this opportunity. It was everything he’d wanted.

Yet the reality of the moment clashed with that vision of weeks ago, and, like a fool, he found himself saying, “This isn’t . . . what I pictured.”

“Nor I. Believe me, I wish the offer were under brighter circumstances.” Afshin leaned forward, his expression candid. “But even in duress, I would not offer if I didn’t think you worthy, Silas.”

Silas latched onto that like steady ground beneath his feet. The university was where he belonged. This chance was what he’d been fighting for.

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Yes, I’d be honored.”

But although he said the words with conviction, they felt strangely hollow.

Eliza passed the ten-day journey home in a daze. She watched the rolling ocean waves, the tranquil blue reflected in sea and sky, and she tried not to think about anything beyond the present moment.

There were some things she couldn’t avoid, however, trapped in the small space of a single ship.

“Captain says we’ll dock this afternoon,” Henry said, standing beside her at the railing. How he could look so relaxed at sea after experiencing a shipwreck was beyond her. Eliza’s own hands white-knuckled the railing whenever she stood on the deck.

For the hundredth time, she told herself to speak to him about the important things, the things they hadn’t addressed.

She was down to her final day to do it.

After a stretch of silence, Henry said, “We haven’t actually been gone that long. A few months. Feels like an eternity.”

Eliza swallowed. “We crossed into the new year.”

That felt symbolic for how time had stretched into something bigger. How it could feel like she’d left half her life behind with Silas.

Had he read the note in her sonnet book? Or had he set the love poems aside without a second glance?

It didn’t matter either way. She had to look forward. That was the decision she’d made by coming home.

“Henry, I—”

Her voice deserted her. The coward.

Henry watched her with gentle hazel eyes. “How do you say ‘new year’ in Pravish?”

“Yeni basi.”

She remembered toasting with Yvette and Baris, remembered the happy smile on Silas’s face that he couldn’t hold back. New year, new skin.

Eliza had shed her skin in Pravusat. When she’d first arrived, she’d been determined to pretend she was still the same girl as before her curse, to ignore the shift inside that changed how she navigated the world.

She’d clung to the same beliefs, the same love—whatever could anchor her to the past. But whether she wanted it to or not, the past drifted away, and she couldn’t hope to sail while fastened to an anchor. That would only tear her apart.

And maybe, if she kept looking, she’d come to appreciate the new girl in the mirror, through both the storms and the swells.

“I thought you might stay.” Henry kept his eyes on the horizon as he spoke. He hesitated, then said, with obvious significance, “For Silas.”

Eliza’s restraint broke, her voice hitching as she turned. “Henry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep it secret. I just—”

A surge of the ship interrupted, making her stumble. She reached out with one hand, and Henry caught it, steadying her.

“You didn’t.” His voice remained gentle. A faint smile even crossed his face. “Anyone could see the way you look at him.”

She struggled to catch her bearings again, torn between wanting to cling to his hand and feeling like she should let go.

Inwardly, she screamed—because love shouldn’t hurt so much.

It should be joyous, like the sonnets promised.

It should be simple and straightforward, with lonely princesses always swept up by gallant knights.

But life wasn’t straightforward; it was messy. And on her way to a knight, she’d fallen for a snake.

At last, Eliza released Henry’s hand, standing on her own.

“I didn’t mean to be unfair to you,” she choked out.

“Eliza, you saved me. Unfair isn’t what I’d call it.” But she could see the tight lines in his throat, the pain carefully held back while he maintained a reassuring expression.

She swiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Then why does it hurt?”

“Sometimes life takes a different path than we wanted.”

“Like when it turns us into rats?” She tried for a smile, then faltered, wondering if she’d caused him more pain. “You’re still a knight. You’re still just as wonderful as before.”

“I felt like a knight again, using it to help people.” He cleared his throat, folding his arms. “Anyway, I really thought . . . you would stay.”

Eliza had considered it. Part of her had entertained a grand vision of loving Silas and living as a university student instead of a princess, playing the kiyum while he listened and then listening while he read, stealing kisses in the library—

But that was a fantasy.

There was duty to consider, but it was more than that. It was missing her sister so much she ached. It was knowing that if she stayed in the harsh climate and culture of Pravusat, she would wither up inside. She would shed another skin, but this one would put her too far from herself.

It was knowing that as much as Silas belonged in Pravusat, a place where he could be wholly himself, she belonged at home.

And it was knowing that she had no right to force Silas to choose love, to choose her. He had his own goals, his own fears, and if she tried to force him to be the romantic hero of her dreams, then he wouldn’t be Silas anymore.

“You must hate me,” Eliza whispered, “knowing I’m choosing not to be with you when I can’t be with him either.” She gripped the railing, eyes on the waves breaking against the ship.

Henry rested his hand gently over hers. “I’ll always be grateful,” he said, “to the girl who crossed an ocean to save me.”

He squeezed her hand, and then he left the deck.

The carriage ride from the port to the castle felt more excruciatingly lengthy than the entire ocean voyage. Snow dusted the landscape, welcoming Eliza back with a glittering, sharp cold that pricked her lungs and made her feel alive.

But it wasn’t until she saw her sister that she felt home.

Aria waited impatiently in the palace courtyard, braving the cold in a thick cloak rather than staying inside where it was warm, even though she’d surely been advised otherwise, even though she was now a queen.

And before the carriage even rolled to a stop, she ran to the door, throwing it open and shouting Eliza’s name.

Eliza threw herself into her tall sister’s arms, relishing the warmth of her embrace and the familiar scent of her lilac perfume. As she listened to Aria’s scolding and her worry and her relief, all of it echoed in Eliza’s own heart.

And later that night, once they were finally alone in Aria’s room, snuggled in quilts before a crackling fire, Eliza told her sister everything.