Dedication

For those who feel invisible

Map

Epigraph

There once was a serpent dying on the road.

A girl came by, a good, kindhearted girl, and she gathered the serpent into her arms, brought it home, warmed it by the fire, and fed it milk.

A little revived, the serpent bit her.

As she lay dying, the serpent said, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I couldn’t help it. It’s my nature, you see.”

The girl could not respond, because she was dead.

—“The Fable of the Girl and the Dreadful Serpent,” from a collection of stories titled Reasons People Hate Serpents, gathered and hand-lettered by Temerane, Prince of the Serpent Lords, age 8.

Part 1
The Girl

1

You can’t be hurt if no one knows you exist. That was the last thing my mother ever said to me, though not exactly in those words. “Hide, darling,” she whispered. “The djinn mustn’t find you.” And she pressed into my little hands a sapphire ring, the stone cloudy and speckled, a jewel of power meant for thieves and pranksters and a shy duchess who preferred blending into the wallpaper over socializing. Once on my finger, its power settled over me like a damp chill, and I became nearly invisible—not invisible like a vanishing act, but invisible like a third footman at a palace gala, or a mouse in tall grass.

But for it to work, a footman must not step out of line, a mouse should not squeak, and a five-year-old hiding in her mother’s wardrobe had better not cry. The djinn found me, because even though the ring made me appear as interesting as a bundle of clothes, it was hard not to notice a bundle of clothes that was sniveling like a girl who’d just been demoted to the rank of orphan.

I spent the next twelve years of my life getting better at being invisible, getting so good at it, in fact, that I was certain the djinn who found me that day would never find me again.

The rickshaw rattled along with me from where I sat in the low backward seat, wearing my usual armor: sacklike livery in the trademark dusty purple and gold of Master Galen’s Jewelsmithery, buttoned all the way to my neck despite the heat; my mother’s ring on my left pointer finger; the vacantly attentive smile of a servant who wasn’t too bright.

Galen was happy. I could tell because he was lecturing. “Lemme tell you one thing, Saphira,” he said, speaking loudly to be heard over the rickshaw’s wheels rattling across pavement and the excitable hum of a city on festival day. “Lemme give you a pearl of wisdom. You know what it is we’re selling?”

“Jewelry,” I said.

He laughed like I was a dog who’d done an excellent trick. His flask peeked out from his jacket pocket. “Jewelry isn’t jewelry, kid. Jewels are”—he leaned in for emphasis—“ideas. How’d you think I sold that nasty pair of emeralds? I told that Lady—that Lady Whosit, Whasshername, you know the one, face like a pig on a horse’s neck—I said, ‘Can’t you just imagine going to the first garden party of the Season, and the flowers opening just as you walk by—can’t you see all the handsome ladies and pretty lords coming to ooh and ahh over you? No one has these, not a thing like them in all of Gem Lane. Why, you’ll be the center of attention. They’ll be green with envy!’”

“So wise,” I said dryly. Those emeralds had left twin patches of moss and mildew on my worktable and I feared for Lady Whasshername’s gowns.

Somewhere between Gem Lane and the posh streets of Caelan Hill, our rickshaw slowed to a crawl. A palanquin jogged by; it was so majestically proportioned and of such a striking red, that all one saw was the pale, long-fingered hand parting the gauzy veil. Hardly any of the passersby glanced at the four strapping lads jogging in perfect unison, on whose shoulders the palanquin rested.

“You know what sold those baby bracelets?” Galen was saying. “I said to her, ‘Look, these little rubies will make sure your grandbaby always has a little warmth with her. She’ll grow up feeling the warmth of her grandma’s love.’” He snapped his fingers. “Sold like that. Love is our number one customer. Well, maybe number two. This clasp has been doing numbers, kid. We’re gonna get the Emperor’s commendation this year, I know it. Hey, what’s the holdup?”

Our rickshaw driver—who had done a very decent job of making himself beneath notice—scowled. “It be the Season, good sir. Them’s all want a glimpse. They say he’s been seen not a day’s ride away.”

“He?” Galen said.

The driver looked doubtfully at Galen. “Don’t you know?”

“Spit it out, man.”

“The Serpent King,” he hissed, and then made a sign of protection.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Galen clicked his teeth. “On foot, then. Let’s go. Keep a good grip on that, now.”

He disembarked. I grabbed the jewel box from the seat and slipped it into the folds of my livery, which was oversized for the purpose of carrying everything we might need. Galen strode down the pavement without a care, clad in pristine ivory, with his salt-and-pepper hair teased into a wave that rose toward the sky, and swinging a lavender and gold enameled cane with the aplomb of a man who needed no such aid to walk. He was as easy to ignore as an eyelash in the eye.

I put some distance between us. A good walk, an invisible walk, has to be a little slow ’cause some people get competitive if you walk faster than they do, but it can’t be a mincing, shy sort of walk either, for the same reason that a cat can always tell when a mouse is trying to hide. You don’t want to turn it into a hunt.

Two pickpockets stumbled into Galen, groping for a purse that wasn’t there. They skulked back into the crowd to bump into someone else. A woman too young for Galen batted her eyelashes at him, but he didn’t take the bait. There were a few other bids for Galen’s attention, but nothing noteworthy.

We were almost to the customer’s house when I finally noticed him.

He was very tall, in the way of someone who had just turned the corner from gangly to graceful, and his face had that same sort of quality, of bold features that had not yet come to play nicely together but had at least called a truce on all-out warfare. His hair was dark, his clothes of perfectly middling color and quality.

I recognized him, the way a traveler in a strange land recognizes a whisper of their hometown dialect. He was like me. A pretender.

He was watching Galen; he wasn’t obvious about it, but with every casual sweep of his head, his gaze rested ever so briefly on my dear boss.

Was he a thief?

Something came over me, and I slowed down to follow him. We wove through the crowds, Galen’s fluff of hair our north star. He was humming to himself; what kind of thief hums?

He stopped abruptly at a street vendor pushing a steaming cart. An expression of delight crossed his face as he exchanged a coin for a brown thing on a stick. The right corner of his mouth tilted up higher than the left.

What kind of thief stops for a snack?

He crossed the street, snacking happily on his treat. A palanquin—a tall black one with only two bearers—crossed between us. When it passed, his back was to me and shrinking into the distance.

My feet skipped a step, and I bumped into a red-faced woman who barked, “Watch yourself, girl.”

I checked myself. My mother’s ring was on my finger, the wet-chill feeling of it working was on me, the jewel box was safe.

Very slowly, it dawned on me that perhaps I was wrong. I scratched my ear, ignoring the way my body heated. A man with a hammer sees nails everywhere, after all, or however the saying goes. So maybe I saw threats where there were none. That’s the price of staying safe.

I shrugged it off and carried on.

At the time, I didn’t consider that I had been right. And that he was simply better at pretending than I was.

I doubled my speed and followed Galen up to Caelan Hill, past the massive marbled manors of one kind of rich people, to the winding lane filled with modestly sized antique homes that belonged to the oldest, most powerful families in the six kingdoms. These were called the Great Houses.

Galen took the jewel box from me and raised his cane to rap smartly on the gate. It opened with a whisper of oiled hinges. A servant in gray guided us though the garden, and up the stone stairs to the front door.

My neck prickled with nerves that I couldn’t allow to show.

The House of Lord and Lady Pewter was gray. Their ancestral lands sat on the Empire’s largest pewter mine, and they had taken that quirk of fate as a commandment on design. Dark gray doors opened to a medium gray corridor, a house like a charcoal drawing.

A shriek came. “It’s here!”

Miss Ella Pewter bounded out, dimples armed and ready. A charm offensive. The society papers called her one of the most eligible this Season, outside of the Imperial Wards, of course. It was part on account of her family’s connections and power, and part on account of her charms. We’d met when she came to the workshop, alone but for a pair of servants. I’d taken her measurements, wrapping tape gently around her neck, but she showed no sign of recognition now.

“Calm yourself, Ella.” A tall woman stood with her back to the light.

“Yes, Mother,” said Ella.

Her mother, Lady Pewter, gestured to a door. “Do come in, Master Galen. Do you take tea?”

The sitting room was bathed in soft afternoon light that turned the velvety pale gray of the walls and drapes into a gentle lavender. With the bearing of a queen, Lady Pewter took a seat. She was beautiful. You were struck with it before her features actually registered. She was young, almost too young to have a daughter of eighteen or so.

And then I saw it. Her low-cut dress revealed the tops of her breasts, and between them was the silvery scar in the shape of a rosette.

My hand itched to check that my own was hidden under my servant’s livery.

Lady Pewter’s was more elaborate than mine. She had a band of stylized fire encircling the rosette, which said that she was not just an Imperial Ward, but one who had been chosen specially by the Emperor’s right hand. A woman who led the Emperor’s armies, who conquered kingdoms and stole their children. My mother called her the djinn. Everyone else called her Lady Incarnadine.

I was already a little rattled, and this set my nerves aflame. There’s no escaping the Imperial Wards—they’re all over the city—but I don’t like being near one. Especially not one that Lady Incarnadine handpicked.

I folded my hands behind my back and stood at the door, in a perfect imitation of a good servant. They chattered on.

“Well, then,” Lady Pewter was saying. “Show us the piece.”

Galen set down his tea and, with flourish, opened the jewel box.

A soft gasp came from Miss Ella Pewter. Her mother drew it out of the box and held it gingerly. A soft flush rose to her cheeks. That was the necklace’s power. I’d set the rubies in a silver-forward alloy to dampen their effect, so all they did was bring a gentle rosiness to the skin. But the real innovation was the clasp.

Lady Pewter examined the clasp, which I’d shaped carefully to look like a serpent’s head. The details had come from a well-illustrated book in the Imperial library. The slim head, large eyes, and delicate lace-like skin were patterned on a green tree snake found in the north.

Lady Pewter said, “Lovely,” but her eyes asked, How does it work?

Galen answered. “A single drop of blood will key the clasp to the owner. Then only the owner can unclasp it.”

Lady Pewter smiled. “Excellent. My dear Ella is so trusting—the Season has yet to begin, and three pieces she’s lost already, stolen straight from her neck.”

“Mother, please,” Ella hissed.

Despite her smile, there was something hard in Lady Pewter’s eyes. “You would never have survived the Rose Palace, my dear. And you are getting too old to protect.”

Galen cleared his throat. “My assistant will help your daughter set up the clasp.”

Lady Pewter’s gaze slid over me, and she nodded. I moved to Ella’s side. On the underside of the serpent’s head was the latch. I flicked it open. A small needle was inside.

“Your finger, miss,” I said.

Ella obliged. A pinprick, a drop of blood.

She pulled her hair to the side, and I clasped it around her neck. The rubies settled below her collarbone, and a soft pink flush came to her skin.

“How do I look?” she whispered to me.

From the folds of my livery I produced a hand mirror. I had framed it myself, in silver with a white opal in the handle to soften the light just so. Everyone likes a kind mirror. It’s not a lie, precisely. I think most people’s eyes are a little cruel, so my mirror evens the odds.

Ella’s dimples made an appearance as she beheld herself. “Oh, I love it. Mother, look!”

Lady Pewter looked at her with a critical eye. After a long moment, she spoke. “Very good work, Master Galen. I applaud the invention, but the design is also quite stunning.”

“Quite stunning? Mother, it’s the loveliest piece I’ve ever seen—oh, thank you, Master Galen. I love it dearly.”

My chest felt warm, and I fought to keep the smile from my face.

“You are very welcome, my child. It was a great pleasure to craft this for one as lovely as yourself,” Galen said with great modesty. His attention was on Lady Pewter. “It would be an honor to make a piece for you as well . . .”

“Oh yes, Mother, you must.”

Lady Pewter demurred. “I’m afraid Master Vyalis has been my jewelsmith for many years now.”

Ella sighed. “His work is so boring, though. And everyone wears him.”

A burst of laughter came from the direction of the front door.

Ella Pewter darted to her feet. “They’re here! They’ll be so jealous, I have to show them—”

Lady Pewter frowned. “That might not be wise, dear.”

The Pewters’ manservant knocked at the door. “Miss, your friends have arrived.”

Galen rose. “Ah, well, if you are satisfied, Miss Pewter, Lady Pewter, then we shall take our leave.”

Ella stopped him. “Oh no, Master Galen, stay a moment, let me introduce you.”

A gleam of hunger shone in Galen’s eye, and he put on his salesman’s smile.

A quartet entered in high spirits. The men’s shirtsleeves were open to their chests; the women’s dresses were cut low, revealing brands that matched Lady Pewters. The specially chosen.

Several of their faces seemed vaguely familiar. Probably from the society papers that Galen collected and strewed about the workshop.

I beat a retreat to my post against the wall. They greeted each other, and it was like watching a puppy run up to a pack of wolves. Of the wolves, there was one clear leader: a young woman of middling height, with hawk’s eyes and a silken way of moving.

“That’s a lovely piece, Ella,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” Ella did a spin, showing it off. Lady Pewter’s lips pursed.

The hawk-eyed woman crooked her head. “Is that a serpent in the back?”

The newcomers shared a look. One of them, red-haired with boyish cheekiness, whistled. “You’ve set your cap for the Serpent King, have you?”

Ella flushed and forced a laugh. “Of course not. And anyway, no one’s going to catch his eye as long as you’re around, Mirandel.”

Mirandel. The name was a splinter in my mind. I scanned her face. Could it be? There were no traces of the ungainly, scowling girl I once knew. If it was the same girl, then the ravages of time were showing clear favoritism.

Mirandel smiled slow and wide. “It’s anyone’s game, of course. That is truly a fetching jewel. Let me try it on, won’t you?”

Lady Pewter said nothing as her daughter took off the necklace and draped it around Mirandel’s neck. So much for my clasp keeping it safe.

Mirandel’s skin flushed—not in the delicate way Ella Pewter’s had, but in the way of a shepherdess after a romp in the hay. “Where’s the mirror?”

Oh, horsepiss. It was in my hands. My legs were strangely wooden, and it took effort to cross the room. My body remembered how Mirandel had betrayed me. But there was no way she would recognize me after all these years.

I held the mirror up, angling it just so to block her view of me.

“It’s lovely,” said Miss Pewter.

“Yes, it is, rather,” Mirandel agreed. “And unlike anything I’ve seen before. I do like it. Wouldn’t it be funny if you made it a gift to me, Ella?”

A prickly silence followed. A test.

Miss Pewter’s lips trembled. She glanced at her mother, whose face betrayed nothing. “Um, I’d be happy to, if you like it—”

Mirandel laughed. “No, no, thank you, darling. I can’t stand the blushing-virgin look.”

Galen coughed delicately. “If the young miss desires, a necklace of a similar but unique design can be made with sapphires for alertness, or diamonds for stamina—for all that dancing.”

Mirandel turned to him. “You are the jewelsmith?”

“Oh yes,” Ella Pewter said. “I wanted to introduce you. This is Master Galen. Sandice Thane told me about him—you’ve seen her new anklets, haven’t you?—and—”

“Master Galen.” Mirandel held out a hand. “Yes, your work has made quite the splash as of late. It’s about time someone dethroned Master Vyalis.”

Galen preened. “You are too kind.”

Mirandel reached back to undo the clasp.

“Wait!” The warning left my lips—a second too late.

Her eyes met mine as the clasp bit her hand. She yelped.

Galen paled. “That’s the magic of the clasp, my lady. Only its owner can remove it.”

“No harm done.” Mirandel laughed, but her eyes were hard. “Your assistant tried to warn me.”

Her gaze landed on me and slid away. Her brow furrowed. She glanced back, and her hawk’s eyes were sharp.

I kept my expression vacant. She had no reason to remember me. I was invisible. But my mouth dried out so much my tongue stuck to my teeth.

Mirandel dropped her gaze. “Oh, I’m being silly. Come, Ella, take this thing off me.”

Miss Pewter hurried to undo the necklace. Mirandel touched the back of her neck, and her finger came away with a drop of blood. She considered it, then brought it to her lips. “Isn’t this how fairy tales go? A pinprick, and then she marries the prince?”

Ella stammered. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? She finds her true love. Maybe the Serpent King—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ella. Love has nothing to do with marriage. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Pewter?”

Ella’s face fell. It seemed to me that the puppy had found its neck in the wolf’s jaws.

Lady Pewter smiled thinly. “Let’s let Master Galen get on with his day, shall we?”

Once the gray doors shut behind us, my lungs expanded two full sizes.

“That went well,” Galen said cheerfully. “I think we’ll have some new customers!”

2

The crowds had thickened along the main road. It seemed less a sea of individuals and more a beast of a single mind.

“Oi, Gally boy!” A shout came from above, a balcony overlooking the street. A red-faced man leaned out, and the wine in his cup sloshed onto the heads of the unlucky sods below. “Oh, sorry!”

Galen saluted with his cane. “Hey-o, Rosh.”

“Come on up. We’re having a little to-do. The girls want to watch the Serpent King, but there’s hours yet, and they’re getting bored.” Rosh winked in a way that he probably thought was saucy.

Galen gave him a thumbs-up. “Saphira, why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll drum up some business with Rosh’s crowd.” He patted his hair to check that it hadn’t deflated. “How do I look?”

“Presentable,” I said.

“Would it kill you to give a compliment?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to lie to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “You have a real talent, you know. You could convince Helen of Troy she had a face like a tortoise. You could convince a stallion that it was a donkey.” His eyes sparkled; he was getting into it. “You could convince the Emperor—the Emperor—oh, dash it, I’ve lost it.”

“I got the picture,” I said.

“Oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue—blast it. It was a good one. But it doesn’t matter. Thing is, it’s all right. You couldn’t sell a jewel if your life depended on it, but that’s what I’m here for.” He looked at me fondly. “What would you do without me?”

“Die in the streets, probably.”

He laughed as if it were a joke and stole a glance up at the balcony.

That’s my cue. “Good luck with business, boss.”

We parted ways. Cutting a diagonal path through the crowd took me to a side street, which, with a hop and scamper, let out into the interconnected alleys that were the domain of trashmen, grocers, and delivery people. The kind of people who were gloriously too busy to pay attention to anyone. But today, the side streets were empty. Even the mice had gone to try their luck on the main road.

My guard was down. Idly, I picked up nice-looking rocks to gift to Grimney, my only friend and connoisseur of ordinary, unprecious stones, but my mind was on Mirandel.

Even at six years old, she was memorable. She and I had been on the same transport wagon to the Imperial City, but I didn’t notice her until they stripped us and bathed us, shaving our hair of the matted knots and lice we’d picked up on the weeks-long journey. There was a beast-like roar and a thud. A boy began to cry. And a girl with a gremlin’s face shouted, “He deserved it. He called me ugly.”

That was maybe the first time I’d almost smiled since I’d been taken from home.

We were settled into the Rose Palace—not the glittering main wing where Lady Incarnadine and her Chosen lived, but the other, older wing, the one the children called the thorns. In those first few days, the fleet of women caretakers—all of whom we were told to call Nanny—gave us musical instruments, well-worn chessboards, charcoal and slate to draw with. We were bade to dance, to craft, to recite poetry.

And then Lady Incarnadine came. Incense smoke preceded her, so thick that it made the air dim, so fragrant that my head began to spin. The servants carrying the incense braziers stood aside. Her eyes seemed to me pinpricks of fire, looming from the dark.

I clutched my mother’s ring and inched back until I hit the wall.

The Nannies read from a scroll, calling forth one by one the children who were deemed most beautiful, most talented, most valuable. They showed their skills, some proudly, others through their tears. With long fingers tipped in gold, Lady Incarnadine gestured come for the ones she chose, and begone for those she didn’t.

And then one of the Nannies called my name.

My heart was in my ears. I didn’t answer.

The Nannies scanned the crowd, and the children shifted uneasily.

Lady Incarnadine began to turn—

Mirandel jumped before her. It was like a gargoyle had crept out of the shadows, newly come to life, with only a vague understanding of how to smile. She bowed before Lady Incarnadine and shouted at the top of her lungs, “I am Mirandel.” And marginally quieter, an accusation: “You forgot to call me.”

She squatted and stomped around like a three-legged horse. A stunned silence, broken by nothing but her heavy breathing and the thuds of her feet on stone. At last, drenched in sweat, Mirandel stopped. “That was a dance,” she announced, and comprehension dawned on us all.

Lady Incarnadine waved a dismissive hand. Begone.

Two of the Nannies picked Mirandel up. “Wait! I can sing,” she shouted as she was carried away, and she belted a line in a voice that squawked like a crow, until one of the Nannies clapped a hand over her mouth. Even then she was undeterred, just muffled.

After that, Lady Incarnadine left, and the Nannies forgot about me.

It was a half year later that we spoke. In that time, I’d learned a lesson or two about being invisible, and had begun to coax the secrets out of the walls. The thorns gave up hidden cellars, boarded-up rooms full of junk, and—best of all—passageways that led out of the palace altogether.

I came out of one passageway into what usually was an empty room. Mirandel was practicing what I assumed was a new dance. Her feet were bandaged, but blood had soaked through. She was better, but still nothing like those who showed inborn talent.

I didn’t understand. “Why do you try so hard?”

She screamed and then quickly scowled. “Where did you come from?”

I shrugged.

She squinted at me. “I know you—you’re the ghost. I’ve seen you disappearing. But I’ve also seen you show up for mealtimes. And I know ghosts don’t eat.” She leapt forward and pinched my cheek, hard. “Aw, you’re just a girl.”

I slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

She crossed her arms. “They called your name. You could’ve been up in the Rose Palace. Don’t you want to eat sweets and have nice dresses and get married?”

“I’m seven,” I said. “I don’t want to get married.”

“You’ve gotta think ahead. That’s what my da tells me.”

“Your da . . . He’s alive?”

“Sure. My ma and da sent me here to bring honor to my family.” She blinked hard, then turned her back to me. “Go away. I’ve got to practice.”

“You don’t want Lady Incarnadine to choose you,” I said after a moment of watching her stomp around. “She’s a djinn.”

Mirandel gave me a worldly, pitying look. “You’re such a baby. All the djinn are gone. The Emperor and Lady Incarnadine beat them all so bad they had to hide in the Serpent Kingdom. Look, I had nightmares when I was a baby too, but my ma said they’re never coming back.”

My mother’s last words were on my tongue, but I had the feeling Mirandel might hit me if I spoke them.

I was at the door when Mirandel said, “You can be my friend if you want.”

We were friends for three months. And then she betrayed me for a ticket into the Rose Palace.

And I ran away, to Gem Lane.

My shoulders relaxed as the buttery walls of the workshop greeted me. I slipped my mother’s ring into my pocket and tackled the tiny buttons that went from my throat to my knees.

Sounds of cooking came from the kitchen. Grimney was stooped over the stove, gingerly holding a wooden spoon between two stone fingers.

“Hullo, Grims.” I dug a handful of stones from my pockets.

He rambled over and poked through them for the choicest pebble, which he ate.

From the direction of his carved mouth came a sound like a boulder rolling down a gravel path. “Grrzzdhj?”

“Yes, I’m starved.” I said.

As Grimney put together a plate for me, I swept the floor and dusted the counters. The debris amounted to a small pile of gravel, each no larger than a pea. This was good. Like most golems, Grimney had a habit of coming apart, occasionally leaving behind rocks as big as apples.

Golems had been in fashion several years ago—the Emperor had tasked every jewelsmith with reviving the ancient art to fill his armies. But since most golems only comprehended a single command at a time, and often had trouble understanding concepts like which humans were good and which were the enemy, the general consensus was that asking them to fight was unwise. They had a brief life as chauffeurs and doormen, but the other problem with golems was that from the day they were made, they began eroding, as if they were trying to return to the earth. Most only lasted a year.

I was ten when we got Grimney. He was my height then and was at the time the most complex bit of jewelsmithing I’d ever tackled. There were seventeen jewels that together made him what he was, but his essence, his mind, was tied to a large shard of electrum. Each jewel was connected to the other with lines of gold. But gold is soft, and easily bent out of shape by the stones of Grimney’s body grinding against each other. So I kept him in working order, and in exchange, Grimney cooked. And if there was the occasional bit of gravel in my dinner, I didn’t mind.

Grimney put the plate before me, and a small pile of rocks before himself.

I was still in my livery. “I’ll change and be down in a second.”

I left the kitchen and trod down the hallway, past the door to Galen’s workroom, but instead of taking the stairs, something made me pause at the last door, the frosted glass one that led to the showroom. A shiver went down my spine, a prickle of unease.

A flicker of movement—there it was. Someone was in the showroom.

It should’ve been impossible—the front door had a triple lock, and besides, the workshop guards knew not to let anyone past the gate when Galen was out.

A gravelly tread came from the kitchen, and I motioned for Grimney to stay back.

I cracked the door open.

A tall man strode from one display to the next. His back was to me, his dark hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders. The showroom was lit only by the frail light filtering in from outside, but even in the dimness, he glimmered. If a peacock had taken on human form, it would have showed more restraint in clothing than this fellow. He was draped in layers of jewel-toned fabric, fine golden embroidery catching the light at his collar and cuffs; even his shoes were of expensive silk textured to look like scales. The curious thing was that he wore no jewels.

He turned, bending in half to peer at another one of the three pieces in the showroom. Not our most expensive, nor ones that displayed our unique inventions, but ones that I quite liked. He smiled down at a pair of pink tourmaline earrings. “Beautiful.”

He had a slender face, with kind dark eyes that sparkled with humor. A nice, trustworthy face. All the best thieves have them.

“Rather lovely pieces,” he said loudly, and turned to face me.

I yelped. “I—I’m armed.” Grimney’s footfalls sounded as he came up behind me.

“Good for you,” he said.

My face heated as I slid the door fully open. “You broke in.”

“I’ve let myself in, it’s quite true, but I have no nefarious intentions.” He paused. “As I’m sure you saw.”

“I wasn’t watching you,” I said too quickly.

A crooked grin split his face. “No? That’s too bad. If you had been, you would’ve seen me admiring Master Galen’s work. They are beautiful and quite clever.”

I shrugged and nodded at the same time. There was something about his grin. . . . “You’re the fellow who was following Galen,” I said.

“And you’re the little mouse who was also following Master Galen.”

I gestured at my livery. “That’s my job.”

“How funny,” he said. “That’s what I was about to say.”

He was utterly unruffled. I had the feeling I was on the back foot without knowing how or why. My heartbeat quickened like my body was preparing to run.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Rane.”

Rane? I knew that name. A rich man who had showed up a month ago and promptly proceeded to commission every jewelsmith on Gem Lane. Save Galen and Master Vyalis. Galen had gnashed his teeth at the stories, watching Rane’s flashy black carriage streak down the street and moaning, “My reputation!”

I didn’t care about Galen’s reputation. But it had irked that Rane found every hack jewelsmith worth commissioning—even Master Roodrick, who thought that heart-shaped jewelry was the height of taste—but had found my work lacking.

“I see,” I said.

“You seem disappointed at the thought of my spending a small fortune in your store.”

“Master Galen will be very pleased,” I said. And then pride made me ask, “Will you be visiting Master Vyalis, too?”

His brow arched. “Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t.”

It wasn’t for me to ask. “I apologize.”

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I’m—I’m just the assistant.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, eyes smoldering.

“I’m not for sale.”

“That was just a figure of—never mind.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small jewel box. “Do you recognize this?”

Nestled in pale silk was a piece I’d finished not a week ago. A bracelet featuring one of my first serpent-head clasps, carved out of the metal orichalcum in the shape of a viper. I had made it for a nobleman’s son who was making his debut this Season. I remembered a bored boy of eighteen with a pretty face and hair worn in the tight waves popular in the eastern kingdoms.

I gripped it tightly. “How did you get this?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you think. I paid for it. Much easier, don’t you think?”

“Why do you keep smiling at me like that?”

“Well, it usually works,” he muttered.

“In what way?”

He shifted his weight. “I must talk to Master Galen.”

“He isn’t here.”

“Yes, I figured. Will he be along shortly?”

By the sounds of that party . . . “Likely not till morning.”

Rane’s expression grew tight. “That’s a little difficult.”

“Can you come back tomorrow?”

Rane crossed the room and peeked out the rounded glass of the shopfront. He’d been keeping to the shadows, I realized. Out of sight of the street.

A rich man with enemies.

“I suppose I’ll have to try.” He paused. “You don’t know anything about his work, do you?”

Grimney rumbled a laugh. I shot him a quelling look. “A little.”

Rane opened the jewel box with the bracelet. “Did Galen truly invent this?”

My heart leapt. I forced a laugh. “Do you think he has a secret jewelsmith working for him in back?”

“No, I mean—he didn’t copy it from someone, somewhere?”

Oh. I relaxed. “No. Master Galen . . . pours himself into the work. It took a long time to come up with that design, in minutes stolen between all the other commissions a shop like this must take to stay afloat. It’s not easy to coax a jewel to wake and do what you want.”

“Yes,” he said. “That I know.”

“I’m afraid,” I added, “that your money was poorly spent. That bracelet isn’t much use to you, as you’ll never be able to open the clasp. It’s not keyed to you.”

“I noticed that. It bit me.”

I hid my smile.

Rane was observing Grimney. “He’s not an ordinary golem, is he?”

“He’s not for sale.”

Rane gave me an amused glance. “While that is to be mourned, I’m sure, I was only admiring your master’s work.”

“Oh.” I scratched my ear. “Thank you.”

Rane seemed to think for a long moment. “I have one last question. Is Master Galen a good man?”

“What?”

“I understand he’s your boss and you can’t speak out against him. The truth is, I’ve been looking for a jewelsmith of a certain caliber. I admit, I was prejudiced against Master Galen. He boasts like a man who has nothing to offer. Perhaps it’s a strange quirk of genius. But it still makes me hesitate. Is he a good man?”

“He . . . saved my life.”

His eyes were soft with understanding. “That is an interesting answer.”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “He’s a good man.”

He hmmed. From somewhere in the folds of his clothes, he pulled out a card that gleamed like silver. On it was an address, written in loopy handwriting. “This is where I will be for the next few days. I have a job I’d like to discuss with Master Galen.”

I reached for the card.

He pulled it back. “One thing. I would appreciate discretion. In fact, if word of this meeting leaves this circle, then Master Galen can consider the offer rescinded.”

My hand hovered above the card. “You haven’t said what the job is.”

“I haven’t said who my boss is, either.”

I waited a long moment and then realized he wasn’t about to elaborate. “Well?”

“I’ll tell Galen when he comes.” He pressed the card into my hand. His gaze flickered out the window. “Forgive me, but do you have a back door?”

I followed his gaze to the street. “This way,” I said, and showed him out back.

At the door to the garden, he gave me a gallant bow. “Till we meet again.”

He strode out. And maybe it was a trick of the light, but it seemed like between one blink and the next, a beard grew on his face and his clothes grew more muted.

He slipped out the gate and was gone.

The street out front had been empty, save two uniformed men. But why was Rane hiding from the Imperial Guards?

Later that night, I lay in bed, thinking. The card was cool to the touch, the paper almost iridescent. The address pointed to somewhere in the Merchant District. Curiosity tugged at me, but the thought of meeting Rane again made my skin feel one size too small.

The front door slammed open.

I slipped the card under my pillow and hurried downstairs. Grimney met me, wringing his great stone hands.

Galen stumbled into the wall. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and he reeked of drink and perfume and hashish. “I tol’ ’em,” he slurred. “’Ee’s not gonna come ’ere, not a chance . . . All of ’em sweet on ’im, the beast, like he’ll pick any one of ’em . . . think they’re too good for me now . . .”

He vomited on the floor.

Grimney poured water down his throat. I grabbed the rags and cleaned up the mess.

We sat him against the wall, and a bellyful of soup later, Galen’s eyes seemed clearer. He gnawed methodically on a half loaf of bread, stopping only to spit out pieces of gravel.

Curiosity nipped at me. “The Serpent King didn’t show?”

Galen frowned. “Course not. It’d be suicide. The only thing protecting the Serpent Kingdom from being conquered is that no one can bloody pass through the wall. Why would the Serpent King ever leave? All the girls dreaming about him—idiots! Why would he come here for a bride? Think there are no women in all the lands he’d have to cross to get here?”

“That’s unlikely,” I say.

He thought for a long moment. “We’ll show them, won’t we, Saphira?”

“Sure, Galen.”

“The gods sent you to me, you know.” He patted my cheek. His hand was sticky and smelled terrible. “We’ll show ’em. We’ll show Vyalis. . . .”

He fell asleep propped up against the wall of his storefront. Grimney hoisted him up and took him upstairs, to bed.

I followed. Galen’s snores soon came from his bedroom. I kept climbing, until I reached the third floor, the attic, which was all mine.

It was true, what I’d said to Rane.

I escaped the Rose Palace when I was eight, and for a time, I lived on the streets. I was by then an advanced student of hiding and wandered the capital city.

Gem Lane attracted me; the wide flagstones stayed warm late into the night, the back alley bins were filled with sweetmeats and pastries that were only a little stale, and most of all, the people that came to the workshops almost always left happy. I got curious about what put the happiness on those faces. The workshops were well guarded, save for the shabbiest one at the end of the lane, where jewelsmiths began their careers, either earning a place on Gem Lane or, if unable to make their name, were sent to the Imperial Army to become one of the unglamorous jewelsmiths who churned out masses of obsidian-studded hilts for swords that would never lose a sharp edge and lodestone-studded shields that would draw arrows and blades away from a soldier’s body.

It was about the same time that Galen’s fortunes had changed. Galen had been a handsome youngish playboy with a choice job as one of the apprentices to Master Vyalis, the Emperor’s favored jewelsmith. But, for a reason I didn’t know, Master Vyalis kicked him out, and Galen had to rent time at the shabbiest workshop at the end of the lane, like a first-year apprentice.

Inside, the workshop had a central forge—shared by apprentices who came to heat bricks and melt metals—and three floors of rooms. Most rooms were all action: apprentice jewelsmiths running in and out, sweeping and tidying, shining tools and separating metal scrapings from wax. It was hard for me to hide in those for long.

But one room was different.

As Galen snored on a bedroll tucked in one corner of the room, I snuck down from the rafters and, on silent feet, went to his workbench. Upon the table was a single jewel, a glinting green one as big as my thumbnail. The jewel was cut, but not yet polished; through the dusty facets I felt a tendril of power. It was unlike my mother’s ring. This was like tearing a leaf in two and breathing in the green of growing things. And as I gazed on it, a pattern rose in my mind, of curling vines and an eight-braided loop.

Unlike the other jewelsmiths, Galen could be counted on to leave his work unattended. I was a silent witness as Galen trapped that green jewel in a horrible cage of gold, so unlike what it wanted. Over the next several weeks, whenever he wasn’t distracted by a woman in his bed, he casually committed the same travesty on three other jewels. It was strange. I hadn’t gotten angry in a long time. But then, I could’ve killed him.

And then, one night, he wept. The sweet-smoky smell of drink clung to his clothes. He tore his hair, he flung his tools. He clasped his hands together and knelt, and he begged. Please. This can’t be it, not for me. Please. Let me become great.

He blubbered like nothing I’d seen. Not like a child—I was a child myself, and I didn’t cry like that. I took pity on him. Once he’d cried himself to sleep, I crept down and left him sketches of what I saw when I gazed upon those jewels.

When he woke and saw them, he cried again. He thanked the gods. He didn’t yet know to thank me.

3

The prim courier bowed, clicked his heels, and announced, “Master Galen. Your presence is humbly requested at the Rose Palace, tonight at sundown. Mirandel of the Rose wishes to commission a piece at once.”

Galen took the offered invitation with breezy calm. “Oh yes, wonderful. I was expecting this.” He dropped a coin in the courier’s hand, who made it vanish with the style of a true high-class servant.

I shut the door. Through the frosted glass, the courier stepped up onto a slim one-person city carriage emblazoned with the crest of the Rose Palace.

Galen whooped. He latched on to my elbows and spun us around. “We’ve done it, Saphira! The Rose Palace! Do you know what this means?”

The showroom whooshed by, and my stomach tried to go with it. “Er.” I thought about it. Lady Incarnadine had access to the treasury, and all great jewels went first to her. “We can work with rarer jewels?”

“Rarer—what?” He stopped spinning. “No. This is it. The crack in Master Vyalis’s dominion. Mirandel isn’t just one of the Chosen—she’s Lady Incarnadine’s favorite. The rest will follow suit in due time, I’m sure of it. Finally!”

“Um,” I said. “Yay.” Galen’s ambitions were like a vague stench on the breeze; unpleasant but easy enough to ignore if one shut the windows.

Galen paced. “I’ll wear my blue suit—no, no, the violet. Saphira, you’ll wear the livery.”

Until that second, I hadn’t realized I would be going too. “I don’t—I’m not invited.” Unease built in my stomach. The pale pink stone walls of the Rose Palace . . . the great iron doors . . . my nose thick with incense smoke, salt water on my lips—

“But you are,” he said. “Right here.” He pointed to a line in sharp script, which read

Do bring an attendant or two, Master Galen. Master Vyalis typically brings his three favorite apprentices.

—M.

“Why is she helping you?”

Galen chuckled. “Because she recognizes our worth. Don’t be such a cynic.”

“Must I go?”

“What, would you have me bring Grimney?”

Why not? “I have his old livery somewhere—”

“Stop. You can’t be serious. He’s unfashionable, Saphira. Why does it seem that you are intent on casting a pall of gloom over our moment of victory?”

I met his huffing, frustrated gaze. There were things Galen didn’t know about me. My past as an Imperial Ward was one. If he knew, he would, by law, have to turn me back to Lady Incarnadine. A dozen times I’d tried to confide in him over the years, but the words always stuck in my mouth.

He softened at my silence. “If we mess this up, we lose our reputation. If we lose our reputation, we could lose the shop. Do you want that?”

I cut my gaze. “No.”

“Then cheer up, eh? This is a good thing. This is the grandest day of our lives!”

“Yes, Galen.”

“Good girl. Be ready an hour before dusk.” He whistled to himself as he climbed the stairs, and then I was alone in the store.

I hadn’t forgotten Mirandel, nor her hawk eyes. Though she was the first of Lady Incarnadine’s Chosen to commission us, I had made pieces for other wards, the unchosen ones who had been sent to other branches of the Empire. Just a few months ago, I’d made a pregnancy-preventing waist chain for a courtesan. As children, we’d sat next to each other for an entire week in the transport wagon. I’d shared mealy bread with her.

She hadn’t given me a second look, even as I’d wrapped a measuring tape around her waist.

One of the first lessons I’d learned about being invisible is that when someone is hungry and focused on a goal, they’re blind to everything else. Mirandel was the prize of this year’s crop of Chosen, but it was clear she had in mind a prize of her own.

My mouth was sour. She wouldn’t notice me. She wouldn’t. But just in case, I would have to make myself even more invisible.

For that, I had an idea.

Our usual precious-metals supplier was located in the Merchant District, and though he usually made monthly deliveries right to the workshop in an armored carriage, I’d gone to him a handful of times when supplies had run unexpectedly low. For my plan, I needed more gold and orichalcum than we had.

A glance out my window revealed the only problem. The main street was packed with people watching the processions of the last nobles to arrive for the Season. The Merchant District was on the other side of the city, and I’d have to cross through the crowds.

The thought of it made my stomach turn. I hated crowds, and I didn’t understand them. If people insisted on gathering en masse, why couldn’t they neatly organize themselves an arm’s length from each other?

I steeled myself. I’d just have to be quick.

Galen was trying on various jackets when I snuck past his floor, with Grimney giving a confused but happy thumbs-up to each and every option.

I left on foot, dressed in a simple gray top and trousers. Our workshop guards were playing a game of dice; they didn’t bother to put it away for me the way they would for Galen.

Across the lane, Master Vyalis’s workshop guards stood at attention, their uniforms perfectly pressed, no dice in sight. They took pride in working for him, in a way I doubted our guards would ever feel.

Every workshop had its own guards, but today there were several extra, wearing the black of the Imperial Guards. A pair were stationed at the mouth of Gem Lane, under the ornamental arch. A crush of sound came from beyond. The throngs of people on the main road seemed even more tightly packed from this angle.

A half dozen food carts, street vendors selling festival knickknacks, flower sellers peddling ropes of fragrant jasmine. More and more were coming, spilling from streets and alleyways, all sorts, pressing in with a hunger, up on their toes, trying to see—

It happened before I had a choice. The crowd pushed in and carried me with it.

Girlish screams came from women of all ages. Flutes and drums and the two voices of a sitar floated on the air.

Bodies, everywhere. An elbow in my neck. Sweat and perfume, the air thick, too thick to breathe—

The sky seemed so small. I gasped. I could die here without anyone realizing. I was—invisible—

And then, an inch of fresh air. The pressure lessened. A puff on my ear. “There you are. Easy, now.”

I shivered. Rane loomed over me, bracketing me with his arms. He seemed taller, larger—

His eyes were soft with pity.

I backed away into another body.

“Wait,” he said.

My mother’s ring was on. “How did you find me?”

He gave a helpless smile. “I looked.”

“That’s not—”

“Have you had a chance to give my regards to your boss?”

I didn’t want to work for him. He saw too much. “He—he can’t do it.”

His brows knitted together. “But he doesn’t even know what it is.”

“He—can’t—”

“You don’t understand—”

A gap opened between two women. I dove for it, and the crowd carried me forward. I glanced back once. Rane reached for me; his mouth opened, but no sound came out. It was drowned by the shrieking, the screaming, a wall of sound.

His fingertips brushed my elbow.

I pushed forward. At once the crowd parted, and I was pushing on air.

Momentum carried me forward, and my hands and elbows hit gravel. I scrambled onto my knees, my ears ringing, my heartbeat thudding in time with the drums—

Hooves glinting like knives. A horse so pale it was almost blue, rearing up. A silver hand gripping the reins—silver skin, iridescent. Snakeskin. A man—a beast—long silver hair, unbound, glinting—my mother’s voice, whispering, They only cut it when defeated—

A headdress like a cobra’s hood. The Serpent King. His eyes were like molten metal—overheated, aglow, piercing—burning—

My body was wrenched up to my knees. Rane bowed before the king. His hand gripped my neck and forced my head down.

“Forgive her, my king,” he said. “She cannot be blamed, for you have this effect on women.”

Rane dragged me back into the crowd, then wheeled on me. “Are you, perhaps, an idiot?”

Eyes were on me. Dozens of them. The entire crowd. My hands shook, and I squeezed my mother’s ring.

A warm weight settled on my shoulders, and a hood was drawn up over my head. All those eyes could no longer find me. A comforting scent enveloped me, softly aquatic, like a crisp lake surrounded by sandalwood and persimmon trees.

“Never mind,” came Rane’s voice. “You won’t be the last to throw yourself at the Serpent King, but at least today, you were the first. Look, are you all right?”

To be invisible—you can’t show what you feel.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine.”

A pause. “That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?”

“Thank you for your help. Please, I won’t keep you from the festivities.”

The crowd thinned as the bulk followed the Serpent King.

I ran.

“Wait!” Rane called.

I dove past a pair of Imperial Guards. He didn’t follow. So he was hiding from them.

Halfway to the Merchant District, I realized his cloak was still wrapped around my shoulders.

At the gates to the Palace Quarter, an attendant checked Galen’s invitation and waved us in.

Galen seemed to have finally gotten distracted from his line of questioning about Rane’s cloak. In my shock, I’d walked into the workshop with it on, and since then it’d been Where did you get it? Who were you with? You have a lover, don’t you?

I’d faked a laugh and tucked the cloak away in my room. I didn’t want to tell him about Rane. I knew he’d want to take the job. So I stayed quiet, and when it was time, I put on my servant’s livery and accompanied Galen to his summons.

Galen wore an ostentatious scarlet ensemble, with hints of violet that matched my livery. Poor Grimney had tried on his livery with hope in his eyes. It was three years old now, and Grimney had grown three feet taller and wider. Galen wouldn’t hear of it. I promised to bring Grimney back a select rock or two.

I’d spent the afternoon modifying my mother’s ring with the bands of gold and orichalcum. It was stronger now. Already one chipper young man had walked right into me with a puzzled “What?” and a boisterous matronly woman had stepped on my feet, blinking vaguely in my direction with a “So sorry, didn’t see you.”

Dusk made the shadows thick and violet, and the guests shone like stars in a night sky. Attendants lined the way, directing us to the Rose Palace. It was at full glitter: pink stone walls, a wealth of gleaming glass-paned windows.

A coil tightened in my belly as we entered.

A heady sweet scent enveloped me, of nectar and honey and burnt sugar. It came from the flowers spilling from vases, from sweet resins smoldering in braziers, from the teas and treats that appeared at Galen’s side on trays held by silent-footed attendants.

Someone was playing hand drums. Laughter and conversation floated on the air, along with the tinkling of water. We followed the sound to a central palazzo in all dark green tile, with a fountain that flowed endlessly.

Galen tensed.

Master Vyalis. A thin, unnaturally upright man, with close-cropped hair and fine, small features. His clothes were of an expensive, delicate weave, but without embroidery or ornamentation. His only adornment was extraordinarily thin golden-rimmed spectacles that evoked a jewelsmith’s magnifying glasses. And of course, his signature black gloves. Rumor was that the decades of jewelsmithing had left him with grotesque burns and scars, and his nails and fingertips were charred black and constantly bleeding.

My hands were scarred, but nowhere near that extent. But I hadn’t worked with jewels of the caliber Master Vyalis was no doubt used to.

There were nobles from each of the six kingdoms. As a river swirls and diverts around stones, the flow of people moved around a handful of women and men, each more striking than the last. On each of their chests was the rosette and fire, proudly displayed.

“Master Galen,” a voice called. “Is that you?”

Mirandel. She waved him over. There were rhinestones threaded through her hair and gleaming from a golden waist chain. Her emerald-green top hung off one shoulder, and her skirt was slung low on her hips. Her stomach was all muscle.

I thumbed my mother’s ring and followed at a distance.

“I’ve decided I want a pair of rings made. Wedding rings, with that snake-head clasp. Can you do it so that once it’s on, it can’t be taken off?”

One of her friends laughed. “Bit premature, isn’t it, Mirandel?”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Be prepared for victory, my dear.”

Galen cleared his throat. “I’d be glad to make you anything you wish.”

“The clasp . . . I want it so that if I place it on his hand, only I can remove it. And I’ll let him have the same power over me. Romantic, yes?”

Her friends made sounds of agreement.

My stomach churned. The serpent-head clasps were supposed to be about safety, security. Not this. Not little prisons.

She held her hand out. “Well, don’t you need my measurements?”

My brows pinched together. There was no need, not right now. We could get her measurements later, both hers and her groom’s, whenever she managed to ensnare one.

But Galen only bowed. “Of course.”

I swallowed a sigh. There’s no better way to measure ring size than to try them on. I had a set made out of iron, with half sizes, quarter sizes, and every increment in between. I dug it out and handed it to Galen.

Mirandel’s gaze caught on me. “Oh, Master Galen, go on and mingle. Your assistant can take care of me.”

The bundle of rings fell onto my palm. I kept my gaze on her ring finger.

My hands barely shook as I slid the first ring past her knuckles.

Her voice was honey. “It’s nice to see you, Aria.”

Ice ran down my spine. “I’m sorry, my lady, but my name is Saphira. This looks to be your size. Is it comfortable?”

“No, it’s too tight.”

I slid the next size up onto her waiting finger. “How is this?”

“You remind me of her. She was so aggressively uninteresting. It was like my eyes couldn’t bear to look at her. I hated that. I forced myself to look at her, to pay attention to her face. And the funny thing is, my eyes can’t bear to look at you in the exact same way. No,” she said, “still too tight.”

I went up a size. My stomach was wound into a knot. She’d recognized me by the power of my mother’s ring?

“I would be so interested to know what became of her. . . . Perhaps Lady Incarnadine would, too.”

My mouth was dry. “H-how is this size?”

She studied me. Her voice was steely, frustrated. “Why would you choose this life instead of what you could’ve had? You’re an assistant, not even an apprentice—why would you make yourself subservient to a man like Galen? There are men with more power. Lady Incarnadine would have bound one to you in marriage. You could have been a lady, a duchess, with land, servants, a household of your own. Look at what you’re wearing. I haven’t seen more wretched clothes.”

I should have been nothing to her. She had everything she ever wanted. But her eyes were searching me, investigating, like I had committed a crime.

Galen was too far away to help. He was gesticulating grandly with a drink in hand, already ensconced in a circle of admirers.

I chose my words carefully. “My lady, I don’t know your friend, but I’m sure anyone would be jealous of your life.”

Her hand encircled my wrist. “Are you? Are you jealous of me?”

Most definitely not. But she didn’t know—and she couldn’t know—that I was the true jewelsmith behind Galen. She didn’t know what jewelsmithing meant to me. “Yes.”

Her hand tightened; the bones of my wrist pressed together. “You’re still a bad liar.”

I flinched and waited for a blow. But a sudden hush had fallen over the party.

An icy wind ruffled hair and rustled gowns and shawls. Gooseflesh prickled on my skin.

I rose on my tiptoes. The Serpent King was head and shoulders taller than the next tallest person in the room. He was built on an inhuman scale. And though his sharp eyes and aquiline nose were human enough, they were framed by silver skin and hair. His cheekbones came to an unnatural point, and when his lips parted in an amused, mocking smile, they revealed pointed fangs. They didn’t part enough to reveal whether his tongue was forked or not, though I was sure someone would find out by the end of the night.

His cobra’s cowl headpiece and silken wrap gleamed with ornaments and beads, but he wore no jewels at all.

There was something unreal about him. He was everything the stories promised.

He and his kind—the divine peoples—had left us over a hundred years ago, when the great jewelsmith Darvald found a way to counteract the power they had over us. No longer were renowned poets and scholars stolen away and spirited to hidden kingdoms. No longer were babies whisked from their prams and replaced with grinning imps. No longer were kings and queens seduced on the eve of battle and returned bearing the twin marks of a snakebite, with their minds quite changed.

Under the Emperor’s command, Darvald trapped djinn in magic rings, in jewel-studded lamps. The serpent folk were lured by sweet music from jeweled flutes and hunted. The eagle people, household spirits, the little village imps, the fey of wild places—Darvald crafted cages for them all that let us use their power for our own purposes.

Until the Serpent King drew all the divine peoples inside the borders of his land and raised an enchanted barrier over his kingdom and erased it from our maps and our memories. It couldn’t be found; it couldn’t be entered.

And here he was. A fairy-tale beast come to life. His huntsmen flanked him, helmed figures in dark armor.

Mirandel released me, pulling the iron measuring ring from her finger and dropping it onto my palm. “The first size was the best,” she said without looking at me.

She rose to her full height, focused on the Serpent King.

A narrow escape. I whispered my thanks to the fates for the Serpent King’s timing, and made for the shadows, searching for Galen. We had to go.

All eyes were on Mirandel and the Serpent King.

She strode to him without a drop of fear. A heroine with blazing eyes, with steadfast purpose.

“My lord, in your honor . . . I have prepared for you a dance.”

The drums began, low like a heartbeat, and then came the strings, shimmering like a mirage over a sand dune.

I held my breath as her foot rose—embarrassed already, remembering her as a child—but then her foot came down gently, fluidly followed by the rest of her. She was enthralling. The stomping little gargoyle girl was gone, and in her place was a goddess.

For a moment, I was jealous. Hers would be a big life, the kind stories are written about. She was unafraid of anything.

The Serpent King wouldn’t be able to help falling for her.

I turned away.

Galen was with a ring of admirers. The air was hazy with incense smoke, and drink and compliments had loosened Galen’s lips. “. . . Vyalis is a washed up old man—he’s nothing—not anymore. Why, anything he has done, I can do better . . . I am the greatest jewelsmith in all the Empire.”

Dangerous words. His gaze was on his rapturous audience. I gestured at him. Shut up, Galen, please. Galen’s eyes slid right past me.

Footsteps sounded; a small man walked past me. He had the quiet demeanor of a powerful servant, and as he turned, the light caught on Incarnadine’s insignia embroidered into his sleeve.

Galen’s admirers pulled away one by one as they noticed him.

At last Galen turned. His face reddened.

“Master Galen,” the servant said. “Lady Incarnadine is very interested in what you have been saying. She wishes to have a word with you.”

4

Galen smoothed back his hair and rose. “Gladly.”

My body was frozen. I had the distinct feeling of watching a dog being led to its execution. Perhaps the dog barked too much, but it didn’t deserve what was coming.

The servant moved like a ghost through the gathered nobles, silent and untouchable. Galen followed with a jovial, swaying gait, finishing his drink before pressing it into the hands of a random footman.

I kept my distance as they made for the central palazzo and climbed wide stairs up to the shadowed second story. The air grew thick with incense smoke.

I could see everything from here. The finishing steps of Mirandel’s dance. Nobles shooting longing looks across the room. The Serpent King’s huntsmen, in their darkly glittering serpent-scale armor, arrayed around their king. The greater number of Imperial Guards watching each of the huntsmen.

The nobles up here were of a different type—most were older than those below, and they were more controlled, more serious of expression. I eavesdropped. Many were parents negotiating the weddings of their children, their bride prices and dowries, their alliances and common enemies. Some were here to negotiate a young spouse for themselves.

They turned a curious eye on Galen. I kept to the shadows, following.

Lady Incarnadine was leaning against the banister, watching all that happened downstairs. She was draped in pure white silk that bared her back, and her long black hair was braided and piled on her head like a crown.

I had expected the white armor she wore the first time I saw her. Stained with blood and guts.

As she was now dressed, any blade could find its way between her ribs.

At her side was a thin man wearing black gloves. He peered at Galen over his golden spectacles.

“My lady,” Master Vyalis said, “Master Galen has arrived.”

She turned. Through the smoky incense haze, her eyes glittered like diamonds.

“Master Galen,” she said in a low, amused voice. “Come closer.”

He did. I did not.

“The Emperor has heard of your prowess, your prodigious talents. He regrets that he has not given you a challenge worthy of your ability. He wishes to rectify this.”

To everyone else, Galen would’ve seemed to have merely puffed up, but I saw in his eyes a spark of surprise followed by quick calculation. “I am willing and ready for this honor.”

She crooked her gold-tipped fingers, and an attendant rushed over with the quick, tiny steps of one who wanted to unobtrusively materialize. The attendant knelt and, hands raised above her head, presented a wooden jewel box.

Galen startled. I guessed that from his perspective, a jewel box had appeared from thin air.

Lady Incarnadine opened the box. On a bed of velvet sat a dark yellow jewel of an old-fashioned cut. Beside it was a mangled mess of pale yellow metal. Probably a gold and silver alloy of some kind.

The jewel caught the light, and there was something . . . beckoning. . . .

Incarnadine’s voice came. “The gemstone alone induces a moderate hypnotic effect. But the setting was of a singular design. . . . It was last worn by the Lady Delphina. All whom she spoke to were compelled to obey her.”

At her prompting, another attendant unrolled a scroll. A drawing. A woman with medium-brown hair, eyes, skin. A plain face. Save the gleaming jewel at her throat, set in a necklace worn like a collar.

I’d never heard of a piece that could do what Incarnadine claimed. It seemed more fairy tale than truth.

“She was shot through the throat by an archer with the foresight to seal his ears with beeswax. Alas, that damaged the setting.”

Damaged? It was a knot of metal, half melted. No arrow did this, not even a flaming arrow, unless Lady Delphina happened to fall into a fire hot enough to be a jewelsmith’s forge and was then trampled by an elephant. But no one corrected Lady Incarnadine. No one dared. Perhaps that was why she didn’t need the armor—she knew we all remembered her blood-spattered and victorious.

Or perhaps everyone was too busy watching Galen. Master Vyalis wore a smile as spare as his designs.

It began to dawn on me what she was asking.

“The Emperor desires that this necklace be restored to its original state. But alas, even Master Vyalis was unable to do so.”

Master Vyalis’s smile dimmed. It did little to soothe the horror rising in my throat.

“If you succeed, then we must all agree that you are the foremost jewelsmith in the Empire. However, should you fail, should your words here today be proven falsehoods . . . you will be stripped of your title and your place on Gem Lane.”

Galen smiled like a cat. I couldn’t imagine why, unless he had suddenly developed a zest for living on the streets.

“My lady,” he said, “I have spoken no falsehoods. I request one additional boon upon my success.”

Lady Incarnadine’s brows rose into her hairline. “Yes?”

“When I succeed,” said Galen, “I wish to be granted the workshop currently belonging to Master Vyalis.”

“Why, you—” Master Vyalis took a single step before a raised finger from Lady Incarnadine stilled him.

“If you succeed,” she said, “then the workshop will be yours.”

Galen bowed. “Fear not, my lady. It will be done.”

“I can’t do it.” I said to my knees. I was curled up at the bottom of the workshop stairs. Three days had passed since the party, since Galen’s drunken boast, and every passing hour made it only more clear that it couldn’t be done.

“Of course you can,” Galen’s voice said from somewhere above and to the side. “You must. You know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to—I can’t.”

His footfalls came closer. “You will, Saphira.”

His voice was so sure. I looked up at him through the mass of my hair. How did he know? What did he see in me that I couldn’t see in myself?

Galen knelt before me, a strange, possessive look in his eyes. “The gods sent you to me, Saphira. They would not have if you couldn’t do this. It’s that simple.”

My heart fell. I knew Galen appreciated me, but sometimes I felt like what he appreciated was the gods, and I just happened to be the middleman. Though, this time, I wouldn’t have minded if the gods cut me out and did the work themselves.

Galen patted my knee. “Just keep at it.”

I nodded. What else was there to say?

“You just need a little motivation,” he said. “Let me show you.”

The second-floor rooms were Galen’s. At the back was a vast bedroom with a dressing room, and at the front was a sitting room that held various jewelsmithing odds and ends.

The drapes were drawn. He beckoned me to look through a gap in the curtains.

“Look at them,” he said. “All those people.”

They had started to gather the day after Galen’s boast, on the patch of Gem Lane between our workshop and Master Vyalis’s. The first day, the bravest of the bunch came into the shop with prying questions and not much interest in buying anything, until Galen had closed up and put a sign on the door that read “Closed for Very Important Business.”

Still they came to gawk. Folks from all corners of the city, most stopping for just a few moments. If I opened a window, the wind carried in voices telling the story of what they called the task, with Galen’s boasts growing wilder each repetition.

I didn’t have the faintest idea what they expected to see from the outside. Were they reading signs in the smoke coming out of the chimney? Watching for a flicker of the drapes?

“Do you see?” Galen asked from my side. “Our fame is being made, Saphira.”

He thrust the drapes apart and unlatched the window. I ducked away.

Screams of surprise came from below.

He leaned out and waved. Not a hair was out of place; he had shaved and dressed for this role. Sunlight glinted off his squarish jaw—had he oiled it?—and no matter how the wind blew, his hair stayed in its dramatic pouf.

They shouted questions at him until he raised both hands. “Thank you for your well-wishes. This is a delicate piece—you have heard how Master Vyalis gave up? Well, I will not give up. I am close. But the art takes great concentration, and I cannot be disturbed.” He paused dramatically. “Many of you wish to commission a piece from me. I understand, so please leave your name and the deposit with the guards. Thank you, my dears.”

Someone applauded, and then they all did. Galen shut the window and drew the curtains. He winked at me. “We’ll have Grimney stoke the fire, eh? Give ’em some fun.”

I didn’t know how this was supposed to help, and I didn’t really know what to say, so after a long moment of silence, I gave him a thumbs-up.

I climbed up to the third floor, to my rooms. Well, room, singular. It was once the attic, and a fireplace bisected the space. All the chimneys in the house were connected by the flue, which meant that sometimes, when it was quiet, I could hear Grimney singing to himself in the kitchen.

Toward the back was my bedroll, and beside it was a trunk that held my three dresses and my violet-and-gold servant’s livery. Rane’s cloak was folded on top—I needed to return it. And then there were the things I’d gathered over the years.

Childish things. A feather that seemed black until it caught the light, and then it shimmered purple and green. A wooden toy man, missing his arm, that I’d rescued from the gutter. When I held it, warm flashes of memory came to me, of being small and playing with someone whose face was only an impression.

There were several dried daisy chains, each braided in different patterns. Two dozen leaves of all different sizes and shapes, pinned to the wall in a neat line. Stuff that made something inside me spark with ideas, with designs. Stuff I’d have to toss, once we were kicked out of the workshop and were living on the streets.

The other side of the fireplace was where I spent most of my time. A round window that faced Gem Lane bathed the space in soft light. My worktable sat under it, my tools neatly arranged to one side.

They were all finely adjusted for me. The handles smooth and shaped to my palms, my fingers. The gravers honed to the angle I liked, the shaping tools, the hand files, the little anvil and hammer. The block of wax, the metal bucket of water on the floor. The polishing cloths in a neat line. Even the broom and dustpan were where I liked them.

This was the only place where I was myself. I took my mother’s ring off and placed it in its box, on a stand beside my table.

Galen had a much larger workstation downstairs, that connected to the showroom. He’d sometimes leave the door cracked so customers could peek in and see the chaos. A worktable as large as a bed, stuff scattered all over it in a way that made me itch. A huge forge carved to look like a beast’s mouth. All for show. Most jewelsmiths didn’t need a huge forge, unless they were doing military work, like embedding stones in hilts and in shields. I usually just used a blown lamp that let out a tongue of flame hot enough for most metals, and it could be set right on my tabletop. It was much more convenient.

I sat down.

Lady Delphina stared at me from where she was pinned above my worktable. The drawing lacked any sort of detail about the design of the necklace, save for relative dimensions, assuming the unfortunate lady was of average size and the artist of honest disposition.

I opened the lead-lined jewel box. The yellow jewel drew me in at once—my mind went soft, sound faded—I shut the lid.

Some jewels are easier than others. Rubies, for example, generally have a warming effect. A few special specimens with unique inclusions have been documented to have other effects, but for the most part, rubies are all pretty similar. I could influence the warming effect through two things: cutting the stone and the setting. If I shaped a ruby into a smooth cabochon, its warmth would spread evenly around it. If I cut the ruby into pointed facets, its warmth would be focused and directed. The setting would then modulate and direct the ruby’s power—controlling the strength of the warming effect and whether it was directed at the wearer or those in close proximity. That’s how a piece like Miss Pewter’s was made: she had requested rather large and powerful rubies, no doubt to signal her family’s wealth, but wanted them to do no more than bring a soft flush to her skin.

But this yellow tourmaline, with its unique inclusions, was a different beast. It wasn’t a matter of increasing or decreasing its effect. It wasn’t about directing its power, either—that could be easily done, and the jewel had already been cut in a way that suggested the power was focused on whoever stood directly before the wearer.

What Lady Incarnadine asked for was to hone its natural hypnotic power in such a way that the wearer could issue commands. . . . I didn’t understand how it was possible.

The question stumped me.

For days I thought on it, drafting sketch after sketch. I began to hear the murmur of the crowds out on the street as an echo inside my skull. The jewel mocked me.

On the fourth day, hazy from lack of sleep, I became convinced that jewelsmithing had left me. I couldn’t do it anymore. Galen’s gods had smote me for blaspheming.

“. . . let me tell you,” Galen was saying, “the parties this Season are like nothing I’ve seen. Due to the Serpent King, of course. He’s been charmed by Mirandel—good for us, you know—”

I startled at her name. I’d pushed thoughts of her to the side, mostly because I had reached the limit of how terrified I could be.

Galen took that for interest. “Yes, she’ll need those rings before long. Think of that! Our work on the Serpent King’s hand. We’ll have to remember to finish those soon,” he said meaningfully.

I stared at him.

He dropped his gaze and coughed. “Er, after Incarnadine’s task, of course. You know, I’ll let you get back to it.”

He shut the door to my room.

I found myself thinking of Mirandel’s rings. There was no point, because I couldn’t make anything anymore, and I had been an arrogant fool to ever call myself a jewelsmith, and the problem was that I’d have to take the serpent-head clasp design and make it in miniature, which would mean I’d need to refigure how the jewel was mounted, and I’d need to work out where to put the hinge, since a ring had to be rigid, unlike a necklace or a bracelet—Oh. It didn’t need to hinge, but it could merely press together and the serpent’s head would act like a lock. . . .

Dusk had fallen by the time I came back to myself. Mirandel’s rings were done. I’d made one in her size and one—judging by the Serpent King’s height and breadth—much larger. They nestled like baby snakes eating their tails.

My back was a knot and my thighs ached. I got up and stretched.

So. Apparently I could still jewelsmith. But I avoided Lady Delphina’s gaze. I gathered up the tray beside my door, saddened by the lovingly cut fruit that had long gone brown, and slumped down the stairs to the kitchen.

Poor Grimney. He hated coming up to the third floor, where the stairs narrowed, since he almost always scraped his rocky head against the ceiling.

I picked up the trail of rocks Grimney had left in his wake. They were of a concerning size. I was fairly certain that several of them had been his toes.

“Hullo, Grimney,” I said to the dark corner beside the oven, where a shoulder-high pile of mismatched stones seemed to have collected.

With a rumble, the pile rose to a towering height, and from the melon-shaped head came a sound like a boulder rolling down a gravel path. “Grrzzdhj?”

“I think we’re in trouble,” I said, dropping his toes on the kitchen table. “I can’t do it.”

“Krrdyndrr?” asked Grimney.

“Where would we run to?” I said. “And Galen draws so much attention. Can you imagine him living on the streets?”

“Grzzn, dzzyrn.”

I laughed. “We can’t leave him behind. What do you mean, why? We’re family, Grims. And . . . well, because . . . he taught me jewelsmithing. I wouldn’t have anything if it wasn’t for him.”

Grimney put his hand on my head, very gently. “Krrdyn.”

I patted his hand, feeling my spine crush. “I know I don’t owe him my life. But I do owe him.”

“Ddryn dyn dzzshn.”

“I’m not hiding behind him.” I crossed my arms. “You’re wrong. I’m not afraid to let people see me. I just prefer that they didn’t.”

Grimney set a steaming bowl before me. I slurped down the rice and lentil broth. A basket of bread appeared at my side, and I ate until I stopped feeling sorry for myself.

“All right,” I said. “Open up. Let me fix you.”

Grimney sat on the floor and removed the vaguely heart-shaped slab of slate in his chest. It revealed a hollow cavity, with a delicate lattice of gold and jewels. They were like his organs.

I crawled half in and got to setting him to rights. He hummed to himself and the sound enveloped me.

Taking care of him made me feel better. And if we did have to run, better that Grimney didn’t leave a trail that led the Imperial Guards right to us.

When I finished up, I swept up the gravel and dust and took it out back.

There came a rattling at the gate. A wrinkled little hand rose above the wood, waved hello and produced a wooden bowl. “Alms?” said a shaky voice.

“Yes, just hold on.” I grabbed the rest of the bread and ran back to open the gate.

A stooped, cloaked figure shuffled in.

“Here you are,” I said.

“I apologize,” he said, stepping forward and shutting the gate behind him. He straightened up to a formidable height and pulled his hood back. Dark hair in waves to his shoulders; dark, amused eyes; and a crooked smile that sent a tingle of surprise down my spine. “Please forgive me this little subterfuge.”

I crossed my arms. “Rane.” His hands were smooth and large. Had I imagined the wrinkled, weather-beaten hand? “Sneaking around is quite the habit with you, is it?”

“Think of it as a measure of my desire to meet with Master Galen.”

“I’m afraid Master Galen is rather busy at the moment. You might’ve heard if you went around front.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I’ve heard, everyone has heard. But Master Galen will want to hear what my boss has to offer.”

“I—Galen could lose the shop. Be stripped of his title and his home. Your boss can’t offer anything more important.”

Rane leaned in. “You might be surprised. I can’t tell you much. But it may be the most honorable thing any jewelsmith could ever do in their life.” His eyes glittered with purpose. “What I work for—what my boss works for—it is as right as the sun rising in the east. I promise you that. Galen would be remembered forever. How can any jewelsmith prefer making pretty little baubles for the whims of these silly nobles?”

His passion startled me.

Rane smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I do not come empty-handed.” He produced a pendant with a faceted purple stone. “If Galen would be so kind as to meet—”

Really? “Bribery?”

“Don’t pretend. I have heard that Galen is quite receptive to such . . . gifts.”

I glanced at the pendant. “First of all, you’re wrong. Neither Galen nor I believe in bribery. Second, your pendant . . . If it’s a purple topaz, which I’d guess it is from the cut of the stone and that you haven’t bothered to get it re-engraved—then it’s not worth very much except to those fools who want to make their eyes a different color. If it’s a purple corundum, then it’s far too valuable—and dangerous—to offer as a bribe. If it’s the first, then Galen won’t look twice, and if it’s the second, you never intended to gift it in the first place.”

He gave me a long, considering look. “You realized all that with just one glance?”

“I’m a good assistant,” I said quickly. And to keep him from asking any more questions, I went on the offensive. “And who is it that you work for?”

A long pause. “I can’t say.”

“How can I trust you if you won’t tell me that?”

Rane’s lips curved in a soft smile. “My dear little peafowl, how can I trust you with that, when you won’t even tell me your name?”

I wanted to say, You don’t need to know me.

“Saphira?” Galen stood silhouetted in the back door, red-cheeked, fuming. Behind him, like a stone wall, was Grimney, fidgeting.

Rane strode forward. “Master Galen. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I have a job—”

“You and everyone else, boy. So you thought you’d seduce my assistant?”

Dumbfounded, I said, “What?”

Palms up, placating, Rane said, “I’m afraid you are mistaken—”

“I saw you whispering sweet little nothings in her ear.”

Sweet what? “Wait, what—”

Galen talked over me, shooting daggers at Rane. “I know your game. I’ve been in your shoes. Find yourself a plain little girl, an easy target for a bit of charm, use her to get what you want—”

Rane drew himself up. His smile was gone, his eyes cold. “That is not my game, sir. You dishonor your assistant. And I see that perhaps I was wrong. You are not the man for the job.”

Galen said, “Leave, before I call the guards.”

“Goodbye, Saphira,” said Rane. “I doubt we’ll meet again.”

He whirled on his heel, and left through the gate.

Galen dove into a lecture the minute I was inside. “This isn’t the time to take a lover, Saphira. I understand—and perhaps I’ve overlooked it—that you’re a woman grown now. You may want certain things . . . but surely you know the work must come first. If you want marriage, a wedding . . . well, we shall see. . . .” Galen went on, a strange, panicked look in his eye. “Remember, we’re a team.”

“Of course, Galen,” I said vaguely. I didn’t bother to tell him how wrong he was. Something Rane said stuck in my ear. It is as right as the sun rising in the east. “Sounds great. I think I—I have to go.”

He sputtered as I ran upstairs.

The jewel box on my worktable. I lifted the lid, and the yellow tourmaline glittered at me.

Why was Rane’s comment sticking with me? The sun did always rise in the east. That was an immutable fact.

I’d taken some things about the jewel as fact. The way it was put in the box, for one. I turned the jewel upside down. The backside of the jewel had facets that came to a flattened plateau.

There. The angle of the facets didn’t make sense. They should’ve come to a point, and the jewel would’ve been worn with the point directed at the wearer’s vocal cords. Some time, long ago, the jewel had been recut by a second jewelsmith. I’d taken what Lady Incarnadine said as fact, that the jewel had been untouched and only the setting needed to be fixed.

I had to recut the jewel. The setting would then need to lower the drawbridge, so to speak, of a person’s mind. And then the jewel could do the rest.

I drew up a dozen designs. Feverish, mad with inspiration, desperate to hold on to the idea, the feeling, the inspiration—like bottling a whisper.

They were all so close—I knew in my teeth that they were almost there—it was like . . . like I was plotting a path on a map. One route dropped into a deep gorge, another hit an unscalable mountainside, yet another ended at a rockslide that destroyed the way. Dead end after dead end.

But I finally understood where I had to go. Where the path had to lead. A fog shrouded the path, but I had to find it. Lady Delphina smiled at me from the sketch, and I drew closer.

An image, a waking dream, a vision. Lady Delphina shrouded in milky veils, nothing distinct about her but the yellow jewel at her throat. It glittered and glimmered and drew me in. I wanted to lift her veil. My fingers brushed the edge, and I drew it up by inches. The veil rose over the curves of her chest, then over her collarbones, then—there it was.

The necklace. Whole and distinct.

I jolted back to myself. I needed—a new parchment. The stub of charcoal flew across it, my memory flowing onto paper. I didn’t breathe. But the design had seared itself into my mind. I couldn’t forget it, even if I wanted to.

There it was.

I sat looking at it for I don’t know how long and then I stumbled downstairs, lightheaded.

Galen dropped his glass on his foot, splashing amber liquid on his trousers. He cursed. “Saphira?”

I met his worried eyes. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

5

Galen took the news well; so well in fact that he decided he no longer had to play the part of an eccentric artist cooped up in his workshop and instead went shopping. Packages upon packages were delivered on our stoop, the couriers lingering as if they could snatch a peek of Lady Incarnadine’s jewel from the front window.

Galen showered himself with gifts, as was his way, but he also bought Grimney a whole pile of semiprecious stones that Grimney popped like they were sugared sweets.

To my surprise—really, my absolute astonishment—Galen bought me several articles of clothing—two fine skirts with matching tops, nicer than anything I’d ever had, close enough to my size but a little long in the leg, like he’d bullied a dressmaker into selling him pieces meant for another, slightly taller, customer. And then there was the gown. It was horribly ornate, in pale lilac, heavily embroidered. I assumed he had temporarily lost his mind and would take it back shortly. He also bought me boots, a pearl hair comb, pots of carmine and kohl—strange things that had begun to take over a corner of my room with the steadfast forward march of an invading army.

Galen hovered and chatted my ear off every time he delivered a parcel, something about our new life together, but I’d stopped listening about three days ago.

The necklace consumed me. I think it really, truly, wanted to eat me up. Jewels have a personality, which you’re not really supposed to admit out loud, since it’s one of those things that most people never notice and therefore find it pretentious of you to do so. But it’s true.

This jewel was nasty. Even shut tight in its lead-lined box, I could almost feel it seething about the way I’d recut it. I’d nearly finished the goldwork, five teardrop shapes with careful embossing, which I’d set in silver. The design was not unlike a peacock’s tail; it would be five sections, the tourmaline in the center, flanked by blue beryl to amplify the wearer’s voice.

It would take another day to finish. And then would come the moment of truth, when I set the tourmaline. The more powerful the gem, the greater the chance of recoil. Most smaller rubies, for example, were always trying to burn you, but they did so in a playful way. This jewel, however, would take the tiniest flaw as an invitation to, I don’t know, hypnotize me into gnawing off my own hand.

Honestly, that would be a fairly lucky outcome. I’d just borrow a trick from Master Vyalis and get a nice pair of gloves. With enough padding, no one would notice, and with enough time, I was sure I’d learn to jewelsmith one-handed.

The part of me that knew jewels, that felt their personalities and understood what they wanted—that part of me was confident in my design. The other part of me, the one that always knew where the exits were in any room, was shaking like a leaf in a monsoon because my design looked nothing like the drawing of Lady Delphina.

I’d know soon enough which was right. Or the jewel would melt my mind and I’d know nothing at all. A coin toss, really.

On the positive side, the necklace gave me an excuse not to think about Mirandel. I’d pushed her out of mind as far as she’d go, which was somewhere behind my left ear, where she whispered little threats that I ignored but notably involved dancing on my corpse.

That excuse lasted until I caught a glimpse of movement out on the street. A pair of prancing white horses pulled a gleaming pearly-white carriage that bore the crest of the Rose Palace. It rolled to a stop right before our workshop, and Mirandel got out.

I ducked down, my heart hammering. I hated her for recognizing me. And I feared her. She’d turned my being invisible from something that protected me into something that marked me.

I’d just wait for her to leave before I went downstairs. I didn’t have to see her.

“Saphira!” Galen bellowed. “Bring Mirandel’s rings! And make some tea!”

Oh, horsepiss.

I gathered her rings, then, out of an abundance of caution, doubled back and gathered up the pieces of the collar and shoved everything into the jewel box with a few of my sketches.

I snuck downstairs. Galen was waiting for me at the landing.

He pointed over his shoulder as he strode to the door. “Put it on my worktable.”

“Wait—” I started.

He opened the door. “What a surprise! Come, in.”

I dove for the shadows of the hallway and sprinted to the kitchen.

Grimney was organizing his new stones by color, and he jumped when I entered.

“Tea, Grimney,” I hissed.

Grimney got to it, and I inched my head out of the doorway. Mirandel and Galen were chattering in the entryway. Galen gestured for her to come into the showroom.

That was my cue.

On tiptoe, I snuck into Galen’s workroom. There were two entrances; the little door from the hallway that I took, and the large double doors with frosted glass that led in from the showroom. I crouched so they wouldn’t see my silhouette through the glass.

When Mirandel’s silhouette took a seat, I made my move.

A layer of dust covered everything, but there wasn’t time to do more than clear a place for the tourmaline’s jewel box and the pieces of the necklace. Instead of stacking my sketches neatly like I did on my own worktable, I strewed them around, on the floor and across the table, in what I hoped was an artistic way.

Mirandel’s rings went in a small jewel box on the edge of the table, in clear sight of the double doors. I gave myself a moment to eavesdrop.

Their voices were muffled.

“. . . honored you would visit. I hear the Serpent King is keeping you rather busy.”

Mirandel laughed. “I don’t let my time be monopolized by any one man.”

“I daresay many men would be delighted to know that the rumors are false.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“So a wedding date has been set?”

“What long ears you have, Master Galen—”

A crash came from the kitchen. Oh, Grims.

I hurried back, half-crouched, on tiptoes, to the kitchen.

At Grimney’s feet were the remains of a teacup. The handle was still pinched between his stone fingers.

“It’s all right,” I said. “No worries. I’ll just get another—”

Grimney lurched forward, blocking my hand.

Oh. My hands. Dark with fine metal dust and soot and whatever dust was on Galen’s worktable. I scrubbed them in the kitchen sink, where, under interrogation by hot water and lemony soap, a dozen new scrapes and cuts made themselves known. My nails went from dark gray to light gray, and that was as good as it would get.

I set the tray quickly and held it out to Grimney. “Here, it’s all good. You can take it out.”

He shook his head.

“Oh come on, please?”

“Gzlen grzzen.”

“I know he doesn’t like it, but it’s just this one time.”

Grimney wrung his hands until one of them popped off. He hid it guiltily behind his back.

Galen rang the bell.

I gave Grimney a dirty look—regretting it immediately when his lower lip trembled—and took the tray out.

“Here’s the tea,” Galen said cheerfully as I walked into the showroom. “How many sugars?”

“Two, thanks.” Mirandel said, flicking her long, glossy hair over one shoulder. “It’s just you, isn’t it? I hear you have no apprentices. Just an assistant?”

I poured the tea out and handed a cup to her without once meeting her gaze.

Galen said, “Yes, it’s just me. My dear Saphira takes care of me.” He patted my arm, and I nearly sloshed tea on his trousers. “And I have a golem for a cook.”

Mirandel laughed. “How eccentric.”

I moved away, standing by the door like a proper servant. My skin crawled where Galen had petted it. Since when was I my dear?

“Well, I know why you’re here.” Galen stood and strode into his workroom, leaving the doors cracked just enough to offer Mirandel a peek.

She took it without shame, craning her neck from her seat. I stared at her through my eyelashes, waiting for her to move in for the kill, but she didn’t once glance my way.

Galen reappeared bearing a small box, which he opened with a small flourish, tilted just so to capture the light.

Her rings shone; the jewels in the serpents’ eyes gleamed and glittered.

Mirandel gasped and took them reverently. “Good gods, Galen. How did you have the time?”

“How could I not?” Galen said as he retook his seat. “If you hadn’t, Lady Incarnadine wouldn’t have given me such an opportunity.”

Mirandel tore her eyes away from the rings, and her demeanor changed. “Yes. In truth, that is why I am here.” She took a deep breath and leaned in. “I have come to advise you, if you will forgive my presumptuousness. You must go and apologize to Lady Incarnadine. Grovel properly, and she will be merciful. Perhaps enough that she will let you keep this place. You are a good jewelsmith—one of the best we have—and she will recognize that. You’ll take a hit, of course. No one will dare commission you for some time. But if you can hold out for, oh, six months or so, and if your work remains at this level, they will be back.”

Galen’s eyes gleamed. “I thank you most kindly for your advice. But there is no need. The task that Lady Incarnadine asked of me will be completed soon.”

Mirandel huffed. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I’m on your side. She doesn’t expect you to actually do it. She’s trying to teach you a lesson. Vyalis is her little pet.”

“Nevertheless,” Galen said, growing slightly more pompous with every breath, “it will be done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mirandel’s eyes narrowed. “You do know that piece was originally made by the Great Master Darvald—”

I choked on my spit.

Mirandel continued without pause. “With respect, Master Galen, no matter how nice your work is, how good you may be, you can’t expect anyone to believe you’ve done it. Drop the charade, and we can figure out how to save you.”

I was stuck on Darvald. Darvald, the legendary jewelsmith, whose work drove the divine peoples into the Serpent Kingdom.

Okay, so my design was wrong. Mystery solved, and I didn’t even have to lose a hand to know for sure. No one was on Darvald’s level.

I was with Mirandel. Galen needed to go beg Incarnadine for mercy, instead of sitting there with that cocky smile.

Mirandel said, “Before Vyalis, another jewelsmith tried to do it. They found him bent over his table, eyes open, not a thought in his head. Three months he stayed like that, with his assistants pouring soup in his mouth, until he finally choked and died.”

She was talking about Master Joonis. Two years ago, his head assistant took over his shop under mysterious circumstances.

Galen’s smile only grew. “If you’re so sure I can’t do it, why help me?”

Mirandel leaned back. “Don’t mistake me. I offer my help, but not for nothing. I want your assistant.”

My heart stopped.

The smile dropped from Galen’s face. “That’s out of the question.”

Mirandel’s gaze met mine. “You do know that she’s an Imperial Ward. A runaway. Harboring her will bring Incarnadine’s wrath down on your head.”

I would’ve felt less exposed if I was standing there naked.

Galen laughed. “Saphira, an escaped ward? Please.”

His gaze bored into the side of my face, but I couldn’t look away from Mirandel.

“Why?” I whispered.

Her lips curled in a smirk. She rose, tossing her silken hair. “You have a choice to make, Master Galen. Give Saphira to me, unharmed, untouched, and I’ll help you keep your shop. Or, Lady Incarnadine will take her and your livelihood both. You have a day to decide.”

She strode out the door and paused on the threshold. “Oh, yes. My handmaiden will be along shortly with payment for the rings. Lovely work.”

Galen shut the door.

A long moment of silence stretched between us.

“Saphira,” Galen said, “is this true?”

My voice was stuck somewhere deep in my belly, and it wormed its way through my teeth. “Yes.”

“You hid this from me?”

Hysterical laughter was bubbling up in me. Did I hide this from him? What kind of a question was that? Of course I did. Should I have danced on the rooftops, singing, I ran away from Lady Incarnadine, ’cause she killed my family, please don’t send me back?

Of course I didn’t tell him the truth. Instead, I made myself valuable to him. So if he ever learned my secret, I would be worth more to him than the reward Lady Incarnadine would give him.

But I didn’t know what he would do. If I looked at him, I was sure I’d see him mentally weighing the scales. Weighing me. If I was worth it.

My mouth was sour with bile. I managed to say, “I won’t go back.”

Galen’s hands found my arms, and I stiffened. “I wouldn’t give you up,” he said. “You must know that. The gods gave you to me, and I don’t take that lightly. And it doesn’t matter, really. We’ll just have to do it at once. Not ideal, of course, but you already have your dress, and Brother Feredin owes me a favor. He’ll come.”

My mind turned this over very, very slowly. “I—I don’t understand.”

“The law is clear,” Galen explained. “Once a ward is wed, legally they’re part of their spouse’s family. The Emperor’s claim ends. You’ll be safe.”

My ears rang. “You want me . . . to get married?”

His lips curved in a stilted smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to notice that you’re quite grown now. But of course, you should have a right to the workshop and my money—our money. We’re a team.”

I met his eyes. “You want me to marry . . . you?”

A flicker of annoyance. “Goodness, Saphira, don’t act like we haven’t discussed it. If this is about that man, forget him. What can he offer you? I know you. You want to live like a princess in a tower, away from everyone. I’ve given you that. I’ll keep giving you that. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

My head spun. Discussed it? What had Galen been chattering about these past days, when he’d hovered over me? And what man—did he mean Rane?

In his eyes was an absolute certainty that what he was saying made perfect sense. That it was reasonable, even. “Don’t worry anymore. Everything will be fixed.”

And nothing would have to change. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

I shook out the lilac dress. Thin scraps of fabric floated down, scraps the dressmaker had placed between its folds so the embroidery wouldn’t catch. It was so stiff with embroidery that, when I fanned out the skirts and straightened the bodice, the dress stood up on its own. It hardly needed me in it.

Oh, horsepiss. Now that I was paying attention, it was obviously too fine to be anything but a wedding dress.

I’d had warning. If I’d just paid attention.

My stomach heaved, and I pinched my nose until the feeling went away.

Galen was right. This solved all our problems.

My hands shook. I lay down on my bed and counted my breaths. One . . . two . . .

Maybe not breathing was the answer. I flipped around and buried my head in my pillow. Something rustled under me.

I drew it out. It was Rane’s card, only a little crumpled. A tiny hope rose in me, like catching a glimmer of a distant candle in the middle of a dark night. I didn’t need to marry Galen if I just . . . ran away again? Told Rane the truth about my jewelsmithing? Told him I could do the job? And then what? Once that job was done, I’d be without a home and with no protection against Lady Incarnadine.

It didn’t make sense. Galen’s plan made sense.

But by the gods, I didn’t want to marry him.

A heavy tread came up the steps and then a hesitant knock came at my door. Grimney squeezed himself through the doorframe.

“How do we get out of this?” I asked him.

All the world seemed so small suddenly. My room was so small. The worktable that I adored, my collection of stuff, all of it. If I married Galen, I could keep it. He would save me from Lady Incarnadine. But I—

Downstairs, the door banged open, and Galen’s voice was joined by others.

I whispered to Grimney, “I won’t do it. I won’t.”

Footfalls sounded on the stairs, and then Galen stood in my doorway. He was wearing a long jacket and trousers in ivory, with embroidery that perfectly matched the lilac dress. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

The words came out of me with no planning, no way for me to soften them. “I don’t want to get married.”

He shut the door behind him. “Enough nonsense, Saphira. It’s all been decided, everything is ready, the priest is waiting at the temple. Take that off and put this on. You know how much it cost? There are noblewomen who don’t have dresses as nice as this.” He held out the lilac dress.

“We could—” My mouth was so dry. I swallowed. “We could run away. Go to a different town, far away. Start over.”

Galen sighed. From below, someone yelled his name, and Galen went to the door and yelled back, “We’re coming! One moment.” When he turned back, his expression was calm, patient. “Saphira. There is no place you can go that Lady Incarnadine won’t find you. No one can even leave the city without her knowing. And even if we did, we’d leave everything we worked for. There are no jewelsmiths outside the city. We could go to some backward village and do what? Remember: I have a purpose on this earth—and you are here to help accomplish it.”

I was shaking. I had to get ahold of myself, but I couldn’t think. There were tricks to being invisible—I knew them all—but I didn’t know how to disappear entirely.

A flicker of impatience in his eyes. “Have I ever hurt you?”

“N-no,” I said.

“Then do as I say.” His hand closed around my arm, and he pulled me toward the lilac dress. “Put this on, and let’s go downstairs. They’re waiting.”

His hand tightened. I yanked myself free. A ripping sound—my sleeve tore at the shoulder. The tear went across to my collarbone, and cold air brushed my skin.

The back of my legs hit my worktable. My fingers brushed a handle—I gripped it.

Galen’s voice was like ice. “What are you going to do with that?”

I raised it between us. A tiny hammer. “You’re scaring me.”

“You’re being extremely ridiculous, Saphira.” He reached for me—

I swung the hammer. It caught his cheek. Not very hard, but enough. Enough for darkness to enter his eyes.

He grabbed my wrist and brought it down hard on my worktable. Once—twice—I let go of the hammer—and again—

Something cracked.

My mother’s ring.

And then Galen was rising into the air. Grimney lifted him by the scruff of his neck, and Galen’s eyes widened with fear. “Put me down.”

Grimney looked to me.

Galen twisted in the air, swinging his fists. He shouted, “Put me down!”

Still Grimney waited for me. “Grzzy?”

Galen shouted louder, “You obey me. I paid for you. You belong to me.”

“Galen,” I said. “Please. I don’t want to get married.”

There was a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. Dark, cold, possessive. “You don’t have a choice.” He took a deep breath and shouted, “Guards!”

Grimney hit him. Galen’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor.

I dropped to my knees, but it was okay. Galen was still breathing.

Slowly, I got to my feet. My vision blurred with tears. I hated myself for crying. It was one of the oldest lessons I’d learned: people don’t notice what they don’t want to notice. Galen had never cared about me, not me, not truly. I worked so hard for him, because . . . because . . . I wanted to believe he treasured me. Because he saved me from Lady Incarnadine. But now I had to save myself.

A commotion came from downstairs. Footfalls on the stairs, growing closer. A male voice called, “Galen?”

“We’re all right,” I shouted, wiping my face. “He’s, uh, helping me get dressed.”

The voice came. “Who called for the guards? Where is he?”

Crud. I met Grimney’s gaze. We were doomed.

I flew into action. The biggest bag I owned—I dumped out the measuring rings, the odds and ends, and filled it quickly with whatever I could reach. My tools. A change of clothes. The lilac dress? I could sell it.

I crumpled it into a ball and shoved it in. It strained the seams.

My foot slid on a piece of paper. Rane’s card. I shoved it in my pocket, and then I grabbed his cloak, too. It was big and anonymous.

“Dwyggr?”

I spun. “Oh, Grims.” He couldn’t come with me. But he couldn’t stay. I didn’t know what Galen would do to him when he woke. “You’re too big to come with me—I mean, you’re perfect. But—”

He held himself very still. A rumble came from deep in him, a crush of rock on rock, growing louder and louder. A crack—

I flung my arms up, protecting myself from what felt like small explosion.

A dust cloud cleared. A pile of rocks stood where Grimney had been.

“Oh gods, Grimney!” My heart dropped. I’d killed him?

Movement came from the rubble. A tiny Grimney bounced out, arms spread. He was gleaming, glittering, made up of only the semiprecious stones he’d eaten, bound together with thick veins of gold. All the sturdy brown rock had been left behind. He had one amber eye and one of pale white, and his grin took up half his plum-sized head.

He tucked himself into a ball and rolled happily onto my foot.

“That was very melodramatic.” I picked him up and put him in my pocket.

I ran down the stairs, barreling through a priest who was coming up. He shrieked something at me. My feet skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps.

A handful of people—Galen’s friends—stood before the main door. “What ho!” A jovial redheaded man blocked it. “What’s this?”

I spun on my heel and threw myself down the hallway, out the back door, and into the shadows of the alleyway.

I was at the mouth of Gem Lane when shouts came from the workshop. “Guards! Guards!”

6

My foot slid on cobblestone, and I caught myself on a stone wall, scraping my palm. The street was wet with drizzle, and now that I was paying attention, I found the damp had worked its way into my hair, droplets beading on my neck, sinking into the collar of my cloak. Rane’s cloak.

I didn’t know how long I’d been walking, or where I was. Grimney’s head poked out of my pocket, and his beseeching gaze was fixed on me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Also, I don’t want to talk about it.”

The past went in a box that got bolted shut and shoved deep where I never had to think about it ever again. Those were the rules.

“And besides,” I said, “we need to find Rane.”

Grimney’s head disappeared, and I felt him rummaging around in my pocket. He resurfaced with a silver rectangle: Rane’s card. One corner had been gnawed on, by the looks of it, by someone with stones for teeth. But the address was legible.

Going to see Rane was something of an impulse, but the more I thought about it, the smarter it seemed. He needed a jewelsmith, and I needed to do something other than cry and wait for Galen’s workshop guards or Lady Incarnadine’s Imperial Guards to hunt me down and sentence me to marriage or death.

The address took us back to the city, to a shabby little corner of the Merchant District, where a green door stood squashed in between two sprightlier buildings. The paint was peeling off in strips, and someone had long ago pried the jewel out of the large brass doorknocker that now hung crookedly.

I knocked anyway. There was no sound from within—I leaned closer, straining my hearing.

A wretchedly sewer-like stench wafted from my side, followed by a tug at my sleeve. “What’cha doin’ that for?” said a grubby-looking kid who seemed to have materialized from the gutter. Snot dripped down from his nose, leaving a streak that was clearer of dirt than the rest of his face.

“It’s not really your business, is it?”

He sniffled. “Tha’ door is my business, lady.”

I glanced at Rane’s card and then to the number painted above the door. They were the same.

“Where’d ya get tha’?” Lightning quick, he grabbed it out of my hand and danced away.

I stalked after him. “That’s mine.”

He peered at me over the top of the card, which now was covered in dark fingerprints. “Yer not a jewelsmith.”

Very casually, I asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Yer too young. And yer dressed wrong.”

“How would you know?”

“I seen the others.”

“What others? Other jewelsmiths?”

He shrugged.

“Do you know Rane?”

He shrugged again, this time shiftily.

“Will you take me to him?”

“Only s’posed to take jewelsmiths.”

“But I am a jewelsmith. Look.” I dug out a few of my tools.

Fast as a viper, his hand darted out, and I yanked them out of his reach. Thwarted, he stuck his finger in his ear and dug around. “Yer no jewelsmith.”

“But if I was, and you didn’t take me, wouldn’t Rane be mad?”

“Rane’d be mad if I took ya and ya weren’t, too.”

I held his gaze; he didn’t blink. But a smirk spread across his cheeks once my eyes began to water. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll prove it to you.” But I didn’t have jewels or ingots. I should’ve thought to nick some from the storeroom.

Grimney poked his head out of my pocket.

I had an idea. “Grims, could you spare a stone? The smallest you have should be fine.”

He thought for a long moment and then in a frog-like manner, spat out a small amethyst flake. The boy laughed delightedly. Good. Grimney crept down my skirt and rolled around on the street for his entertainment, distracting him.

I unspooled a bit of gold thread from the dress, from a discreet part of the skirt that hopefully wouldn’t keep me from getting a good price for it.

I had no fire, so I braided the thread until it was thick enough and used it to encircle the amethyst in gold like lace. It became a small necklace. The amethyst had little to no power, at most it might give the smallest of protections from intoxication.

“There,” I said, holding it out to the boy. “Believe me now?”

His eyes were wide. He reached for it.

I pulled it back. “It’s yours, once you bring me to Rane.”

He sniffled thoughtfully. “Fair ’nuff, lady.”

He took off. I pulled my hood tight, scooped up Grimney, and set off after him.

We made our way to the parade grounds right outside the Palace Quarter, where a miniature city of tents had sprouted up for the Season. These were great tents, grand ones, made to house nobles who were too minor or too paranoid to stay in the Rose Palace. And then there was the support staff, the maids, the cooks, the bodyguards that rode with each visiting noble from their lands to the capital city.

Imperial Guards mingled with personal guards wearing the colors of near every noble house.

I made sure my hood covered me well. The boy led us deep into the colorful, narrow lanes made by the backsides of the tents. Fabric flew in my face—someone’s laundry—and I learned to duck. Conversations filtered through the air, in all dialects and twangs. The smells of cuisines from all across the Empire mingled and made my stomach growl.

Tents of all colors and styles; the squat style preferred by the desert nobles, the tall steepled type for withstanding heavy rains, the ornate multipeak styles preferred by the rich nobles of the plains.

The boy stopped at a small beige one-room tent that looked like it was trying to shrink in on itself, lest anyone notice it.

Inside was a small table with two chairs.

“Wait here,” he called over his shoulder as he darted back out.

Waiting in a room that had all the personality of a holding cell took more trust than I was capable of. Or maybe I didn’t like taking orders from a kid. Anyway, I followed him. He turned down a corridor of three tents: sandy beige, faded navy, maroon. Turned right. Pale white, splotchy green, deep blue. Dusty orange, goldenrod yellow, faint pink. My head spun with colors, with patterns.

For having such small legs, the boy sure could run. Each time I turned a corner, his grubby little head disappeared around the next.

My shoulder ached with the weight of my bag, and with every stride some tool jabbed at my thigh. I would surely bruise, but I was more worried about my tools jangling against each other. I hated that I had run out without wrapping them properly in leather—it was so stupid—and then my mind conjured an image of Galen looming over me—

No. The past is dead.

A stitch in my side slowed me down. I was lost. I turned a corner, and there he was, standing before a dead end. The tents on either side made a corridor the color of desert sand, and at the end, cutting off the path, was a tent the dark bluish-green of an oasis.

A massive tent, impressive even from the backside. It had four domes, each flying a thin silver flag, like a serpent.

My heart thudded. This was the tent of the Serpent King.

The boy had pulled the edge of the tent up enough to shimmy his head and shoulders in. He shouted, “I got one!”

A muffled bit of cursing came from inside. Then a man’s voice: “This isn’t a good time, Pod.”

“But she’s a real jewelsmith! She’s waiting!” The boy wriggled himself back out from under the tent.

A seam appeared in the blue-green tent, and a tall figure slipped out of it. They were clad in a heavy cloak that shadowed their features.

Shock had turned me to stone. I thumbed my mother’s ring, but instead of finding comfort, I found the jagged edges of the crack. Anyone could see me very, very clearly.

Oh, crowfeathers. I gathered my remaining wits and backed away.

“Saphira?” The tall figure pulled his hood down to reveal dark waves and amused eyes.

Pod stammered, “I told her to wait!”

“Hello, Rane,” I said faintly. It seemed a bad idea to be rude to the Serpent King’s men, but I had to get away. “I just—I came to say . . . Galen can’t take the job. He’s so sorry. I’ll just be going.”

“Wait!” shouted the boy named Pod, sprinting and cutting off my exit with his hands thrown wide. “You promised, lady.”

“Oh, yes, right.” I dug in my pocket for the gold and amethyst necklace.

Pod wiped his nose, smearing his snot in a line across his cheek, and held out that same hand to me.

I lowered the necklace into his grubby palm. “There you go. I’ll just—”

Rane plucked the necklace out of his hand. “What’s this?”

Pod scrambled up his leg, reaching for it. “She made it fer me!”

“You saw her make it?”

Pod, the betrayer, nodded.

“Suddenly, so much makes sense,” Rane said, closing the distance between us. He returned the necklace to Pod and followed it with a coin. “Go on, then.”

“Thankee, sir,” said Pod, bowing as he backed up and disappeared around the corner.

“I offered him a bath once,” Rane said. “He took my coin, went to the bathhouse, came back gleaming—his hair’s a light brown, actually—and the next day he was like that again. It’s ash, I think, from firepits. Mixed with a bit of grease from who knows where.”

“It’s smart,” I said.

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Makes him invisible enough. And the smell probably makes guards hesitate, for just a second, when they try to catch him. That second’s enough to slip away.”

“It makes sense,” he said, and he was looking at me with a curious smile, as if we were sharing a joke. “That you’re the jewelsmith.”

A tense pause. “Ha,” I forced, “funny. No, I’m not. That necklace was something an apprentice can make.”

“And you knew so very much about my little pendant.”

“Any assistant knows that much,” I said feebly.

“You didn’t come here to tell me Galen wouldn’t take the job. That was quite evident from his manner. No, you came for the job yourself. But you’re afraid of who you might end up working for.”

I dragged my gaze down from the silver flags flying beyond his head. “I don’t know anything. I mean, who do you work for? Actually, don’t tell me—I don’t need to know. I’m going.”

“You know who I work for.”

“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t.”

He smiled. “I promise, he’s not what he seems. His bite is pretty bad, but he doesn’t bark at all.”

I felt the blood draining from my face.

“I’m sorry,” Rane said, “that was a little snake joke. I mean, his bite is bad, but he doesn’t go around biting people, that’s all propaganda—hey, wait—wait. Is that my cloak?”

I stopped in my tracks. “Uh. No?”

“It is. My mother sewed it for me, I recognize the wonky hem.”

Curses. I unhooked the cloak’s clasp and hesitated. He’d see my dress, the torn fabric, and he’d know something happened. But the last thing I needed was the kind of punishment that the Serpent King would dole out if I stole from one of his men.

I unwrapped it from my shoulders and handed it over.

Rane sucked in a breath.

“I ran into a—a nail,” I explained. “It tore.”

His gaze was dark. “Was it Galen?”

“That’s—”

He neared me, and I stilled. Very gently, he drew his cloak around me. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity. I’m in a desperate position.”

“And I don’t want the cloak your mother made you.”

“Ah, well, I lied about that. My mother has never sewn a thing.”

My hands stopped undoing the clasp. His eyes were alight, all atwinkle.

“Please,” he said softly.

If I had to explain why I followed him into the tent, it probably had to do with temporary madness. Or maybe it was the please. He didn’t assume that he could force me, even though he was much larger and had all the might of the Serpent King behind him.

The tent was dark compared to outside, and as my eyes adjusted, big heavy shapes seemed to sidle sideways and dark little things seemed to leap and scurry into dark little corners. Rane ignited a lamp, and the light washed over a decadent lounge of a room, the floor covered in silken carpets and low divans. A wall of cabinets and trunks sealed the rest of the tent from view.

“What was that?” I asked.

“What was what?” Rane asked innocently.

“The . . .” tent rearranging itself? That sounded ridiculous. “Never mind.”

He waved a hand and the rug under our feet shimmered and turned blue, reweaving itself into a pattern like the ripples on a lake, strewn with lotus. “You mean that?”

I’d jumped onto a divan, and now, embarrassed, I toed the rug, checking that it would hold my weight before stepping down. Grimney popped his head out of my pocket, and I pushed him back down. No knowing what Rane could do to him.

There were voices coming from the other side of the tent.

I shot a glance at the tent flap we’d come through, but it had sealed up like it had never existed. I wetted my lips and pretended Rane’s display of power—the magic of the divine peoples right in front of me—was perfectly normal. “That’s a nice trick.”

“Don’t be so alarmed. It’s an illusion.”

“Can all the huntsmen do that?”

“Just me. We all have specialties, but I’m something of a special case. That’s why he relies on me for . . . important things.” He leaned in. “So. Will you take the job?”

“What is it, exactly?” My head filled with remembered stories of the divine peoples and their hatred for jewelsmiths. “It’s a real jewelsmithing job, right?” And not, perhaps, a plot to ritually sacrifice a smith as some kind of revenge?

He read some of my fear, for he smiled. “Yes. I promise you that. But I can say little more. Not here in the city. I can only tell you once we’re inside the Serpent Kingdom.”

“Why not?”

“In case you change your mind—or in case the djinn gets hold of you.”

Goose pimples rose on my skin. “The djinn?”

“Lady Incarnadine.” His mouth twisted like he was about to do something difficult. “This may be hard to believe—”

“No. I believe you.” My mother’s words rang in my head.

He exhaled like the wind in his sails had been let out. “Well, wonderful.”

“What about payment?”

He spread his arms. “The Serpent King will give you pick of any of the riches of his kingdom if you do this job.”

Fanciful, but I knew enough about running a shop to go after specifics. “I want a shop of my own, somewhere far from here.”

“That’s difficult. You know there are no jewelsmiths outside this city?”

I frowned. I vaguely remembered Galen mentioning that. With the danger of Mirandel and Lady Incarnadine . . . “Can you cast an illusion on me? Change me into someone else?”

“Well, temporarily, sure, but a permanent illusion is rather delicate work—”

“That’s what I want. A new identity. And a shop in the city. And enough money to keep me afloat for the first year.”

Rane’s full lips were pressed into a line. “Anything else? Maybe my firstborn?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He ran both hands through his hair. “Fine. I can do that. Are we agreed?”

He held out a hand, his eyes aglimmer with hesitant anticipation, with the threat of a shutter waiting to fall over his expression if I turned him down.

My fingers brushed his palm, and there was a fizzing under my skin, like the moment a firework is lit. Somehow I trusted Rane, in a way I realize I never truly trusted Galen. Like me, Rane was an assistant, and I felt we were equals. “Agreed,” I said.

Rane’s grip tightened. “Excellent. We’ll leave at once.”

I soon learned that at once meant something different to a king and his retinue. “When you say we,” I began, following Rane as he rushed around the tent, shouting orders at the huntsmen, who were packing with extraordinary efficiency, “do you mean everyone is leaving?”

He moved me aside to get at a cabinet behind me. “We only came to this city to find a jewelsmith.”

“You mean—What about the Serpent King finding a bride?”

“That, my friend, is what we call a pretense. We needed a way into the city.”

“Oh.” Mirandel would be disappointed. I tried not to feel glad about that. “So, the king will be joining us . . . ?”

He shot me an amused look. “We can’t very well leave him behind.”

“No . . .” I jumped out of his way as he grabbed a rolled-up rug and swung it onto a pile. “How are we leaving?”

He spun on a heel and collided with me. “You’ll see.” He maneuvered me by the shoulders to a divan. “But for now, sit there and look pretty.”

I scowled.

He grinned. “Close enough.”

I sat very still, blending as much as I could into the shadows without the help of my mother’s ring. An endless parade of the Serpent King’s huntsmen marched through, and Rane introduced me to each as “the jewelsmith” by gesturing to the dark corner where I perched. He seemed to enjoy the way they startled when I blinked.

I was surprised to find that several of the huntsmen were women, though in my defense, it wasn’t easy to tell with the helms and armor, and I also had the feeling that they didn’t much care for the distinction. All the huntsmen were of a height, almost identical when in full uniform, as if the Serpent King preferred a matched set.

Every time the flap opened, I tensed, expecting the Serpent King himself, but he never came.

Soon the day’s toll had to be paid, and I fell asleep.

When I woke, night was turning to dawn. My corner of the tent was empty, all the rugs packed away, the dirt peeking through the threadbare floor. Grimney was asleep on my lap, and I moved him aside and rose.

A sliver of light came from the adjoining room, where the partition flap hung open.

Silver hair. A bare chest, broad and covered in silver snakeskin that glinted with iridescence. A deep voice that said, “You are sure she is the one?”

Rane came into view, holding up a pale garment. “She’s our best chance. She’s talented, and equally important, she’s willing. It’s her or throwing Vyalis in a sack.”

The Serpent King slipped his arms into the sleeves and took the sash Rane handed him, tying it around his waist. “They say Vyalis is the best.”

Rane clicked his tongue. “He’s the Emperor’s favorite. The djinn’s favorite. That hardly makes him the best.”

“So you’ve decided.”

“I have a feeling. Sometimes it happens that a wee little voice in your heart says this is right.”

The Serpent King turned to face him, and his gaze caught mine.

I jerked back. “Sorry!”

Rane swept open the separating curtain. “Good timing. We’re just about ready. Now, come here.”

Come in there? I stood petrified until the Serpent King swept out, his long silver hair brushing my arm.

“I’m going to put an illusion on you,” Rane said. “It’s a temporary one, so the thing is that if you tell the truth—any truth at all—the illusion dissipates.”

His brow furrowed in focus, and he pressed his thumb to my eyebrow.

A feeling came over me, like warm milk being poured on the crown of my head and trickling down to my feet. The warmth lingered where his thumb had been.

Rane’s lips quirked as his eyes roamed over me. “I’m amazing,” he said. “Let’s go.”

It was midmorning when we rolled down the main road and joined the queue of merchants at the southern gates. We were in a large wagon, the kind that belonged to a moderately successful merchant, but not grand enough to be worthy of note. The inside was stuffed with rolled-up rugs, which felt real enough when I brushed my fingers along them.

We were all changed. Rane had turned himself into a jolly man with a long white beard, and he sat up front, driving oxen that I was fairly certain had been horses not long ago. The Serpent King sat across from me, in the guise of a middle-aged man with a heavy brow and enormous fluffy eyebrows.

He leaned back, arms crossed, eyes shut as if he were asleep. Somehow, he was still terrifying. Was it his size? The way his feet were firmly planted, no matter how the wagon rocked? And about his feet—the stories said he had multiple forms, that his lower body could become that of a massive serpent. I couldn’t remember if he could also do the opposite—it seemed unfair if he couldn’t keep human feet but turn his head into a serpent’s—

His eyes were open. He was watching me.

I jumped out of my skin.

A scrawny girl with plaited hair—one of the huntsmen—jumped up on the driver’s bench. “They’re stopping everyone. They’re looking for a girl. A thief. They say she’s Master Galen’s assistant.”

Rane looked over his shoulder. “Bit of an important detail to forget to mention, eh, Saphira?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think he’d send the guards after me.” As the words left my mouth, a sudden icy shiver ran from my head to my toes. I clapped my hands to my cheeks—the illusion!

Rane laughed. “Yes, that’s what I meant about telling the truth.”

I asked something that had been bothering me. “Isn’t it dangerous to go through the front gates?”

“All the other secret back ways are being watched. We’re less likely to arouse suspicion this way. Now, come here, and let me illuse you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. His fingers brushed across my cheek, and his thumb found my brow. The warm-milk feeling spread over me.

I opened my mouth.

Rane shushed me. “Better not to talk. Don’t worry. We’ll soon slip through.”

And then we were at the front. A gaggle of guards were inspecting each vehicle thoroughly, making a point to pull aside youngish women of a smallish stature and compare their faces to a scroll.

Rane made small talk up front. The doors of the wagon were flung open, and two guards peered in.

Too late I noticed Grimney’s head poking out of my pocket. The sudden light glinted off the amethyst in his forehead and I shoved him down.

“What’s that in your pocket, ma’am?”

A lie—I needed a good lie. “My pet mouse.”

“It’s just her hand,” Rane said. “She’s a little touched. Mother dropped her as a babe—”

The guard gestured, and two others poked their heads into our wagon. “Everyone, out.”

I got out first. A guard with a bushy mustache peered at me. “What’s your name?”

“Sa—Sa—” I responded instinctively, then snapped my mouth shut.

“Sasa, you’d better empty your pockets.”

Slowly, I inched my hand into my pocket, craning my hand toward Rane, but he was blocked by the wagon. I pulled Grimney out.

“That’s no mouse,” said the guard.

Another sneered. “No, it ain’t. Been stealing from the jewelsmiths, have you?”

“I’m no—” I cut myself off before I could blurt out the truth and ruin the illusion.

The first guard crossed his arms. “Well, are you a thief or aren’t you?”

I bit my lip.

“Take her,” said one of the guards.

Hands grabbed me. I shouted, “I’m not a thief!”

Horsepiss. The sudden shiver that spread from my crown told me I’d lost the illusion.

A moment of shock. Then the mustached guard raised the order and glanced from it to my face. “It’s her!”

“Unhand her.” Rane’s voice.

A laugh came from one of the dozens of Imperial Guards that surrounded us. A mob, a wall of guards—summoned from nearby like ants at the sight of a crumb of cake. “We’ll take you in, too.”

“I am a huntsman of the Serpent King,” said Rane. “You will release her.”

I felt the hands on my arms tense. “I’m sorry—sir—but we have to take her—orders come straight from the Rose Palace, see?”

A sudden gasp came from the guards, from the onlookers. I turned my head as far as I could and saw the oxen had transformed back to warrior horses with sea-foam manes.

Gravel crunched as footfalls closed in. A deep voice commanded, “You have nothing to fear, as long as you remove your hands from her.”

All at once, I was let go. But the mustached guard stuttered. “S-she’s a criminal, my lord—”

“No.” An arm like a tree trunk wrapped around my waist. “She is my bride.”

7

The Serpent King’s proclamation slithered its way through the air, and you could measure its progress by the way expressions of confusion sprouted in its wake. A ripple of dumbfoundment.

It had nothing to do with the king: everyone knew he was here to find a bride, just like any other noble who came for the Season. Their confusion came when they looked at me with my hair in unruly waves that I hadn’t brushed in, well, long enough ago that I couldn’t remember, and though I’d like to flatter myself and say that I was not particularly hideous, my face wasn’t at its best advantage with my mouth agape and eyes bulging.

The Serpent King pinched my side.

I stammered. “Bride?”

“Do not be shy, my little rabbit,” he said, and—did snakes eat rabbits? I had a feeling they did. There was an intent look in his silver eyes. “To the noble guards of this fine city, I thank you for your excellent service. And . . .”

He turned, and his arm meant I turned with him. The carpet seller’s wagon had transformed into an open carriage befitting the Serpent King. Silver and blues, like dawn on the surface of a lake. Three of his huntsmen stood at the ready—only three, which meant Rane was keeping the others disguised.

The one by the foot of the carriage gave me a little nod. That, I hoped, was Rane.

The Serpent King turned again. My gaze went to the far distance, to the city gates. My stomach plummeted: they were shut. How were we going to get out?

“I thank you,” the Serpent King continued, “for providing an escort to the Rose Palace for my bride and me.”

The Rose Palace? My body stiffened with horror. But his words had a different effect on the guards. They were no longer inching forward as if they would seize me, and their confusion had given way to a jostling eagerness to serve.

The Serpent King’s arm grew insistent, pushing me toward the carriage. A huntsman—Rane—gripped my elbow and helped me up and into the plush interior. The Serpent King sat right beside me as if he knew I was about to throw myself out the window. I scooted away from him.

The carriage glided to a roll, and the clip-clop of the horses was soon joined by the normal sounds of the street. Imperial Guards jogged alongside, clearing the way with barked shouts, each looking puffed up and pleased with themselves.

Looking straight ahead, the Serpent King murmured, “Do play along. We cannot fight our way out.” Every word that left his lips was framed by the hint of fangs.

“I’m not your bride,” I whispered.

“I’m well aware,” he bit out. “If you had stayed silent—if you had disclosed to us that you were a fugitive—we would not be in this position.”

“It was a mistake.” Grimney was trembling against my leg. I patted him through the fabric of my skirt. My hands were shaking.

“A mistake? Yes. Rane certainly made a mistake this time.” His voice was bitter.

I bit my lip, glancing at the back of Rane’s helm. He didn’t give any indication he heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Sit closer and pretend you adore me, and hopefully we can manage a quick wedding.”

“Wedding?”

His gaze stayed calm, fixed in the distance. He didn’t respond.

My body was hot. “Your Highness, I refuse—I won’t—” His eyes cut to me with such anger that my confidence sprang a leak. “That is, with all due respect, if you don’t mind terribly, I’d much rather not be forced into marriage. If that’s all right.”

“My little starling, you are quite mistaken. I am the one being forced.”

The arrogance in his voice made me grit my teeth. “Well, I release you from our betrothal. You can just let me off anywhere that’s convenient. . . .” And I’ll just disappear into the city’s underbelly. There must be somewhere for a girl and her golem to hide.

His hand slid over mine, shocking me into silence. His skin was cold, his grip firm. “Would you give up your agreement with Rane so easily?”

Easily? “But—isn’t that all over? How can we—”

“You must follow my lead. The only way we will leave this city now is if the djinn wishes for us to do so.” He exhaled, and the tips of his fangs glinted. “You can still have what Rane promised you.”

The spires of the Rose Palace drew nearer.

I had two choices: I could throw myself over the side of the carriage and run past the guards, and keep running for as long as I lived, or I could trust an otherworldly monster with a documented hatred for jewelsmiths like me.

I reached for the carriage door but hesitated. We were passing the last few streets before the gates to the Palace Quarter.

Rane was too far to speak to without shouting loud enough for our escort to hear. And what would he say? He was bound to obey his master.

The walls of the Palace Quarter rose up around us, and the chance was gone.

Our carriage took us through the gardens, where a party seemed to be underway. But all eyes were on us as we passed, and soon we had a train of nobles following us. Our Imperial escort trailed far behind.

A footman in the Emperor’s colors waved us down a path. “This way, please.”

In the heart of the gardens was a pavilion. Nobles were thick on the ground, clustering around a raised marble dais. Lady Incarnadine stood upon it, watching us approach. White silk fell from one shoulder and cinched around her slender waist, and her arms were covered in gold, bracelets stacked to her elbow, her fingers tipped with gold like claws.

Behind her, in a chair so grand it could only be described as a throne, was the Emperor. A cloud of smoke hung in the air, twisting and twirling, making him little more than a dark silhouette—except for the glittering whites of his eyes.

The carriage came to a stop. I reached for the door, but it opened for me, and a huntsman helped me down.

“Rane?” I whispered.

He hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “We mustn’t speak.”

Quickly, I pressed Grimney into his chest. “Please—keep him safe.”

Rane cradled Grimney carefully.

A hand settled on my back. The Serpent King forced me forward, toward the dais.

The sweetly smoky scent of burning resins filled my nose, and my eyes watered. I slowed my steps, letting the Serpent King stride ahead. He seemed even larger, his silver hair flowing in the wind, his clothes muted in color save for the bloodred sash at his waist. All eyes were on him.

I hung back with Rane and the huntsmen, but no one was looking at me.

The Serpent King swept into a theatrical bow before the Emperor. “I came to your palace having heard the tales of the Emperor’s wards—so skilled, so wise, so charming—and I admit, I was curious. But when I came, I did not expect such charm and beauty in every single one of your people, in every corner of your palace. I did not expect to be so swept away. I did not expect to fall in love.”

The garden stilled as every noble seemed to hold their breath. Including me.

A small, satisfied smile graced Lady Incarnadine’s lips. “Who have you chosen?”

Several of Incarnadine’s Chosen were in the crowd, but my eyes went to Mirandel, who came forward, beautifully made up, a satisfied smile on her lips but calculation in her eyes.

I angled myself so a huntsman hid me from her view.

The Serpent King’s lips pursed when he noticed I wasn’t at his side. He strode to me, hand outstretched. Through gritted teeth, he murmured, “Come along, my little mouse.”

He pulled me forward, and the weight of hundreds of gazes fell on me. I stared at my feet. From the crowd came a startled laugh that was quickly choked off. My face burned as whispers erupted: Who is she?

He gripped my hand tight, then gently lifted it to his lips and kissed the air above my knuckles. “I choose her.”

An eruption of sound. I looked up.

The Serpent King held my gaze as if he meant it. No matter how the courtiers tittered, the brightness of his smile did not dim. A strange feeling came over me. The longer his eyes held my gaze, the deeper he seemed to see into me.

I looked away first and caught a familiar figure pushing through the crowd. Galen. A pit opened up in my stomach.

“It can’t be,” Galen said. “My lady, that is my assistant.”

“The runaway?” Lady Incarnadine responded with far more courteousness than Galen had ever brought out in her, or anyone, really. “How very interesting.”

Galen spluttered. “She cannot go off with the Serpent King—why, I can’t have it.”

The Serpent King’s voice was a hiss. “Who is this man to presume to tell me what I can do?”

“Master Galen is one of our most prized jewelsmiths. I believe his legend is only beginning,” said Lady Incarnadine. “I do not wish to deprive him.”

She smiled indulgently at Galen. A suspicion was sneaking up on me. He couldn’t have finished the tourmaline collar based on my design, could he? My head spun.

“You are quite sure of your choice?” Lady Incarnadine said to the Serpent King.

The Serpent King’s voice grew a dangerous edge. “Whatever can you mean?”

“Merely that one might be offended that you did not choose among the jewels I collected for such a purpose.” She gestured to the courtiers where many of her Chosen stood, including Mirandel. “You do recall that the Treaty of Tessel refers only to the Emperor’s wards.”

His face betrayed no worry, but his grip tightened. “I must follow my heart.”

“So you would forfeit the Emperor’s protections?”

“We have not needed them thus far.”

The crowd reacted as if he had spat in her face. It was a duel, I realized suddenly, and I didn’t know all of what they were fighting about, but I knew that the shape of my life would be decided by the victor.

“We have welcomed you here to forge a bridge and bring peace,” Lady Incarnadine said. “But we will not tolerate threats.”

“I have made no threat,” the Serpent King said. Imperial Guards outnumbered the huntsmen five to one. “My presence here is a testament that I share your vision of peace.”

“Then why have you made a mockery of us? What can you mean by coming here with this girl?” She sounded as disgusted as if I were a cockroach.

“You insult my bride,” the Serpent King said. “But perhaps you do not understand love?”

I flinched at the look in Incarnadine’s eyes. The Serpent King was lashing out with no regard for how dangerous Incarnadine could be, nor how outnumbered and outclassed we were.

“No.” Incarnadine’s voice was decisive. “It seems that Master Galen needs his assistant. Perhaps in a few years, when he can spare her . . .”

The ringing in my ears drowned everything out.

Galen was grinning.

The Serpent King was squeezing my hand like his life depended on it.

“I am,” I said, so softly that no one heard me. And then, louder, “I am an Imperial Ward.”

Everyone was looking at me. Galen’s face was turning red.

I twisted my mother’s ring around my finger, and despite the crack, it still gave me a whisper of strength. “I bear the brand. By the laws of the Empire, it would be illegal for him to shelter me.”

The full brunt of Lady Incarnadine’s attention was on me. “Is that so?”

She didn’t believe me.

“You killed my mother before my eyes, my lady. And then you brought me here.” My hands were sweating, my face was sweating. She might kill me right here. I didn’t know if I cared.

I had the crowd’s attention. A staccato murmur rose from them, a pitying one, a believing one.

Incarnadine’s eyes narrowed. “I would speak to your bride. Alone. If you would be so kind.”

“My lady,” Galen began, “I must insist—”

She raised a quelling hand. Her gaze was fixed on the Serpent King.

The Serpent King inclined his head to her. He then drew me close, a pretend embrace, and murmured in my ear, “Keep your wits. My people will be with you.”

He let me go. I willed my feet to move, counting my steps because I couldn’t bear to look up at Incarnadine. One . . . Two  . . .

“Allow me, my lady.” Mirandel’s voice. Her eyes were narrowed, fixed on me. Incarnadine bent her head and whispered something into Mirandel’s ear.

Mirandel nodded and crossed to me. Her hand wrapped around my arm, and I kept pace with her so she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of dragging me out of the pavilion and through the gardens.

She was seething, gnashing her teeth, and for a second, I saw in her face the girl I once knew. It didn’t calm me. She had been dangerous even then.

The Rose Palace loomed over us. In the light of day, it was all pink and emerald hallways, gilded and curved ceilings, delicate furniture inlaid with bone. An atmosphere of immaculate design. And a seductively sweet aroma hung on the air, a strangely personal scent, like someone confident and beautiful had swept by and left a cloud of fragrance behind.

Mirandel brought me to the baths. Steam hung like a cloud, and the large arched rooms were reduced to only the vaguest shapes. The moisture in the air hugged my skin and dampened my clothes.

She barked orders into the steam, and a pair of girls with their hair wrapped in cloth began filling a copper tub.

As the sound of pouring water echoed on the tile, Mirandel rounded on me with a furious whisper. “I can’t believe you. I try to help you, and you betray me like this?”

I matched her tone. “Help me? When have you ever helped me?”

“I was getting you away from that boor. I saw how scared you looked—what was he doing to you?”

I stared at her. Laughter burst out of me, and I couldn’t stop it, not till tears were running down my face. “Mirandel. I was fine. I was safe. And you ruined it.”

She reared back like I’d slapped her and turned her face away. One of the girls was pouring oil into the copper tub. “No, not that one,” Mirandel said. “Let’s find something . . . expensive. That one, the red bottle.”

She trailed her hand through the water. “You ruined my life, too. Everyone knows I failed to get the Serpent King. What kind of life will I lead now?” She flicked a droplet from her finger. “I thought you’d died, you know. I was so jealous of you, and then after . . . I thought they’d killed you, because of me. I’d been carrying this guilt for so long. But it turns out there was no need. You didn’t need my help with anything. I ruined your life. And I guess I was right to be jealous, then. You got the prize.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to shake her. Why did she of all people have to see through my mother’s ring? She had everything she ever wanted, and yet had the gall to pity herself, to be jealous of me? And to call the Serpent King a prize, as if we were in some kind of competition, as if this was all a game.

I couldn’t look at her. On the floor, something caught my eye, a bit of shine against the deep green tile. A small silver serpent. One of the huntsmen in disguise? My face warmed, imagining dark amused eyes.

“Come here,” Mirandel said, gesturing at the tub. “It’s ready.”

“I’m not bathing in front of you.”

“Lady Incarnadine’s orders,” she said. When I hesitated, she smirked. “I assure you, you can have nothing under your clothes that I have not seen.”

I crossed my arms.

Footsteps approached, the delicate clink-clink of metal soles on tile grew louder and louder.

Through the steam, a figure appeared. Tall, striking, garbed in white. Lady Incarnadine looked me over from head to foot. “You intrigue me.”

“My lady?”

Lady Incarnadine circled me. “I would like to keep Master Galen happy, now that he has revealed to us the genius that he kept so well hidden. He may be the making of this Empire.” She drew a golden claw-tipped finger along my jaw. “Does the Serpent King want you because you know something of Master Galen’s work?”

I needed to lie and lie well. “I—I’m an assistant. I ready his materials, I sweep and dust. . . . If I could do what he does, wouldn’t he have made me an apprentice?”

She let me go. “I have prepared several of the Emperor’s wards for the role you have stolen from them. My dear Mirandel is a beauty and master of all the seductive arts. Capable of leading an army, of negotiating treaties, of running kingdoms. So why is the Serpent King so interested in you?”

“He, uh, loves me?” It sounded unconvincing even to my ears. “At least, he thinks he does.”

“And you?”

My mouth was dry. “Me? Yes, of course.”

A cynical smile came across her lips. “No. No love on your end, is there? You think you have secured yourself a grand marriage. A king and a life of luxury. Oh, don’t look so shocked. Countless men and women have done the same, and they will go on doing so until the end of time.”

There was a darkness in her, and I didn’t know what to say to make sure she didn’t turn on me. “Well?” she said. “Go on. Bathe. Mirandel will help prepare you. One must be beautiful on their wedding day.”

This time, I didn’t protest. If I went along with it, maybe it’d be over faster. The two attendants helped me out of my dress, and I dove into the bath.

From behind me came a clink-clink and the scent of resinous smoke as Incarnadine came closer. She came to the tub’s edge, and her gaze went to my brand. “So you spoke the truth. What is that on your finger?”

My mother’s ring.

She pulled it from my finger. “I see. I remember your mother. An insignificant woman belonging to an insignificant holding. The duchess Nepheline, wasn’t it?”

I flinched, and that made Incarnadine smile.

“You will help me, won’t you?” She paused. “What is your name?”

I hesitated.

“Saphira,” Mirandel offered.

“Saphira. You will help me, and it will cost you nothing. I must find the way into the Serpent King’s lands. His is the last kingdom I have to conquer. The seventh kingdom. Then the Empire will be complete, and I . . .” Her gaze had gone hard and distant.

“Why would I help you?” I didn’t mean to ask it, but the way she was carelessly twirling my mother’s ring made me spit out the words.

“Oh, there are so many reasons. Your life is already forfeit, for being a runaway ward, and it is only my mercy that keeps you from the executioner. Or I could stop this marriage. I can give you back to Galen. You wouldn’t like that, would you?” Incarnadine’s lips twisted. “Your mother was brave but not clever. You must now learn to be clever, for the Serpent King is crueler than I am.”

With her gold-tipped fingers, she uncorked a pink glass bottle and poured its contents into my bath.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I will let you go. My people will follow you. The Serpent King already assumes this, I am sure. I will leave you with a bag of stones. Leave a trail for my people. And when you enter into his kingdom, take note of how it is done. For that information . . . well, you need only name your price.”

Mirandel started. “My lady—you need not offer payment. She should be honored to do that for you—”

Lady Incarnadine was charmed; she cupped Mirandel’s cheek. “If only the Serpent King had chosen you. But we must make do. Saphira, will you do what I ask?”

“Yes,” I lied.

In return, Incarnadine dropped my mother’s ring onto my palm. It was warm, almost enough to hurt. I held tight until she disappeared into the steam, and only then did my shoulders loosen. I’d faced Incarnadine, and unlike my mother, I’d come out alive.

The hairs on my neck prickled. Camouflaged by the pattern on the tiles, the little serpent watched me.

I felt like I was floating above my body, watching myself walk up the promenade to the White Temple, the oldest and holiest place in the city. I was draped in pale pink silk embroidered all over in gold thread, wrapped and tied in place. A dress Lady Incarnadine had chosen that was not unlike the style she favored for herself. My eyes were lined in kohl, my lips reddened with carmine, which Mirandel had chosen for me, painting my face until I grabbed her wrist and said, “Enough.” She responded by asking if I had thought about my wedding night, if I knew how to please a man. She’d laughed at my expression. I supposed it was her little revenge on me.

I walked past the priestesses into the cool interior of the temple. The huntsmen were waiting.

One of them coughed, tugging open his jacket. Grimney waved at me, his little eyes worried, but I couldn’t speak to him. Not here.

I hadn’t chosen my dress. I hadn’t chosen this temple. I hadn’t chosen my groom, who waited for me at the altar. A thin circlet sat on his brow, a concession to his rank.

I met his eyes, and I thought, This isn’t my life.

My life, my real life, would begin once I finished the job for the Serpent King and Rane paid me in a perfect new identity. I wanted one wholly different from me. Maybe an older woman. Plain-looking, the kind that was safe from second glances. I’d lay my shop out differently, with the forge entirely separate from the showroom. Maybe I didn’t need a showroom. Maybe, once I’d established myself, I’d only make what I wanted, and people would buy it if they liked it. I’d change my name again, of course. A new name . . .

I didn’t listen to the droning of the priests and priestesses.

The Serpent King took my hand. His fingers were inhumanly long—and the silver scales grew smaller and smaller as they reached his fingertips, glinting like diamonds.

A fire was lit.

Seven times we circled it.

We were promised to each other.

It’s not real, I told myself. It’s not real.

Part 2
The Bite

8

They were keeping things from me. The Serpent King and his huntsmen disappeared briefly, and when they returned, he was scowling.

I told myself to go along with it as I was bundled into the Serpent King’s carriage by a gaggle of handmaidens. Mirandel came in at the last, with a small drawstring bag that she pressed into my palm. “These are for you to lead us to the kingdom.” Inside were clear stones with dark hairlike inclusions. They were clearly all chipped from a single stone, and I’d have bet the hairlike pieces were shards of a lodestone. It was my first time seeing tracker stones, and I itched to pull out my jewelsmithing glasses and take a closer look.

But Mirandel leaned in, and with a smirk of evil delight, she said, “Enjoy your wedding night. Tomorrow you’ll be a real woman.”

The carriage door shut, and we were off.

And for the next three hours, her words echoed in my head. There were more important things to worry about, like that I was no more free than I had been in the city. Because, though the city was a speck on the horizon, and we were gliding past endless desert dunes in the Serpent King’s well-appointed carriage, we were still surrounded by Imperial Guards. And behind them was a small village of people who called themselves things like handmaidens and servants but were clearly Lady Incarnadine’s spies.

The swaying of the carriage made me sick. The sweet smell of my skin—those bath oils and powders had sunk deep into my bones—made me sick. Sweat pooled in the small of my back. I pulled the drapes aside, and the breeze that came through was hot and moist and made me think of a giant breathing in my face.

I shifted in my seat. I had to pee, but I wasn’t about to go find a nice sand dune with an audience of dozens.

I missed the city, with its shady trees and easy access to privies. It seemed I’d given up everything I knew and yet Lady Incarnadine was still breathing down my neck. And now I had to worry about a wedding night.

And what did she mean by a real woman? When I first got my monthly courses, Galen had brought one of his lady friends to the workshop. She had lips red as pomegranate juice and a drawn-on beauty mark under her eye, and she gave me a handful of cloths and told me what to do. She said, “Don’t cry, love. You’re a real woman now.”

Did a woman become real in fits and starts? When would I be done? Were the little stooped ladies with white hair and wrinkles the realest women around?

I stole a glance at the Serpent King, who sat across from me. He stared out the window, his foot tapping an endless beat. Was he a real man? Or did that come tonight, too?

“So,” I began.

“Don’t talk.”

“I just was going to ask about—”

“I said, do not speak.”

I stared at him.

He glanced in my direction. “Don’t look at me, either.” He shifted, so his hair shielded his face.

Somehow marriage had worsened his disposition. I’d heard women at the market bemoaning that their husbands changed after their weddings, but I hadn’t realized the change happened so quickly.

Grimney put his hand in mine. He sat at my side, kicking his tiny legs in the air. I squeezed his hand. Somehow, it wasn’t comforting. Maybe because his hand was a rock.

The Serpent King opened the door connecting the driver. They had a conversation that the wind stole, but I made out the words Cobalt Town.

That was perhaps a day’s ride from the Imperial City, thanks to the Emperor’s pet project, the Imperial Road. He’d proclaimed that all roads across the six kingdoms of the Empire would now lead to the Imperial City.

It was a matter of perspective. It was equally accurate to say that all roads led away from the city, but when I said that to Galen, he’d laughed and laughed and then told me not to be too clever. I was nine, and it was the summer of the big celebration when the last of the great stone markers was set along the main road.

I didn’t want to think about Galen. I didn’t care that he would have to find a way to keep the shop going without me. I didn’t care that Lady Incarnadine would have his head if she found out the truth. There was a part of me that wondered if I’d made the right choice. I’d still ended up married.

But when I thought of Galen and wedding night, my mouth filled with bile.

I tried to picture the Serpent King. Instead, I remembered Mirandel dancing for him.

Unbidden, my mind conjured an image of Rane’s face. My face heated.

Truth was, I only had the vaguest idea of the mechanics of the act. With my mother’s ring, I’d avoided being the target of most of the catcalls and crude words that were thrown around markets and drinking holes. Those folks made it sound decidedly unpleasant.

But Galen spent a lot of time with his lady friends, and he brought back constant bits of gossip of folks who were caught with the wrong person or in the wrong place. It seemed that there must be something they liked about it if people were going through all that trouble.

I busied myself with squinting out the window at a tall shape shimmering in the heat haze and praying it was a stone marker and not another mirage.

Each stone marker along the Imperial Road was a half day’s ride apart, and nearby would be little villages and roadside inns that had sprouted to serve travelers.

The shape solidified into a dark stone monolith. A marker. And rising out of the sands, a collection of buildings around a well. “Let’s stop here, please,” I said. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” the Serpent King said. “Well, we were stopping anyway.”

The carriage had barely come to a halt when I jumped out the door and ran to the nearest privy. When I came out, well relieved, it was to near a dozen pairs of eyes on me, from Imperial Guards to my so-called handmaidens.

A voice spoke. “How are you holding up?” Rane leaned on a wall, entirely at ease. He was in his huntsman’s uniform, his helm tucked under his arm, upside down, so it could hold a small collection of stuff. His skin glistened with a hint of sweat, and strands of his hair stuck to his neck in waves.

I shrugged.

“He’s not being rude, is he? I’ll give him a talking-to.”

“It’s all right. I can bear it.”

Something delicious-smelling was passed under my nose, wrapped in coconut-leaf. “Want lunch?”

I took it. A flatbread, still steaming, with sweet bean paste inside. “Thank you.”

“They’re famous for that here. At least that’s what the fellow at the inn told me. I also got these for you.”

He dropped a bag into my palm. Inside were squares of sugared ginger. “What are these for?”

“I noticed you looking a little green. They’ll help.”

He noticed me? How? “I didn’t see you.”

He tapped his nose. “That’s ’cause I’m good at my job. Now, tell me, what’s the Serpent King been saying?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t want to talk at all.”

“Well,” he said. “Maybe that’s for the best.” He glanced meaningfully at the Imperial Guards.

“I don’t understand how we’ll be free—”

He put a finger to his lips.

I sighed. “You’re saying the same thing as him, you’re just using a lot more words.”

He gave me a lopsided smile. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

Were we? I took a bite of the flatbread so I didn’t have to answer.

He shook his upside-down helm, and a clattering came from within. “I got these for the little fellow. You think he’ll like them?” He tilted it at me so I could see.

A pile of desert rocks, scratching up the inside of his helm. My chest felt strange. Perhaps it was the nausea returning. “Grimney can’t be bribed,” I said.

He huffed a laugh. “You’ll tell me if you want anything, won’t you?”

I shrugged.

“You’re the Serpent King’s consort. There is a bright side. You can ask for anything, and someone will find a way to get it to you.”

I met his gaze. “You know what I want.”

I meant the shop and the new identity, but Rane startled as if I’d asked for his liver.

He pulled the collar of his uniform away from his neck. “Goodness, it’s hot. I’d better . . .” He gestured vaguely and left.

It was hot, I’d give him that. I finished up the flatbread and pocketed the ginger. He’d left his upturned helm at my feet, with the rocks. There was no point in wasting nice rocks. And Rane probably needed his helm.

I took it and glanced around, avoiding the assorted gazes of Incarnadine’s spies. Folks were watering and feeding the horses, some checking the wheels of the assorted carriages, others milling around.

Rane disappeared behind the Serpent King’s carriage. I went after him, but as I skirted the carriage’s backside, I caught a glimpse of silver and slowed my steps.

The Serpent King paced, stretching his long legs. He and Rane were with another huntsman who was tending to the horses.

The Serpent King said, “I can’t bear this much longer.”

Rane said, “All you have to do is sit with a lovely girl.”

“You are welcome to take my place.” He glared at Rane and then at the other huntsman. “Or you. Anyone.”

“You drew the straw, my friend,” the other huntsman said, and clapped his shoulder.

Great. I slunk back around and got in the carriage. I shook out Rane’s helm, and Grimney dove into the stones. He popped up, munching happily.

I propped my chin on my palm and watched him.

There was something beautiful about the way he’d rearranged himself. He’d kept all the most colorful and beautifully patterned rocks from his larger body, and there was something amazing about that. It was fanciful thinking—all the texts and all the great jewelsmiths said golems were a product of the orders that animated them. But sometimes I wanted to believe that Grimney was more than that.

“Grims, I think we made a mistake,” I whispered.

“Rzzpdch?” We could run?

I smiled. He could be counted on to suggest running. Maybe it was something in his nature, maybe all rocks dreamed of rolling and tumbling. “We are running.” From Galen, from Incarnadine. The only way we could stop running was if Rane came through on the deal.

Before he could answer, the carriage door opened, and the Serpent King got in.

He shut his eyes, leaned back, and the carriage rumbled to a roll. We were off.

From atop a steep hill, Cobalt Town jutted toward the sky. It was a fortress town, with thick walls that made it look like the hill was wearing a crown.

The gates creaked open as we neared. Heavy stone gates, emblazoned with a seal painted cobalt blue.

“Welcome,” said a barrel-chested man, striding toward us. “I am Selmy, Lord of Cobalt Town. Forgive us the weakness of our number—I’m afraid Lady Cobalt and our son are in the city for the Season.”

Lord Cobalt had unlined skin, but gray in his hair and beard. He wore loose silken pants and an embroidered jacket that was open to his chest, so all could see the crown and fire brand on his chest. He puffed up his chest when he saw me looking at his brand. Great. This town might as well be an extension of the Rose Palace.

He talked as we walked. Our guards would stay with the town’s soldiers in the barracks, but we were welcome to his humble home. The humble home turned out to be a grand manor with diamond-paned windows, all of which were a deep blue.

“Cobalt glass,” he said, catching me looking. “Keeps us nice and cool, and of course, it kills insects that try to fly in on the wind.”

Cobalt was a silvery metal that needed careful refinement to turn it into pigment. The tricky thing about mining it was that the ore always contained arsenic. As we entered the manor, the air felt very still, as if it too had been killed.

I grew more careful about what I let my gaze linger on. Lord Cobalt was paying very close attention, though he acted the part of a rich buffoon well. He showed us into a grand room with a cobalt window that was twice the height of a man, where a table was set for three.

The minute we took our seats, servants appeared and filled our goblets with wine.

The Serpent King was reserved but chattier than he had been in the carriage. He neatly parried questions about our destination, our travel plans, and our presumed love story.

Upon my plate were piled saffron rice and spiced potatoes and pumpkin dal. I ate it all, with bites of herbs and yogurt that cooled me down from the inside. The wine went down sweet and easy, until I realized it had gone straight to my head.

Lord Cobalt was laughing. “. . . and so I told him to make nice with the Basalts because I knew Sandhya when she was twelve and cut off the nose of that pretty girl—oh, I’ve forgotten her name—she came from some insignificant holding—and anyway, I told him he’d better give up that land and thank the gods she didn’t take his nose as well.”

“The Basalts sent ten thousand men to the Emperor’s armies, did they not?” the Serpent King asked, smiling in a way that showed his fangs.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Lord Cobalt said. “I hear you were wed at the White Temple. That’s where Lady Cobalt and I were wed. Charming little temple, isn’t it? Though we stayed in the Rose Palace for our wedding night—well, it took us a few days to emerge from our bedchamber!”

I nearly spat out my wine, and he noticed. “You must be very happy,” I said.

He laughed and laughed, and then leaned in with a wry look in his eyes. “She is very happy with me, and that is what matters, isn’t it?”

My heart hurt. Pity for him, maybe.

He laughed again at whatever he saw in my face. “I have prepared our finest suite for you both. One’s wedding night should be special, should it not? After all, you can’t say you are properly married till the deed is done.”

The Serpent King cut in. “Is Lady Incarnadine so interested?”

“Ah,” said Lord Cobalt, for the first time at a loss for words. “How direct.”

The Serpent King raised a brow.

Lord Cobalt conceded. “She does like to know what is happening.”

“She will have no reason to doubt us,” the Serpent King said, and I wondered exactly what he meant.

“That certainly makes my life easier. You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you?”

“We will leave at dawn,” the Serpent King said. “We will not impose on your hospitality.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Lord Cobalt said brightly. “Well, let’s have dessert.”

Pistachio cakes and dates with honey. I nibbled at them, but my stomach was turning. The minute dinner was over, there would be nothing but the night. I could almost hear Mirandel laughing at me.

I got up so fast my chair screeched. “Pardon me. I’m afraid—I’ll turn in early.”

As I left the dining room, I heard Lord Cobalt say, “My, she is rather an innocent, isn’t she?”

I came out into a hallway and picked a direction at random. The hallways were all darkly illuminated. From behind me came the pitter-patter of small feet, and a boy in a blue vest skidded to a halt before me. He dropped into a bow. “It is my honor to show you to your room, my lady.”

I followed him up a set of stone stairs, past patrolling guards, to a vast room with a balcony that overlooked the sands. Sheer drapes blew in the wind, and I breathed in the fresh air. The boy left me.

Incarnadine’s spies—the handmaidens—had been here. A sheer bit of cloth was laid out on the back of a chair, along with some silken ribbons. Ribbons for what?

A knock came at the door. A girl my age poked her head in. “I’m here to help you dress, my lady.”

“I’ll manage,” I said.

She hesitated. “You don’t want me to dress your hair?”

I eyed the ribbons. “No.”

She winced. “My lady—”

“Many thanks,” I said, smiling vaguely in her direction until she shut the door and left me alone.

A pitcher of warm water sat beside a basin, and I washed some of the sweat from my skin. There was a polished silver mirror, and it showed me a peaky girl with large circles under her eyes and a mass of wavy hair that was escaping its braid. An unreal woman.

I dug through the trunk and unearthed a gray traveling dress. I changed quickly, ignoring the sheer thing laid out for me.

A thump came from another trunk—the Serpent King’s trunk—and I opened it to find Grimney.

“You’d better not have eaten the jewels from his clothes,” I scolded.

Grimney shrugged.

A knock came at the door. A deep voice said, “I am coming in.”

Grimney hid back in the trunk. I shut it and stepped away. I didn’t want to seem like I was waiting for him—my hand found a ribbon, and I gathered my hair to plait it. My heart was beating fast, readying me to run.

The Serpent King entered and shut the door behind him. I was getting used to all the silver, but I was struck by his size. He seemed designed to intimidate, to be the focal point in any room he entered.

Without looking at me, he crossed to the basin, took a washcloth and wetted it with water from the pitcher, and wiped his neck and face. On him, the act seemed strangely human. A drop of water traced his throat.

His silver eyes rested on me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, which was a lie. The ribbon slipped through my hands.

He came closer. “Are you angry?”

“You asked me not to talk,” I said.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was not myself.”

He picked the ribbon from where it had fallen beside my feet and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and I jerked my hand back.

We lapsed into silence. He moved away, shaking out his jacket and unlacing the sash at his waist that held a dagger and a small sword. He set everything aside.

“I—” I started.

The Serpent King turned to regard me. “Yes?”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart was thudding, and I didn’t know if it wanted me to leap off the balcony or stay where I was. “I just—how are the huntsmen?”

His brows pinched together.

“I mean—did they eat? I just wondered. I was just—well, Rane . . .” I trailed off. My face was radiating heat.

“I’m sure they ate,” the Serpent King said. “You needn’t take particular interest in Rane.”

“He’s been nice to me,” I said.

The Serpent King’s lips pulled into a sardonic smile. His voice was low. “Should I be jealous that you show such interest in another man on our wedding night?”

I was suddenly certain that the Serpent King knew every detail of what happens on a wedding night. I dropped my gaze to the collar of his shirt. “But this isn’t a marriage. It’s just a business proposition.”

He crossed to me in a single stride, and his hand covered my mouth. He breathed, “Do not speak of that here.”

He stopped a hairsbreadth from me, but I felt his body as if the space between us was charged with lightning. If I moved at all, I would touch him. I stood very, very still.

My lips tingled as he pulled his hand away. I glanced at the door. Was someone listening?

He met my gaze and gave a single nod.

I wrapped my arms around me.

The Serpent King moved slowly, like he was afraid I would shout something incriminating, and he made a circuit of the room, blowing out candles and oil lanterns.

The last candle went out, and he was painted by the light of the low, flickering fire in the grate. A shaft of silver moonlight cut through the sheer drapes and lent the room a soft glow.

He stood by the bed. “Come here,” he said.

I took a step, and then he pulled back the coverlet. I stopped, a strange fluttery terror building within me.

“Come,” he said.

I took another step. He reached out and took my hand. He tugged me close, standing by my side.

“This will hurt a little,” he said. Something silver flashed in his hand.

A tiny pinprick of pain blossomed at the tip of my pointer finger. A single drop of blood rose. He turned my hand, and the drop fell onto the white sheets.

“There,” he said. “Was that so bad?” There was a glint of humor in his eyes, like he knew I’d been terrified.

“No.” I licked the blood from my finger. “I hardly felt anything.”

He dragged his gaze from my finger and blinked. A wry twist came to his lips. “Another thing no man wishes to hear on his wedding night.” He turned his back to me. “Take the bed,” he said. “I don’t intend to sleep.”

Only when he had moved far enough away, slinkily settling into a chair by the fire, did I dare sit on the bed. I watched him, sitting still, a severe look on his face as he gazed into the fire. I didn’t know whether I felt relieved or not. I fell asleep while I was deciding. The first time I woke, a blanket was covering me, and the Serpent King was out on the balcony, bathed in silver moonlight. I woke again and again, but the Serpent King kept his word. He never slept and never once looked in my direction.

9

Soft gold morning light filtered in through the sheer drapes. Grimney was curled up on top of the coverlet, and there was a suspicious patch devoid of glass beads just about within gnawing distance.

The Serpent King was gone. All that remained of last night was a small scab on my fingertip and the drop of blood on the sheets. I couldn’t stop looking at it, but I didn’t know why.

I curled up, resting my chin on my knees. The blood told a lie; I wondered what else about the Serpent King was a lie. Like the rumor that he sucked virgins dry of their blood. But maybe that was true; maybe he was just on a diet.

After a furtive wash—sure someone would barge in at any moment—I dressed, pocketed a sleeping Grimney, and slung my bag over my shoulder. I packed my tools more carefully and drew out the bag of tracker stones.

A pair of Imperial Guards were in the hallway. One elbowed the other as he noticed me, but they didn’t follow. I made my way out of the manor without seeing the Serpent King or his huntsmen. There were Imperial Guards stationed everywhere; I felt their eyes on me, but they kept their distance.

I supposed Cobalt Town was small enough, and walled enough, that they figured there was nowhere I could run. The familiar hubbub of a market tempted me, and I followed the sound to the main square.

It was market day in Cobalt Town. The main square was filled with a mix of oxcarts and street peddlers, farmers selling rice and dried lentils along with buffalo milk, palm fruits, and mildly wilted vegetables. Some simple toys. It wasn’t a grand market for nobles; it was aimed at those who worked in the cobalt mines, the soldiers of the barracks, the farmers to trade with each other.

I weighed the drawstring bag of tracker stones. I hated feeling like Incarnadine knew where I was, and though I couldn’t do anything about our escort, I could get rid of these.

But as I went through the market, the hairs on the back of my neck stood upright. I glanced at a stallkeeper, and he quickly averted his gaze. He wore clothing in the Imperial style favored by city dwellers, and I let a few stones fall from my palm into the corner of his cart.

I avoided the folks who seemed to come from nearby—the local farmers, the kind selling palm fruit and desert shrubs—and focused on the merchants who seemed to have come from the Imperial City, as well as those who wore garments in foreign styles. These were traveling merchants, and they would take the tracker stones far.

But the deeper I went into the market, the more I had the sensation that if eyes could shoot needles, I’d be a pincushion. Everyone was looking at me, but no one met my eye.

I caught a sweets seller whispering behind her hand to her neighbor; both dropped their gazes when I clocked them.

They were looking at me, but seeing another Saphira, one who was the beloved bride of the Serpent King, one who had become a real woman last night. There was the truth, and there was the story.

Like a breath of fresh air, a thought came to me suddenly: no one sees reality. There’s only the story we tell ourselves, and that becomes the lens through which we see the world. But if we don’t know we’re looking through a lens, we mistake the story for the real thing.

They didn’t see me, but they thought they did. And now that they believed the lie, what they felt when they looked at me was real fear.

A hand gripped my shoulder. A huntsman. “My lady. Your husband has been looking for his beloved wife.”

The young daughter of a shopkeeper overheard and squeaked, running away like she’d heard some great bit of gossip.

“Fantastic,” I said, pocketing the rest of the stones.

“I’m afraid that’s just the effect your husband has on people.”

I winced at the word husband. “I’m not him.”

“That makes you more frightening. You’re the fearsome woman who brought the Serpent King low. In fact, just this morning I heard you charmed him with nothing but a flute.”

There was something too amused in his tone. I squinted at the huntsman. “Rane?”

He tugged off his helm. “At your service.”

I hesitated, but it came out of me. “Does he like that people fear him?”

Rane understood who I meant, because he said quietly, “He has to be what they expect him to be.”

“Because . . .” I said, slowly, worried it was too forward, “it keeps him safe.”

His dark eyes were opaque, revealing nothing. He inclined his head, conceding. “What was that you were doing earlier?”

A change of subject. “I was getting rid of a wedding present.” I showed him the bag. “Tracker stones.”

Rane’s brows pinched together. “Oh, I was wondering what that was.”

“You didn’t know? But I thought—there was a snake—”

“Yes, but snakes don’t have ears. It’s all vibration. If you’d been in danger, I’d have seen and jumped in. But it’s not an especially good form for espionage.”

I digested this. So he didn’t know what kind of offer Incarnadine made me. And still he trusted me?

“Do you mind if I take these?” he asked. “For the—well, I never told you what I came to tell you, which is—” He broke off and craned his neck. “Oh, what a lovely market. Shall we?” Abruptly, Rane pivoted toward the stalls. I trailed after him, glancing over my shoulder and meeting the gaze of an Imperial Guard.

Rane bought things at random, trading them again at other market stalls, and somehow, he ended up holding nothing. He paused before a tiny girl with a toothy grin. She squatted before a small table, on which were three copper cups, upside down. “Try yer luck, sar?”

“Certainly,” Rane said, flipping her a coin. The girl placed his coin under the middle cup, and then shuffled them so fast her hands seemed to blur.

He glanced over his shoulder at the guards, who were inspecting every stall we had entered. He leaned toward me. “I think we’ve got a moment to ourselves.”

I pitched my voice low. “What did you want to tell me?”

“You know that special talent of mine? I’ll be putting on a show later today, for our new friends. Think they might enjoy the scenic route, if you understand what I mean.”

“I see,” I said. “Are we speaking in code?”

“Can’t be too careful.”

“You should’ve told me earlier,” I said. “I’ve already given away most of the . . . wedding present.”

“It doesn’t matter. The show will still go on.”

“Will you tell me anything more about it?”

“I’d better not. Just trust me, and trust your husband. He’ll keep you safe.”

I crossed my arms. Trust him? I didn’t consider myself particularly unintelligent, but I had a feeling I was about to make the same mistake I’d made with Galen and with Mirandel. Maybe I was already in the process of making it, considering that I’d let myself get married.

Only a fool needed to be taught the same lesson thrice.

“You’re upset,” Rane said.

“I’m fine.”

“That seems like code for I’m upset.”

“I’m not speaking in code.”

“I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know, after the show.” His eyes seemed sincere, his face was earnest, he wasn’t fidgeting.

“Everything?” I asked.

“Everything that’s safe to tell,” he amended.

He was worming his way out of it already.

The little girl had finished shuffling the cups. I pointed to the one on the left. The girl lifted it—nothing. “Sorry, my lady. Try again?”

“No,” I said. “I’m afraid I know how my luck goes.” I made my way through the crowd; they parted for me like they feared getting in my way.

“Saphira,” Rane called after me. “I’m sorry.”

I let him catch up to me, then pressed the bag of tracker stones into his hands. “We’ll talk after,” I said.

He gave me a hopeful little smile. “Will you wish me luck?”

“Do you need it?”

“It’ll be horribly dangerous.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t in danger.”

“Not for you, for me.”

“Good luck,” I said flatly. “Come back safe.”

“I feel like you don’t really mean it. You do mean it, don’t you?”

“How about this. I’ll tell you the truth, after your show.”

He laughed.

The carriage lurched. I looked up from Grimney’s open mouth—I was plucking the glass beads that were stuck between his teeth—and lifted the short drapes.

The desert had given way to wide open plains, and now the plains were bowing to rolling hills. The breeze was cool and brought with it the green smell of growing things. The hills were a green so deep it was almost blue, and nestled in the valleys like sleeping cats were forests of squat, densely packed trees. A soft mist wound its way through the hills. I shivered.

I peeked out the back window. Directly behind us was a plain carriage driven by one of the Serpent King’s huntsmen, and behind them was a line of Imperial carriages carrying the rest of our entourage. There were a few huntsmen on horseback, but they were outnumbered by Imperial outriders almost four to one.

I shut the latch and straightened up. The Serpent King hadn’t said a word to me. He was pretending to be asleep.

At the head of our caravan was another plain carriage driven by a huntsman. His helm was on, but dark hair curled at the nape of his neck. It could be Rane. It might not be. But under my breath, I wished him luck.

The Imperial Road wound between the hills, keeping as flat as possible, but with a handful of unavoidable inclines that slowed our progress. It was on one such incline that a man on horseback caught up to us. He was riding hard, sweating, and both he and his horse wore sashes bearing the Emperor’s crown. A messenger. He handed a scroll to one of the Imperial Guards.

The guard read the scroll and then maneuvered his horse to run alongside us and knocked on our carriage door. “My lord,” he said to the Serpent King, “Lady Incarnadine requests that you break your journey at Copperton.”

“Does she.” His voice was deeply unimpressed. “Did she say why?”

The guard’s eyes darted to the scroll and back. “To honor you and your wife, my lord.” He craned his neck till he met my gaze. “My lady.”

This was the first time one of them had acknowledged me. There was something I didn’t like in the way he assessed me.

“Very well,” said the Serpent King.

The guard peeled away.

“That can only be bad news,” he muttered mostly to himself.

“How bad?” I asked.

Thoughts flickered in his eyes. “It will be fine. They won’t harm us, not if they hope to find a way into my kingdom.”

Was he reassuring himself or me? “We’re not going to Copperton, are we?”

He pressed a finger to his lips. He shook his head. “Of course we are.”

A tense atmosphere fell between us. I packed away my tools and held on to Grimney.

We entered a narrow pass carved into the hills, walls of reinforced earth rising on either side of the carriage. The wind whistled through the gap.

The Serpent King grew focused, and the air seemed to prickle with anticipation.

The first carriage sped up, and so did we.

“It’s time,” he said to me.

An earsplitting crack.

Above, a tree tilted—it was going to fall right on us. Its shadow fell across the road.

The driver shouted—the horses galloped—and we hurtled past.

A thud of impact. The carriage lifted off the ground and crashed back, still rolling at a gallop. I squeezed my eyes shut and suddenly there were arms holding me steady.

I opened my eyes to the Serpent King’s chest. His gaze was fixed outside, and I twisted to see. Our three carriages had made it through, but the Imperial carriages were cut off. The Imperial outriders were guiding their horses over the felled tree and giving chase.

Up ahead, the road split into three. The left went toward a rocky plateau, the right followed the river, and the middle went through the hills and into the dark mountains.

A shout came from the soldiers. “Stop!”

Something was happening. The carriage shimmered under me, like light catching on dust.

Our bluish horses turned brown, and the carriage became identical to those the huntsmen drove.

Another shimmer, and there were three pearly blue carriages. The curtain fluttered open in the next one, and there was another Serpent King and another me.

The road was wide enough for two carriages side by side. We overtook one of the huntsmen’s and then were overtaken by the other.

Rane was playing a life-size game of cups.

As we came up on the fork in the road, we went straight, and the huntsmen went down the other paths.

The Imperial Guards split up to follow each carriage. I counted ten guards on horseback following us. More followed Rane’s carriage. I held my breath as he outpaced them, until the trees grew too thick, and he was gone from view.

The guards behind us unsheathed their weapons. The Serpent King sucked a breath through his teeth.

An arrow thunked into the siding beside the window. An inch to the right, and it would’ve gone through and hit me.

My voice came out shrill. “What did you say about them not hurting us?”

“I should’ve torn that scroll from his hands and read it myself,” the Serpent King said. “Something’s changed, and I don’t know what it is. It’s my fault for playing nice. Stay down.”

He opened the door. It swung wildly in the wind, and he climbed up next to the driver.

A guard drew close, one hand on his reins, the other holding a sword.

The Serpent King unwrapped a metal belt from his waist. He flicked it, and it became a flexible length of steel. A whip-sword.

Arrows peppered the side of the carriage.

I dropped to my knees, crouching in the footwell. Grimney was excitedly peeking out the window. I grabbed his foot and dragged him down with me.

The Serpent King’s voice commanded, “Get off the road!”

We crashed through the woods. A shriek of branches scraping the lacquer. Thumps on the roof, of trees dropping seedpods and what might’ve been a small monkey, judging by the agitated screech. A bump threw me into the air and I landed hard on my knees. I clutched Grimney, bracing myself.

The carriage bounced and rattled to a stop.

The Serpent King tore open the door. “Are you all right?”

Crouched against the seats, I nodded. His hair was windswept, but he looked unhurt.

“Something’s changed. Stay here, stay hidden.” He paused, then shook his head. “You’ll be fine.”

He shut the door carefully. The driver had an arrow sticking out of his arm, but he went with the Serpent King, back the way we came, through the path of broken branches and crushed foliage.

“Yes,” I said to Grimney. “We’ll just stay here. That’s a lovely plan.”

The mist seeped into the carriage, bringing with it the smell of wet, damp earth. From outside came strange noises, a mocking sort of chittering, mournful trills, and cackling shrieks. They’re just lovely birds, I told myself. Lovely little bugs and lizards.

Then they all fell silent.

Footsteps. Creeping ones, tentative and sneaking, stopping whenever a twig or seedpod crunched underfoot.

The horses screamed.

The carriage door swung open. A square-jawed man, an Imperial Guard. “I found her!” he shouted over his shoulder. “She’s alone!”

I screamed and kicked out, connecting with something hard that snapped.

He reared back, clutching his nose. “You wretch!” he said—at least I thought that’s what he said, since it sounded more like “Ooo resh!”

He swung a fist. Grimney leapt at him and bit his ear.

The guard swatted at his face, staggering back.

I ducked under his flailing arms and out the carriage. “Grims!” Grimney jumped, and I caught him.

I ran. As fast as I could. His footsteps—no longer careful—dogged me. He kept up a string of curses, then switched to threats of what he’d do to me, which made me run twice as fast.

Another voice came, distant and hoarse. “Bring her alive!”

Branches grabbed at my clothes. I tripped and caught myself, and tripped again. Tree roots, blasted things.

I crawled into a thicket, through the knotted underbelly of roots and branches. The guard snarled, “Where are you, little girl?”

I held my breath.

A glint of silver. My heart leapt.

The Serpent King’s back was turned to me. The soft light filtered through the leaf cover, growing moody, resting on his shoulders and crowning him.

Someone screamed. The Serpent King moved. A squelch, and the scream cut off.

My heart thudded.

A guard—the one who had been chasing me—ran at him, sword raised, nose bleeding, ear bleeding.

The Serpent King turned to meet him, and I caught a glimpse of his face in profile, his teeth bared as he struck fast as a cobra. Blood splattered across his clothes, his face.

I scrambled back. The air had a metallic tang, and it reminded me—it reminded me—

The guard’s body crashed to the ground.

I remembered.

The smell of fire, of resin smoke. The thuds of a battering ram at the front door, dust falling from the rafters with each boom.

My mother’s tear-lined face. Her lips parted. Hide.

Her ring dropped into my hand. The door shut, throwing me into darkness. A sliver of light. I pressed my eye to the crack.

I saw a pool of blood, spreading. Here, on the forest floor. There, on my mother’s prized carpet.

The guard was dying. My mother was dead.

Blood painted the Serpent King’s lips, dripped from his hands.

Some stories were true. Lady Incarnadine was a monster. And so was he.

10

Blood rushed in my ears. A path through the trees. Nothing else existed. My breath tore itself from my lungs.

A distant light penetrated the gloom of the forest, like a beacon. I burst out of the forest onto a dirt road that curved down a hill. A gust of wind, cold and bracing, knocked into me. I breathed it in, and the terror settled down, and my mind cleared.

My legs were shaking. How long had I been running?

I held my breath and listened for any sound of someone following me. The Serpent King might not have seen me—he was turned to the side—but if he had returned to the carriage and found me gone . . .

Faintly, from the direction of my ankles, came a soft “Srzzp.” Grimney gripped my torn skirts, looking small and terrified.

“Oh gods.” I knelt and cradled him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He patted my cheek.

“That was rather silly of me, wasn’t it?”

A bird trilled behind me, and another answered deep within the trees. The forest stretched dark and terrifying, and the Serpent King was in there, covered in blood—

No, thank you.

I got up. “Let’s go that way.”

The dirt road stretched into the distance, ringing around the hills like the last bit of hair around a bald man’s head.

“Gwzzl?” Grimney asked.

“We’re doing what you wanted,” I said. “We’re running.”

Grimney sat on my shoulder, and we set off.

I was moderately certain that we were heading in the opposite direction of the Imperial Guards and the Serpent King, though I couldn’t be sure, on account of my mad little run in the forest. I stuck to the tree line in case I needed to duck out of sight of someone coming along the road.

It was quite generous of ’em to call it a road. It was more a farmer’s track, with twin grooves scored into the earth by the wide wheels of oxcarts. Unlike the Imperial Road, it was too narrow for the marching of battalions of soldiers, and it was too meandering for anyone who wanted to get anywhere fast.

The sun had lowered enough to shoot right into my eyes. My legs ached. Somewhere behind me was the future Rane promised. And maybe it was a better deal than whatever I was headed toward, with no plan and no money. But the Serpent King had become a problem. And the wonderful thing about problems is that you can choose not to face them.

Grimney moaned.

“Are we where yet? Do you see anything?”

He grumbled.

“Darling, if you have energy to complain, why don’t you carry me for a bit, eh?”

He pinched my ear.

A clip-clop of hooves. I dove into the trees.

An oxcart shambled up the dirt road, driven by a stout farmer. She looked friendly enough, I supposed. She was frowning, but that might just have been how her face looked. The kerchief covering her hair was embroidered with cute yellow flowers, and no one with a sour disposition would go for that. Probably.

But maybe it was better to walk. No need to owe someone.

Grimney barked in my ear.

I yelped, and the farmer turned her head. I pocketed Grimney, took a deep breath, and hurried onto the road.

She clicked her teeth, and her oxen slowed to a stop.

“Could you give me a lift?” I asked.

Her eyebrows disappeared under her kerchief as she looked me up and down.

Oh. The hem of my dress was more mud than fabric, and what was still cloth was torn and hanging in shreds. Her gaze went up, and I patted my hair. My hands met a mass of knots studded with twigs. A spider fell onto my shoulder, and I jerked my arm until it fled.

Her frown deepened.

“I’m sorry, never mind,” I said.

She sighed. “I can take you to the next village. That’s it.”

“Thank you—so much.” I hopped onto the back of the cart. It was full of bags of grain, which gave me something to lean on.

I picked the debris out of my hair and combed it with my fingers, tying it into a braid with a bit of loose thread. My dress was hopeless, though I peeled off the worst of the mud, like picking scabs.

I nodded off and woke to Grimney climbing on me, his foot jabbing into my collarbone as he craned his head over the cart’s edge.

The sun was low, and the hills were dryer and yellower.

Grimney pointed. A small village, nestled in at the base of a cliff. Some ways away was a decrepit bridge over the whitish carcass of what might have once been a river.

The farmer clicked her teeth, and the oxen slowed to a stop. “As close as I get,” she said.

I took the hint and scampered out of the cart. She brushed off any attempt to repay her. That was for the best, really, since I didn’t know what I’d have done if she accepted. Probably asked Grimney to cough up a stone.

She cleared her throat. “Good luck, kid. It gets better, if you live long enough.” And without waiting for a response, she left. I watched her go.

“I’m completely fine,” I said, once she was a speck in the distance.

Fishbones cracked under my feet as I crossed the riverbed. The shadow of the cliff was inching across the cracked earth, shrouding half the village. The other half was bathed in orange light, which cast a romantic pall over deserted storefronts and decaying buildings.

I passed a little one-room shrine, neatly swept and with incense still burning before the altar. A blacksmith with no smoke coming out of the chimney. A cluster of homes, some with laundry hanging on lines outside.

My stomach growled. I needed food, and ideally a place to sleep.

Half in shadow was a large lopsided building, made more lopsided by the additions that sprouted like mushrooms. It had a battered sign that read “Inn and Trading Post and Stables.”

The door scraped open, and the bell clunked in an aggrieved manner.

I tiptoed, feeling like I was intruding. The store was crammed full of stuff.

“Hello?” I called.

A thump came from a table covered in odds and ends. A tiny old man poked his head out from behind it, blinking through thick glasses that magnified his eyes. “Yes, yes, leave it there—by the stars, a stranger!”

A delighted grin crinkled his face.

“Uh.” I felt for the doorknob behind me.

“Come in, come in!” He elbowed a stack of clay pots, and they teetered, then righted themselves. “Whatever you want, I have it. Ink of darkest black, darker than the night sky. A map, perhaps, of the Empire? Or perhaps a map of before the Empire?” He whispered the last as if it were naughty. He kept pulling things out of cubbies and shelves, all a little dingy and moth-eaten. “A blade of forged steel? A saddle for a war pony? This one came from the steppes, far north. Or, for my most discerning customers—”

“Food,” I said.

He deflated. “None of that, I’m afraid.”

My stomach growled.

“Well,” he said. “I do have one thing . . .”

He pulled out a tiny bundle of striped cloth tied like a rucksack. It made a soft clinking sound as he untied it. Two little place settings, made for dolls. The plates were no larger than my thumbnail. He spread the cloth out like a picnic blanket and arranged the tableware. The cloth was made with the daintiest embroidery in a pattern of twining flowers.

“This is a magic artifact, made by peris before they disappeared from the world. I’ve never seen one of its equal.”

I hid my smile. That was an old trick. Every curio shop in the city had a cabinet of items like that, meant to dupe the unsuspecting buyer.

“You do not believe?” He tapped the tiny plate with a tiny spoon. An assortment of food appeared, tiny bowls of spiced lamb, yogurt with pomegranate seeds, herbed flatbreads.

My mouth was agape, and I shut it hastily. “Where does the food come from?”

“That’s for the peris to know, and for us to wonder.”

Even if I had to eat every meal crumb by crumb, it was probably worth it. “How much?”

He named a price that made my eyes water.

“No thanks,” I said. “How about clothes? The cheapest you have.”

His enthusiasm waned. He brought out bolts of cloth, and a small stack of already stitched clothing. Most several decades out of style, in an assortment of sizes. I picked a flowing pair of drawstring trousers and a long deep-green overdress that came with a shawl. Simple, a little faded, but soft and good for travel. “How much for this?”

He peered at me more closely, taking in the mud on my dress. “Ah,” he said.

“No, I can pay—well, I can trade.” I dug through my bag for Galen’s lilac dress.

“Ah,” he said, much more happily, shaking it out and observing it. “Yes, fine work. Very fine.”

“Would that get me a place to sleep and perhaps some dinner?”

He glanced out the window. “Oh, all right. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“I . . . shan’t,” I said.

He took the dress and bustled in back. I found myself idly looking over the maps he’d pulled out. A name caught my eye. Marehold.

My home. It was like a hollow in my chest suddenly filled partway. I wanted to see it. It was where the Marimer River met the sea, not far off the Imperial Road. But, judging by the distance between the city and Cobalt Town, it was some eight or nine days’ ride away.

He came back with a small flatbread and a thimble’s worth of water.

The aroma of spiced lentils made my mouth water. I lifted a bite to my lips. And another, and the plate was empty, and the vaguest memory of flavor lingered on my tongue. I licked my lips and looked at the man hopefully.

Just then, the bell over the door clanged, that same reluctant sound. I downed the thimble of water, and the man grabbed the plate and hid it.

A thin voice called, “Father?” An austere woman followed, the skin of her face pulled tight over delicate bones. “Goodness. Who is this?”

“I’m a traveler,” I said.

“She’s staying the night,” the shopkeeper said, eyes darting everywhere but his daughter’s face. “She traded a lovely dress.”

“Father,” the woman said. “Did you give her your meal? Your water?”

“Er,” he said. “Darling . . .”

I ate his meal? Guilt stirred in me.

“Shall I also give her the water out of my son’s mouth?”

“No thank you,” I said, but was ignored.

I inched toward the door as they argued. “The well will work again,” the shopkeeper said.

“Yes, when pigs fly, when beggars are kings, when the Emperor sends jewelsmiths.”

I winced. I should’ve just gone. But I found myself saying, “I’m a jewelsmith.” And then adding, “Perhaps I can help?”

They turned to me with twin looks of astonishment.

“Or not,” I said. “Happy to not help as well.”

On the village’s outskirts—that is, thirty paces from the last building—was an ancient stepwell. It was wide enough and deep enough to fit Galen’s entire workshop. Stone steps zigzagged all the way down to a square basin the size of my old room. Lines ran across the stone walls, marking where the water level had once been. The highest, faintest line went over my head when I stood on the basin floor.

It was bone-dry. And someone had decided to store three bags of grain in the dead center, apparently having given up on the well ever filling with water.

The shopkeeper’s daughter dragged the bags aside and turned to me expectantly. “Well? Can you fix it?”

I drew close. At her feet was a silver disc set into the stone. It looked almost like a compass, with four stones, each set at a cardinal direction.

Two aquamarines to attract groundwater. A large freshwater pearl to purify it. And a moonstone, with a blue-green sheen and dotted with inclusions. I’d heard of a few rare moonstones that were said to affect tides. Interesting to use one inland, on ground water. Perhaps it had once influenced the river?

All the stones were loose. It seemed like someone with rudimentary knowledge had tried to reset them but had done so with thick and clumsy prongs that held the stones too high and kept them from connecting with the metal. The pearl needed a new bezel entirely. Veins of gold and bronze threaded through the thick silver in a ropelike pattern, but the once-fine work had settled and separated.

“You said it sometimes works. When it does, is it after landslides or quakes?”

She nodded.

“I can fix this,” I said. “But I’ll need a fire.”

In the matter of an hour, the blacksmith had been woken up, and I was set up in his smithy. His forge was named Lula, and she was a fine lady, or so he told me. It was overkill for what I needed, but he handled melting the metals for me, the edges of his mustache smoking as he bent over the fire.

I’d made molds for the stones out of wax, and cast them in a mix of silver and gold. I looked up from my work once when food was placed before me and found a dozen villagers poking their heads in through the window and the doorway.

I ducked my head and got back to it, listening to the blacksmith chat with them. The villagers were more white-haired than not, and it seemed like they’d been left behind when the Imperial Road had been built. Their children had mostly left for better opportunities.

The chatter melted into background noise as the work drowned out all else. I pulled apart each piece and felt the hands of the jewelsmith who had first crafted it, showing me the original intent behind every whorl and line and joint. It was like being in the company of an old friend.

It was beautiful work, practical and elegant in its simplicity. I’d never worked on something like this, something good and helpful. Rane’s words echoed through my head, when he had come to the garden to convince Galen and said the job he had was right, unlike the frivolous trinkets I spent my days making.

Perhaps this was the kind of thing he meant. A calmness sank into me, right into my bones.

I worked late into the night. I didn’t have to: the shopkeeper begged me to rest, and when that didn’t work, his daughter told me to be smart and pace myself so I could eke a few extra nights of shelter out of them. But it was precisely because I didn’t have to that I couldn’t bring myself to stop. When had I chosen a job myself, made something because I wanted to?

Dawn was only a few hours away by the time the last bit of the disc was engraved and polished. I stretched, stepping over the blacksmith’s feet. He was out cold on the floor, like he’d nodded off while keeping watch. Three other villagers were sleeping, sitting along the wall, their heads propped on each other’s shoulders. Grimney had curled up on the lap of the little old man in the middle. The fire in the forge had burned low, and I stoked it so they’d stay warm.

I padded across the street to the Inn and Trading Post and found a low cot already made up for me. My knees brushed the edge, and sleep took me before my head touched the pillow.

I was shaken awake.

“You must get up,” said a trembling voice.

My vision swam into focus.

The old shopkeeper glanced over his shoulder. “People are looking for you.”

“Who?” I said blearily. “Does he have silver hair?”

“I couldn’t tell. They’re all wearing Imperial uniforms.”

I was suddenly wide awake. “Imperial Guards? Looking for me?”

“Yes. They had a description, and they called you Saphira.”

That was specific enough. The dusty panes of the window showed five Imperial Guards striding down the street. How had they found me? I’d gotten rid of the tracker stones. But that didn’t matter now—I had to go. The shopkeeper handed me my boots, and I laced them quickly. “Grimney and my tools—they’re at the blacksmith’s.”

“We’ll get them to you.” He hurried me to my feet. “Go out the back door. Someone will meet you at the stepwell. There’s a pass that cuts up the cliff.”

Mention of the stepwell made me stop. “Wait. I’m almost done, I just need to place the disc. Have them bring it to me.”

He frowned like he would object, but then said, “Fine. Go.”

The way to the back door wound through teetering stacks of gizmos and relics that sprouted from the floor like fanciful stalagmites. It creaked open, and I squeezed myself out into the pale dawn light.

Voices came from the main road, and I inched along the backside of the inn and peeked around the corner.

The villagers mobbed the Imperial Guards, shouting questions: “Did the Emperor finally hear our petitions? Are you fellows here to fix the bridge? What about the stepwell?”

The leader of the guards barked back, “As we have said, we are here for a girl.”

I sucked in a breath. There went the faint hope that the shopkeeper had misheard.

A stooped old woman raised her walking stick. “Well, if that’s all you’re wanting, you can have me.”

The villagers cackled, and my stomach lurched. They didn’t know how dangerous the Imperial Guards could be.

The next building was a few paces away, but thankfully a clothesline was strung across the alley, and the sheets hid me as I ran. I made my way from building to building, crouching low and watching for the guards, and sprinting across whenever no one was looking.

All my attention was on the main street, so the hand that came from behind and covered my mouth made me scream. The sound was muffled.

“Shh,” a deep voice said. “It’s me.”

He let me go, and I spun to face the Serpent King. A deep hood shielded his features, but a lock of silver hair hung free.

The blood—the blood was gone, but I could smell it still—

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I said faintly.

“Thank the stars—I feared the worst when I found you gone, and then again when I finally read the messenger’s scroll. I wish your Master Galen had waited just a little longer before revealing the truth.”

“Galen revealed the truth?” I repeated.

“Why do you think the guards took you?”

“They didn’t take me,” I said. “I walked here. They just showed up.”

He reared back like I’d slapped him. “You left of your own free will. Why?”

I hushed him and dragged him with me to the shelter of the next building. The last one before the stepwell.

He removed my hand. He took a step back, his body taut, hands fisted at his sides. “My people went through the forest, looking for you. They were captured by the reinforcements, taken to Copperton. I had to choose. I came for you, like a fool.”

They were taken? Even . . . “Rane?”

“What do you care? You ran away.”

“It—it was the blood. I saw you—it was—”

“The blood? Do you think I enjoyed that?” A dark laugh. “Yes, of course, how I just love bathing in blood.” He shook his head. “I’m done. You people are all the same. You look at us and see monsters.”

Hurt flickered in his eyes before a shutter came down over his expression. He was a storybook creature, divine, powerful. It shouldn’t be possible that anything I could do would hurt him.

“I can’t do this,” he murmured to himself, then raised his voice. “Fine. Consider the deal revoked. You’re free.”

My hand rose, reaching for him, but he slipped away, melting like a ghost into the shadows. He skirted the stepwell and made for the mountain pass.

There was an oily pit in my stomach. I rubbed my arms, willing it away.

A distant shout from the main street snapped me out of it, and I dove for the stepwell, down the stairs and into the shelter of the shadows cast by the low angle of the morning sun.

The old shopkeeper scampered down the steps a moment later, gripping the silver disc, my bag slung over his shoulder, Grimney jogging beside him.

“Hurry,” he said to me.

I took the disc to the bottom of the stepwell. I checked the marks to make sure it was positioned exactly right, and then lowered the disc carefully into place. It settled with a soft click.

A rumble came from deep below. Behind his glasses, the shopkeeper’s eyes widened.

A trickle of water came, and then a rush, a flood, an amount that felt impossible, filling the square basin and lapping at my toes, my ankles, my calves.

I scrambled up the steps.

A lightness swelled in me as the water rose, expanding through my chest, radiating to my fingertips.

The old shopkeeper wiped his eyes and put his spectacles back on. He flung his bony arms around my shoulders, pressing whiskery kisses to my cheeks. “Bless you, child. You have saved us.”

A warmth blossomed in my chest. If I hadn’t run, I’d never have met these people. I’d never have helped them. I’d never have witnessed this pure, helpful kind of jewelsmithing.

“You don’t have to go,” he said. “Hide in the mountain pass until they go, and then stay here, with us.”

His eyes were so kind. This little village could be home.

11

I kicked a rock up the path. It rolled back down to my toes, and I gave it another kick.

The shopkeeper said I could take over one of the empty shops. They’d help me get on my feet, he’d said. They’d all love to have me there.

I was a fool to turn him down. Especially now that the Serpent King had released me from my deal with Rane. I was free. I could do whatever I wanted. I didn’t quite know what that was, but a jewelsmith in a little village sounded decent enough. But my insides had twisted up, guilt wringing me like a washcloth.

I glared at the figure marching fast up the road. The Serpent King acted like he didn’t see me, but he gave himself away when he turned his head the tiniest degree, just enough to show an ear and a bit of pointed cheekbone. He knew exactly where I was, probably to the number of paces that separated us.

“I made a deal,” I called. “I’m not going back on it.”

Without turning or breaking stride, he said, “I’m afraid there is no deal.”

I quickened my pace. “Look, maybe I jumped to conclusions.”

“Please, take the bleating of your conscience elsewhere.”

Rude. Still, perhaps a different tactic would work. “Rane made it sound like you really needed a jewelsmith.”

He went silent, his jaw working. “We’ll manage.”

A memory came to me, of the conversation between the Serpent King and Rane in the dark tent. The Serpent King hadn’t been sure about me then, and he still wasn’t. But Rane believed in me, and his face had been so earnest when he told me how important the job was. I owed it to Rane, I felt, to make his case.

“I don’t think you will,” I said quietly, keeping my gaze on the pebbles lining the dirt road.

The Serpent King’s dark laced boots kicked up small dust clouds with each step. Fifteen dust clouds later, he spoke. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

The knot in my stomach loosened.

The Serpent King fell silent, save for the occasional exasperated huff, the kind that belonged to beleaguered mothers waiting for their kid to finish peeing. Grimney hung half out of my pocket, pointing at every tenth rock on the ground, each time with the ecstatic enthusiasm of someone who’d never seen one. A bit of gravel got under my nails as I picked up the latest specimen. Grimney tucked it into my pocket with the others. My dress gave a short rip as several stitches snapped. “That’s your last one,” I hissed to him.

The Serpent King’s long legs ate up the distance, and I jogged to catch up.

He huffed as I neared.

I chewed my cheek. I shouldn’t ask. “We’re going to save the others, right?”

“You don’t even know them.”

“I know Rane.”

He breathed a laugh that sounded like pah!

“I do,” I said. “He’s been nice to me.”

“Rane is an idiot.”

I bit back the words that came to my lips. You’re not even half as clever as him.

The Serpent King shot me a withering look. “Listen, Saphira. I am going to rescue my people. You are going to stay out of my way.”

I glared at his elbow. And then, quietly, I asked, “But they’ll be all right, won’t they?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

My feet missed a step.

“Well, it’s not a tea party, is it?” he snapped. “They’re probably fine. They’re my best. There’s a chance that they’ll have saved themselves by the time we get there.”

I didn’t believe him. I don’t know that he believed himself either.

We didn’t speak for some time, thankfully, because the road curved uphill and I needed every inch of my lungs to keep up with him.

The tinkling of running water came from the side of the road, and the Serpent King veered off the path. “Finally, a river. Thank the stars.”

I wondered at his enthusiasm. To call it a river was a stretch; at most it was a stream with mild ambition. Still, I took the opportunity to gather my breath.

The Serpent King knelt by the bank and trailed his fingers through the water. He whistled, four clear notes that hung in the air.

A warbling trill came from the stream, matching his tune.

The flow changed, catching, a snag in the current. The Serpent King unfolded himself by inches, like he was coaxing a rabbit from a bush, but the bush was the stream and the rabbit was a column of water.

The Serpent King came to his full height, his fingers brushing the water, and inclined his head in a regal bow. The water trembled, and then it solidified, first the long muzzle and pointed ears, then the neck and sea-foam mane, then legs tipped with gleaming hooves. My eyes told me that the thing before me was a horse, if a slightly blue-green one, but the rest of me felt my eyes were being rather hasty with their declarations.

The Serpent King patted its neck, and its pale hairs shifted under his hand. It certainly looked solid. “Let us hurry,” he said. “Come. I’ll help you up.”

The horse whinnied, and its teeth seemed very real and very large. I inched back. “It’s okay, I’ll walk.”

He huffed, nearly rolling his eyes. “It’s just like any horse.”

“Except it came out of the water.”

“That’s perfectly natural. It’s one of the water horses. A divine beast.”

“How did it come here? I thought the divine peoples were bound to your land.”

“They are not bound. They have choice. Some chose to stay, and they live in the hidden corners of your world. In my land, they live openly.”

He reached out a hand.

“Still,” I said, “I’d better walk.”

“It’s not a monster.”

“I didn’t say it was.” No more so than any other horse, at least.

“Then why—Ah.” He cut himself off with devilish delight. “Do you not know how to ride?”

“In theory,” I said. “I presume you sit on it.”

“Come. It’s simple. We’ll ride together, for now—we need to make haste.”

I inched closer. The horse’s nostrils flared, and I sensed a hidden malice in its big doleful eyes.

“But still, walking is healthy—” I yelped as hands gripped my waist and lifted me into the air.

I swung a leg over the horse’s back and wrapped my arms around its neck. Its muscles rippled under me like it wanted me to know how much stronger than me it was.

The Serpent King took his seat behind me—how I don’t know, I didn’t dare twist to look, lest the beast throw me off—and he was a sturdy weight pressed against my back. I shuffled forward to put some distance between us.

“Let’s go,” he said. His arms came around my body and his warmth pressed against me.

I shut my eyes, and the horse’s shoulders shifted under me as it picked up speed. I was thankful for the Serpent King keeping me steady, for there was no saddle. Then again, I doubted I’d have known what to do even if the horse came with a saddle.

I opened my eyes once and found it to be a mistake, for one, because we were going so fast the world was a blur of color, and two, because I saw that there were no reins, nor any way at all to control the beast.

The monstrous water horse finally fell still. Hands gripped my waist again, and the Serpent King pulled me off the beast’s back. On trembling legs, I waddled over to a nice boulder, plopped down, and rubbed the feeling back into my thighs.

I blinked the wind from my eyes. We were on a hill, shielded from the road by a thicket of trees, with a grand view of a town below.

The Serpent King pulled the hood low over his head. “Things are more dangerous, now that they know who you are. The story has changed. They say I stole you from the Imperial City.”

He stood like kings in paintings, one leg up on a fallen tree, peering down at the town. All the roofs were a mottled pale turquoise-green.

“Copperton,” the Serpent King said.

Oh. Of course it was green. The picture in my head was of a town all pinkish-orange, like clean polished copper. But any piece of copper turns that distinct blue-green in about seven years, if left unlacquered or unwaxed. It takes a lot of elbow grease to polish the green away—a lesson I learned when I was nine, when Galen had to take just about any job, including restoring old pieces. I could still conjure up the sweet and earthy scent of the wax.

“You have never been here?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted. “Have you?”

“No. I have read that it is famously built on a spoke and wheel design,” he said.

I squinted. Just barely, in the heart of the town, I could make out a cluster of buildings that might fit that description, but streets wandered aimlessly after that point, buildings crowding each other and climbing up a hill in the distance.

“And,” he continued, “that in the fourth age, Prince Adi the Watchful, built a small palace and lined the walls of his banquet hall in lead. He was deeply paranoid, deeply hateful of the power of jewels, and he insisted all his visitors meet him there, including when he met his bride, so he could be assured that her intelligence and beauty were not unduly enhanced. If I remember correctly, it was in that very same banquet hall that he was poisoned, on the eve of his thirty-ninth birthday.”

He had the demeanor of a boy reciting his lessons, and for a brief heartbeat, an image of a small, scowling boy-sized Serpent King flashed before my eyes. I shook my head. “That’s, uh, very interesting.”

He stalked off, an irritated set to his lips.

It was a very old book he had read all this from. But of course, how would they have records of recent history in the Serpent Kingdom?

I followed after him. He was standing with his eyes closed.

A transformation fell upon him, his skin turning smooth, his cheekbones widening, his shoulders slimming and torso thickening. A lantern-jawed man in an Imperial Guard uniform stood before me.

I clapped hands over my mouth.

He startled, eyelids flying open. “What is it?”

“I didn’t know you could—I thought only Rane could do that.”

He gave me a withering look. “Do not think so highly of Rane and so lowly of me.”

“His illusions are better.” Rane’s had a bit of reality to them. There was something waxy about the Serpent King’s. Rane was like me, working for someone who didn’t really appreciate what we could do and yet was jealous of what we did.

His cheeks reddened. “I’ve expended a lot of energy saving someone. At full power, I’m better than Rane.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay to admit you’re not very good at something.”

I knew I shouldn’t bait him. He could snap my neck at any moment, and he seemed to be irritated enough to want to.

“Come here,” he said. “I’ll put one on you.”

He moved as fast as a cobra and that telltale warmth trickled from my crown down my skin to my toes.

I opened my mouth, and he hushed me. “Remember, speak no truths. Or perhaps, speak not at all.”

We made our way on foot into Copperton, entering through an open-air bazaar. Mothers hurried their children along, sellers shuttered their market stalls, and a whisper worked its way through the market. They’re coming.

They gave the Serpent King a wide berth, on account of his Imperial uniform. I followed a few paces behind, as a glance down told me I appeared to be a large-footed woman with spidery hands, and I didn’t quite know what that meant. Thankfully, gazes slid over my face without pause, so however peculiar I might’ve looked, I was still unremarkable.

The way up the hill to the palace of Prince Adi—which was now better known as the Copper Manor, home to the Lord and Lady Copper—was busy with servants hurrying to set things right. A pair of women swept the road, while another pair trimmed the orange trees that lined the street, their trimmings falling onto the freshly swept road. I skirted around the sweepers as they shouted at the tree trimmers.

A low gate let into a bustling courtyard, and the Serpent King paused. Without looking at me, he murmured, “We meet after one hour, regardless of if we fail or succeed.”

He strode into the courtyard, glancing at the stables, then the guardhouse, and then disappeared around the corner. He’d look for the cellars, the dungeons, the jails.

I waited for a group of maids to cross the courtyard and trailed after them. They chattered excitedly about the Imperial soldiers that were soon to arrive. Apparently, they found the uniforms dashing.

Inside the manor, I split from them. My instructions were to not get myself in trouble and, secondarily, to search for a sign of the huntsmen. But since the Serpent King had assigned himself all the likeliest spots, I intended to do no more than make a careful, quick circuit and get out.

“You, girl.” A matronly voice came from behind me.

I met the gaze of a woman whose hair was in a severe bun, a large set of keys on a sash at her waist. A housekeeper.

“What’s your name?” the housekeeper asked. Her brows pinched as she looked me up and down. What on earth did I look like?

A lie. I needed a lie to keep the illusion on, but I suddenly couldn’t remember a single name. My pocket wiggled, and weakly, I said, “Grim . . . elda. Grimelda.”

The housekeeper cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Was I sure? If I said yes, did that mean I was sure that I was Grimelda—which would be a lie, and therefore safe—or did it mean I was sure I meant to say Grimelda—which might count as a truth and break the illusion? To be safe, I said, “I . . . am . . . Grimelda.”

“Is that all you can say?”

I swallowed around the knot in my throat. If I said no, that would be the truth, right? The only safe answer was: “Yes.”

“Yes?” the housekeeper repeated.

Oh gods. The housekeeper thought I was an idiot. I went on weakly, “I mean, I was hired this morning. I’m supposed to, uh, stoke the fire.”

“Devaul’s cousin, eh?” The housekeeper shook her head. “Fine, get on with it.”

I began to dip my head in a nod and then stopped—did nodding count? Oh, but it didn’t matter—it was a lie, I wasn’t Devaul’s cousin. But seconds had passed with me holding my neck out strangely.

I ran before the housekeeper could say anything more. She was still watching me, so I joined two maids as they scurried into the banquet hall.

A chill shook me as I stepped over the threshold, into a grand hall of such a dark gray that it was almost blue. Grimney pinched my leg, and I smothered my yelp and pressed a hand to the lump in my dress. My hand—it looked like my real hand. The illusion was gone.

The floor was tiled with it, the walls were made of it. I had to get out of here. The ceiling was lead-gray, the fireplace was gray. The Serpent King’s story about Prince Adi’s lead-lined banquet hall—it was true.

I sucked in a breath.

The huntsmen. They were kneeling in a line on the far wall, hands tied behind their backs, most still armored and helmed. They were sitting docile, each flanked by two Imperial Guards. The two unhelmed ones bore bruises and a spattering of blood. Neither of them was Rane.

A round man in copper robes marched in front of them, crowing something about having captured them.

I backed out of the banquet hall, then ducked into the courtyard and hurried through the gates. In an alcove set in the stone wall, shielded from view, I brought out Grimney. “Are you all right?”

He moved sluggishly, but he nodded.

I kissed his forehead and cradled him, waiting. Not twenty minutes later, a lantern-jawed guard marched by, and I stepped in line with him. He startled at the sight of me, and quickly came the feeling of warm milk trickling down my skin.

Once we were down a side street, he spoke. “They were moved recently. I saw where they were holding them—”

“I know where they are.” I told him about the banquet hall, about the illusion failing.

His brows pinched together. “More guards are coming, straight from the Imperial City. Along with one they call the Interrogator.”

“What shall we do?”

He paced. “Without illusions, without my abilities . . . Two guards per huntsman might be decent odds, with a big enough distraction . . . But without my abilities, it’s a risk. They’re looking for you. And if you’re captured, we’ll never find another jewelsmith of your caliber.”

I tried not to take it as praise, but my cheeks heated.

A poor man passed us, offering us copper scraps for a few coins. The Serpent King shook his head, and the man went on. But the thing about copper is that it has a bunch of peculiar properties, in addition to turning pale turquoise-green when exposed to the elements. A big enough distraction . . . “I have an idea.”

Not a half hour later, we were prepared. I was without an illusion—as we figured it would be dangerous to risk someone seeing my face change as I entered the hall—but I was not undisguised. We had bought an apron to go over my outfit, and I’d put my hair up in a tight bun that matched the maids scurrying in and out of the Copper Manor. The Serpent King had smudged dirt on my cheekbones and chin, which altered my looks enough to make it difficult to recognize me. I hoped.

“Do you remember the signal?” the Serpent King asked, wearing his Imperial Guard illusion.

“How could I forget it?” I said, already dreading the moment I’d have to speak the words. “I don’t understand how it’s a signal.”

He scratched his neck. “It’s just one of those things. A phrase among friends. They’ll understand, and it’ll get them to move.”

“It’s just a bit mean.”

He let out a surprised laugh, and then his eyes darkened. “Well, we are monsters.”

I twisted the edge of my apron, flustered.

“It’s time, I think,” he said, not unkindly.

I nodded. “Please, take care of him.”

Grimney waved goodbye dejectedly from the sash around the Serpent King’s waist.

“I will.” He reached out and caught my wrist. “Be safe.”

I took a deep breath and strode back into the courtyard. Dressed like a maid, I was near invisible, and I slipped into the manor with ease.

A girl hurried down the hall, clutching a flagon of wine, and I followed her into the banquet hall. My skin prickled with unease amongst all this lead. It was busier than it had been. The huntsmen hadn’t moved, nor had the guards.

More people filled in. Servants, tidying. The Lord and Lady Copper were adjusting the decorations along the massive banquet table. A half dozen of their children—judging by the uniformity of their copper-colored clothing—milled about, munching on tiny little appetizers, waiting to take their seats. A handful of other nobles strolled around the room with drinks in hand. Despite their surroundings, some people wore jewels. One man’s eyes flickered, the color changing from green to brown, as the jewel between his eyes struggled against the dampening effect of the lead.

It wasn’t a perfect seal. Even if they had used pure lead brick for the walls, the mortar was a weak point. The interior of the fireplace would have been made with firesafe brick, rather than lead. The weakest points of all were the arched windows that opened to the courtyard, letting in the red-gold light of sunset.

There was a sense of expectation that was palpable in how everyone angled themselves toward the door, how glances darted to the entrance.

The Interrogator, probably. Better to make our move before they arrived.

My heart thudded, and I headed for the fireplace. I made sure no one was looking and dug out fistfuls of copper scraps.

Through the arched window, I met the Serpent King’s disguised eyes. He nodded.

Okay.

I dumped the copper into the fire, emptying my pockets by the fistfuls.

Most jewelsmiths know this, but most other people don’t. When heated, copper produces a bluish-green flame. I’d once asked Galen why, and he told me that it was the spirit of the metal coming out in flame. Which sounded like a rather pretty, poetic reason, but it had troubled me—why should copper have a bluish-green spirit and why should lead have a whitish one? And why should gold and silver have no spirit? Anyway, Galen told me to shut it. So I still didn’t know exactly why it happened. But it sure looked incredible.

The fire blazed green. It cast the dining hall in eerie blue-green underwater light. The shadows on every face lengthened. A maid screamed, and then one of the guards did.

A boy ran in, shrieking, “A ghost! In the courtyard!”

The nobles shouted—someone threw a plate that crashed against the wall.

I drew in a breath and shouted the signal: “Are you snakes, or are you worms?” And I ducked, my cheeks hot—I hadn’t known my voice could get that loud.

At my words, the huntsmen startled and, just like the Serpent King said they would, flew into action, catching their captors unawares. They fought with bound hands, until their bindings were cut by a blade—a table knife—that passed between them as quick as the wind.

I crawled out as things flew through the air, shoving through the people flooding through the door and out into the courtyard.

More screams. I looked up.

Hovering above the flagstones was a pillar of green fire, and somehow the flames twisted and turned and appeared to be a giant bearded face. Its mouth opened, and out rolled a long tongue of fire. “I am the souls of the forest that once stood here. Long have my children wept for the trees being cut down. They wander the land and have come to take their vengeance on those who have made a profit on their suffering!”

The Serpent King’s gaze was intent on the illusion, but he glanced down, scanning the crowd. For his huntsmen, most likely, but when his gaze landed on me, his brows unclenched and he visibly drew in a relieved breath. I nodded at him.

He mouthed, Go.

Balls of green fire shot out from the pillar over people’s heads. One came close, and the flame had a little cherubic face that was laughing rather wickedly. There was no heat, but it cast a convincing blue-green light.

The great bearded face thundered, “The innocent will be spared. But if you are guilty, run! Run, if you think you can escape me!”

Chaos. Everyone ran, nobles and servants alike, shoving through the gate and jumping over the low wall.

I ran with them, bursting out into the street. The crowd flew downhill, streaming like water around the long line of carriages that were clip-clopping up to the Copper Manor.

A woman’s voice barked, “What is this madness?”

She stuck her head out of her carriage, and her dark hair streamed like silk in the wind. Mirandel.

And there, on her neck, gleamed a large yellow tourmaline set in a collar with five segments.

I ducked my head and ran, not stopping for anything, not until the sky was full dark and I was outside the town, in the sheltered grove where the Serpent King and I had decided to meet.

The back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t see anything in the dark, but the silence wasn’t empty.

A lantern flared to life, illuminating a man with dark wavy hair and a slender, smiling face. Rane. “You did it,” he said.

Grimney leapt out of his hands and into mine, crashing into my collarbone. I laughed.

Applause came from the huntsmen. “Our savior,” one of them said. Another answered, “No worms today,” and I couldn’t tell if it was a joke.

I scanned them for the Serpent King.

“We should go,” Rane said. “It’ll be just you and me from here on out. We’re splitting up. Now that they’re looking for you, the safest way to get to the kingdom is in small groups.” He followed my gaze. “The injured have already left.”

“What about the king?”

He paused. “He’s safe, of course. He left with them. He thought you’d be more comfortable with me.”

I nodded and ignored the odd emptiness in my chest. “I’m ready.”

12

On the far side of Copperton, at the junction where the Imperial Road resumed its southward journey, was the sort of roadside watering hole made for those who did not plan on lingering. Several groups huddled in the courtyard, some bent over their meals, some brushing and watering their horses and camels. There were three wagons, one shabby but large carriage, a sleek mail carriage, and an oxcart.

“The mail carriage is no good,” Rane said as he tore a bit of fried bread and used it to mop up a mouthful of spiced cream sauce. “That’s the first place they’ll look. Every last one of them will be stopped and checked by the guards.” That was a pity. The mail carriage’s horses had jewels embedded in their bridles and in the metal of their hooves. I couldn’t be sure without examining them, but I would have wagered the pale jewels in their horseshoes made them extra swift.

“What about them?” I nodded at a vicious-looking trio, all of whom boasted nasty scars and the kind of facial hair that seemed unkempt but was really carefully designed to appear menacing. “They’ve got a wagon, and it looks fast. They’ll take a fair bit of coin, but I think you’re good for that, and we probably should sleep in shifts.”

“The mercenaries? You can’t be serious,” Rane said. “They’ll cut our throats if they find out who we are.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling them,” I said. “Were you?”

His nose scrunched up, and he busied himself with his food. “How about them?”

I followed his gaze. Five women in priestess robes, ranging in age from one-foot-in-the-next-life to a rosy-cheeked young teen.

“No, definitely not,” I said.

Rane quirked an amused brow. “Come on. They look nice.”

I raised both my brows. “Look a little closer.”

One of the priestesses shifted, and the folds of her robe fell open. She quickly corrected herself, concealing again the belt and daggers wrapped around her waist.

“Those,” I said, “are better mercenaries.”

Rane gave me a look. “How did you know that?”

“I was paying attention,” I said. Grimney maneuvered himself halfway out of my pocket to take a look and I patted his head.

“I’ve underestimated you again,” Rane said quietly.

Again? I glanced at him.

His expression was soft, open. “It was brave, what you did for us.”

Embarrassment made an invisible barrier that kept my gaze from going higher than his chin. “It wasn’t me, really. It was all the Serpent King.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You freed yourselves. I just gave the signal. And the Serpent King cast that illusion.”

“Is it so hard to take a compliment?”

“You’re better at it, you know. Illusions.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re very loyal.”

“And you truly despise him.”

His words struck a wrong note. “What is he like, when he’s with you? Is he cruel?”

Rane stiffened. “He must appear so, to keep his people safe.”

“But is he?”

“I . . . don’t know. He can be.” He took a deep breath. “If it matters, I don’t like him much either.”

We fell quiet. The stable hand did quick business, leading two sturdy horses and handing them over to a pair of travelers.

“We could go on horseback,” Rane said, “though I heard you’re afraid of horses.”

“I’m not,” I lied, too quickly. Grimney gave a rocky chuckle from my pocket.

“Really?” Rane said with a slow smile. “You wouldn’t mind if we went the rest of the way on horseback?”

“H-how far is that, exactly?”

“Oh, days and days. Weeks.”

Oh stars. My thighs were still bruised stiff from the last ride. “I can do it.”

He laughed. “You can trust me, you know.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, but I had the feeling that he didn’t mean it lightly.

I was saved from answering by a commotion from within the inn. A ripple went through the courtyard: the Imperial Guards were here.

Save for the pair manning the mail carriage, the rest moved in a shifty-eyed swarm toward their respective vehicles. “Let’s flip a coin, eh?” Rane said.

The next few days passed in a blur of the same. Bargaining for rides at random roadside spots. Plotting a meandering path south. But no matter where we went, Imperial Guards followed soon after, asking for a girl jewelsmith.

We couldn’t linger. I grew desperate for a bath. My skin was grimy with road dust, and yet I still smelled faintly floral and of sickly-sweet honey. The oils and soaps and whatever else Lady Incarnadine put in her bath proved their worth, but I wished they were not so potent.

Part of me just missed the smells I was used to. Smoke and wax and the slight metallic tinge that hung in the air after sanding and polishing.

I missed jewelsmithing.

A burst of laughter drew my attention. A man with a topknot clapped Rane on the back like they were old friends.

That was the other thing: Rane made friends with everyone. How did he do it? What could he possibly know about this man he’d just met, to even carry a conversation, much less whatever this was?

I mean, I spent years watching Galen butter people up, but that was all gossip, all smiles that hid a hiss and a claw. He never made anyone laugh like this.

Rane jogged back, a faint smile on his lips. “He’ll take us, he just needs about an hour.”

I bit my lip, hesitating, and then blurted out, “What did you say to him?”

“Uh, ‘please, could you give us a lift’?”

“Not that. The rest of it.”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing, really.”

“But—you were smiling and laughing. He just started telling you his life story?”

“Well, I suppose I noticed the dye-work on his clothes. It looked like Pochampally style handloom work, which I’ve only read about, so I guess I asked him about it, if he lived there. And he told me his daughter visited and brought back some yards of it, and he couldn’t get anyone in his hometown to like it until a fashionable friend of his wore it to a wedding—then somehow we got to talking about the beautiful things that people don’t notice—” He cut himself off. “It’s all nonsense, really.”

“It’s not nonsense,” I said.

His cheeks pinked. “I dream about wandering, sometimes. Seeing all there is to see.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I know where I belong,” he said.

“Surely the Serpent King would let you go and travel.”

“I’m afraid he would not.”

My estimation of the Serpent King was on a rapid decline. “You shouldn’t listen to him, then.”

“It’s not so simple. You’ll understand once we get home.”

Home. The Serpent Kingdom was his home, but where was mine?

Rane clicked his teeth. “They’re early.”

A dust cloud was coming nearer. A half dozen Imperial Guards at least.

“How are they catching up with us?”

“We got rid of all the tracker stones,” I said.

Rane nodded.

There had to be something else, something I’d overlooked.

“Let’s go,” Rane said. But we headed away from his friend, whose carriage was as yet unhitched to his horses.

A large wagon was taking off. I caught a glimpse of colorful paint on the sides, but I couldn’t make out more than that.

Rane handed me up, and I scrambled into the dark interior, cupping my pocket to protect a sleeping Grimney. Rane leapt in after me, and we drew the curtain down. A half dozen Imperial Guards marched out, surrounded by the chaos of departing vehicles.

A melodic voice came from behind us. “My, what do we have here?”

There were four of them. Two were in the process of washing off a thick layer of cosmetics. One held a zither; it twanged out of tune. The last had the shiniest bald dome I’d ever seen, with a luxurious beard to offset it. His eyes were large and romantic.

Along one side of the wagon were rolled-up canvases, heavily painted. Stage backdrops. A trunk overflowed with crowns, swords, costumes.

“How wonderful!” Rane said. “Actors!”

I reached for the curtain. The ground whooshed past, fast enough that jumping would hurt badly, but I’d likely survive—

A hand gripped my dress and hauled me back inside the wagon. Rane put his arm around my shoulders and said, “This is my wife. We’ve had to run, you see. Our families . . . they did not approve.” A convincing sorrow came to his eyes, and his lips trembled like he was putting on a brave smile. I gaped at him.

“How touching,” said a woman with kind, honey-colored eyes. She wiped the last of the makeup from her lips and smiled. “We know something of that, don’t we, Barad?”

Barad was the bald man. He leaned back, and it was clear he was the leader. “Let’s not get taken in, love.”

“We can pay,” I said.

“We can pay well,” Rane confirmed.

“We can’t throw them out,” the honey-eyed woman said. “Not when that villain is on the loose.”

Barad’s brow arched.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Barad cleared his throat. “Well, then, welcome to your humble chariot.”

I revised my opinion of who the leader was as Rane burst into a flowery expression of thanks. We soon learned that they were indeed a theater troupe, six strong. Two were up front at the rein; one was the writer, and the second the artist in charge of keeping the props and backdrops.

The honey-eyed woman introduced herself as Maras, the musician plucked a few notes and refused to speak, and the last member was a doe-eyed person who murmured about beauty sleep and tucked themselves into a hammock.

As they settled in for the night, I found myself playing with my mother’s ring, my thumb mapping the crack in the dark blue stone. My hand stilled. That day, in the baths, Incarnadine had taken my mother’s ring. Could she have done something to it? Embedded a small tracker stone, somehow? It would’ve been smart to toss it, especially as it could never work again. But I couldn’t.

I dug through my bag for my tools. My hands instead found the bundle the old shopkeeper had pressed into my hands. I vaguely remembered emptying my pockets into my bag outside of Copperton.

I unwrapped it. It was the peri-made doll’s set. I tapped it as he showed me, and the food appeared. I couldn’t just lift the plate to my mouth and have food spill in. I had to take a piece daintily, eating a meal a crumb at a time. Still, I loved it. Maybe, once I’d finished the job for Rane . . . with a new identity, so Incarnadine would stop looking for me, I could return to the village.

I put it carefully away and got out the tools I’d need. I shifted Grimney from my pocket to my bag so he’d be out of my way. He woke grumpily and turned over.

I set myself to taking apart my mother’s ring, looking for any sign of alteration.

Rane and Maras chitchatted like old friends, and I listened as I worked.

“Earlier, you mentioned a villain on the loose . . . ,” Rane pried.

“You haven’t heard? The Serpent King tore ten men limb from limb.”

“No,” Rane said. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Lucky you found us, then. It’s not safe to be out alone. He could be anywhere.”

Barad rolled his eyes. “Maras, he’s not hiding in every shadow. And for one, I don’t trust the guards and their stories.”

Maras tutted. “You think he didn’t steal away that poor jewelsmith?”

My hands slipped. I shot an urgent glance at Grimney, who scowled sleepily in return, but obligingly crawled deeper into the bag to hide himself. One look at him and the actors would have a lot of questions about how we came by a creature born of jewelsmithing.

“If he did, perhaps he had a good reason.”

“Why do you defend him?” Rane asked.

Barad chuckled. “Does it not make your blood sing, to hear the stories of the divine peoples? That’s what we’ve been doing this last year. In the northern mountains, a village reported being visited by the eagle folk. Can you imagine? They saved a child who’d gotten lost in the snow. And then, in a small place in the eastern jungles, we collected a story about a talking tiger that was so persuasive it convinced a hunter to put his head between its teeth.”

Maras cut in. “He loves the stories so much that he thinks the Serpent King must be a grand figure, to protect them all so. But, my love, of the stories we’ve collected, how many of them are of the divine peoples being kind, and how many are of them causing harm?”

“Perhaps they’re just like people,” Rane said. “The bad ones cause harm, and we hear their stories more. The good ones know to keep to themselves.”

I stepped on his foot.

Rane glanced at me, and a tightness in his face softened. “We’ll let you get to sleep.”

Barad and Maras found their hammocks and extinguished the oil lamp.

The moon gave us just enough light to maneuver. There was a place for Rane and me on the wagon floor. I finished setting my mother’s ring to rights and put away my tools. I was relieved: there was nothing to indicate it was how they were finding us.

Rane curled up on the floor, and after a moment, I curled up next to him. His body cast a faint warmth.

I whispered, so quietly I feared he wouldn’t hear me. “Do you think the stories are true? That the divine peoples are returning?”

Rane turned around, putting us face-to-face. “Perhaps,” he breathed.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

He took a moment. “They’ll only be captured and enslaved.”

“What’s home like?”

His eyes lit up. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

I met his gaze.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing my cheek, and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I hope you’ll love it.”

I woke with Rane’s arm around me. But something was wrong. The wagon was slowing.

Rane’s arm squeezed me, and he mumbled against my neck. I could tell the exact moment he woke up—he released me and put a foot of distance between us.

“There’s something up ahead,” one of the drivers called back. “They’ve closed the road.”

Maras slid open a small wood window. “Imperial Guards,” she said.

A moment later, a knock came. “Everybody out.”

We all scrambled out into the sunshine. The earth was flat and dark. The road wound through a stone arch, a checkpoint. The gates were closed. On the high ground, overlooking the gate, squatted a lumpy-looking fortress. From its turrets flew flags that bore the crown of the Empire, as well as ones bearing a symbol of a frog on a shield.

A reedy-looking guard tapped the hilt of his sword against the wagon’s painted side.

“We’re a theater troupe,” said Barad.

The guard frowned. “All of you?”

“Yes.”

He called to another guard, this one with an important-looking mustache. “Them says they’re actors.”

“Can’t take ’em at their word,” the mustached guard said. “Remember the priestesses.”

Rane glanced at me.

“Well?” the reedy one said. “What can you do?”

“We can do anything you’d like,” Barad said. “Perhaps a wedding play? We can do delighted ones, somber ones, ones with murder. Maras here is a particular student of death. She can make death sublime. Khoshi and Ruda can manufacture any sort of love you desire. Anything you want to believe, we can make-believe.”

“I like weddings,” the reedy one said.

The mustached one grunted.

Maras clutched her bosom and toppled into Barad’s arms. “My sweet love!” he shouted. He burst into a monologue as the others enacted strange little snippets of plays. The doe-eyed one vowed vengeance on the musician, the drivers did a silent comedy routine, even Rane threw himself into a long soliloquy about not knowing if he truly was a man or a worm.

“What about her?” A guard pointed at me.

I swallowed.

Rane came to my rescue. “She’s deep in character. An orphan with a heart of gold. See the pain in her eyes? And the sweetness of her smile? It’s our newest play. She doesn’t know who she will become, if she’ll allow herself to fall in love, or if she’ll let the horrors of her past keep her from the joys of her future.”

Uncertainly, I smiled.

“That’s real good,” the reedy guard said, nodding like he was impressed. “You can really feel a sense of ’er fragile hope.”

Behind him, Rane winked at me.

“All right,” said the mustached guard. “You check with the commander if they’ve got a place for you inside, or else you’ll have to camp outside the fort.”

Rane spoke up. “We were hoping to continue on.”

“No can do. Road’s closed.”

“Until when?”

The guard shrugged.

There were times to act and times to keep my head down and gather information. The frog-like fortress had a drawbridge like an upturned mouth, and with one look at the painted wagon, the guards there allowed us through.

The commander was instantly recognizable by the extra sashes and ornaments on his uniform. He was frazzled. “Ah yes, exactly what I need. They’ve sent dozens of guards from the capital with no notice. They’ve been stirring up my garrison men, country boys with a chip on their shoulder. It’ll come to fisticuffs. You’ll be a good distraction for them.”

“If you mean you’d like us to put on a performance,” Barad said, “we are happy to discuss payment.”

The commander’s demeanor sharpened. “You will be allowed to sleep, eat, and leave. Is that payment enough?”

Barad bowed. “That will do nicely.”

In hardly any time at all, the wagon was parked in the fortress’s courtyard, and the horses were unhitched and rubbed down.

The troupe conferred amongst themselves, and Rane and I did the same, though we were concerned not with tonight’s play, but with the five watchtowers that ringed the fortress. From up there, the guards would see anyone attempting to leave as long as there was light out.

Rane was telling me why it wouldn’t work for us to be illused as donkeys—something about having to walk on all fours to sell the illusion, plus where would donkeys have come from, anyway?—when Barad approached.

“Ah, my two lovebirds,” Barad interrupted. “We should discuss what parts you two will play.” He attempted to throw an arm over Rane’s shoulder, but Rane was too tall.

“We’d be happy to play no part,” Rane said. “In fact, we’re considering getting out of your hair entirely.”

“That would be a problem, see, as they’ve noted how many are in our party. It would make things difficult for us.” He raised a quelling hand as Rane protested. “You have no transport. It’s in your best interest to work with us and leave with us well before dawn.”

Rane glanced at me. I winced. On one hand, they had been good to us, and I didn’t want to repay them with trouble. On the other hand, if it meant having to get up on a stage and perform, I’d much rather have died.

“As you wish,” Rane said to Barad, but he held my gaze. He quirked his brow in a silent question.

He would do what I wanted, I realized. He’d run with me if I said we should run.

I sighed and gave a small nod in Barad’s direction.

Rane’s eyes softened in answer. To Barad, he said, “Tell us more about this play. . . .”

The stage was set: one side of the wagon cranked down to become an elevated platform. By way of illumination, we had two ingenious oil lamps with mirrored backs. They sat on the outside corners of the stage, casting a great amount of light and heat.

Manning the lamps were two troupe members—the two who’d been up front, driving—and they thrust colored silks before the lamps to change the color of the light.

Barad cornered Rane and me. “Do your best,” he said. “If the commander thinks you might not be actors, it’ll be all our heads.”

“Maybe I should have a smaller role,” I said, fidgeting in my costume. Silk gathered at one shoulder and wrapped around me, leaving my arms bare.

Barad cracked a worried smile. “But you already have the smallest one.”

“She’ll be fine,” Rane said.

“What about their jobs?” I pointed at the lamp minders. “Can’t I do that?”

“That’s what they do in addition to their roles. He’s the narrator, and she’s the mother of our hero.” Barad’s smile grew wild.

“She’ll be fine,” Ran said again. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. I was going to die. My stomach was turning cartwheels, and it felt like it was trying to leap out of my throat and escape before the whole ship went down.

“Good,” Barad said. “Good. Let’s go on.”

The musician strummed a dashing, romantic tune, and the light turned a pale blue.

The play began.

Maras glided across the stage, draped in lightweight red silks that floated about her feet. She was a djinn, she told the audience, and she longed to be known, to be loved.

Barad entered, outfitted in a boldly patterned jacket and draped trousers, and the crown of a prince. They met in the middle of the stage, and the light turned a soft gold.

She loved him, but he did not love her. He was, however, happy to marry her. It took them almost half an hour to say this through poetics and dance.

Rane played Maras’s brother, who begged her to see that the prince didn’t love her.

She would not see it. She went through with the wedding.

Barad fell in love with another, a human princess, played by the doe-eyed member of the troupe.

The djinn wept. Then fury grew in her heart.

The musician beat a drum in time with her heartbeat.

The doe-eyed princess wandered the gardens of her castle, waiting for Barad. She was attended by her innocent maidservant, which was me.

A hand pushed me up the stairs, and I was blinded. The heat of the lamps made my upper lip sweat. Or perhaps it was the terror. Dozens upon dozens of guards had their eyes trained on me. Unfriendly, unsmiling faces.

I vaguely registered Maras rising from the shadows and monologuing about being a djinn, being in love, and being superior to the princess in every way. She killed the princess, who crumpled beautifully to the floor.

There was a pause.

My mouth was dry, my mind was empty. I needed to be something, to spin a lie, so they couldn’t see me.

“What dost thou say?” Maras said, “Do you beat at your chest and tear your hair and bemoan the passing of your mistress?”

“Oh,” I said. I tugged at my hair and thumped my chest. “My mistress! I bemoan thee!”

A chuckle came from the audience.

“You are not part of this, but I cannot let you go!” Maras proclaimed. “My love has brought me low! To have the blood of an innocent upon my hands!”

My face burned. I ducked my head. In the intense light, my arms glittered. That was odd. The backs of my hands sparkled more than my palms.

A pressure jabbed at my side. Maras was holding a hilt to my waist, and the blade, presumably, was inside me.

I blinked at her.

“Fall,” Maras hissed without moving her lips.

I collapsed like a felled tree, cracking my elbows on the stage.

In the audience, several someones laughed.

Of all the things that had happened to me recently, my body was convinced this was the most horrifying. I swallowed down my nausea, staring up at the night sky, at the dark clouds veiling the crescent moon.

I breathed in, and out.

And realized I’d missed my cue to slink off the stage.

The dialogue went on above me. Barad wept over his princess. Maras stepped over me, her red silks brushing my face, her dagger raised.

At the last moment, she dropped it. “I can’t kill you, my love.”

“I know,” Barad said, and killed her.

The audience gasped. Someone shouted, “No!”

Silence fell. I couldn’t see what was happening, not without turning my head.

A twang of music.

It was probably safe. I sat up, and there was a shocked silence. Someone laughed.

The commander was in the front seat. He met my gaze and frowned.

Maras and Barad were frozen, mid-embrace, and they turned to me with identical stricken expressions.

“A ghost has risen!” Rane said, coming to my rescue. He helped me up. “For no matter how evil the deeds of men, they leave an echo.”

He squeezed my hand. “The truth will always come out,” I found myself saying.

Barad recovered. “That is the true lesson, indeed. Do not tarry with those who are selfish with thy love.”

“And do not let your heart fester, lest you end up like the Loveless Djinn.” Maras said.

She reached for my other hand, and together, we bowed.

My skin caught my eye. How it glittered, like I was covered in diamonds smaller than a grain of sand, as small as powder.

My breath left me. I knew how they were tracking us.

The guards cheered, hooting and hollering.

Rane shot me a smile, and together, we bowed again.

13

It was jeweldust. The powder Incarnadine had poured in the bath was part of a tracker stone, ground finer than sand, finer than dust. She hadn’t trusted me with the bag of stones; she’d never expected me to willingly spy for her. Instead, she’d found a way to make a spy of me without my consent.

I could imagine it: the rest of the stone set in a compass made of gold and orichalcum. A filigree arrow pointing straight to me, no matter where I ran, no matter what disguise I wore.

My skin itched. I needed to bathe.

The theater troupe was eating with the garrison. The commander had given the soldiers wine with their dinner, and it had worked to turn would-be brawls into camaraderie.

At one end of the courtyard stood a water pump. Perfect. From the wagon, I grabbed a bucket, dumped out a pile of fake crowns, and strode to the pump.

“Where are you going?” Rane jogged after me.

“There’s jeweldust all over me,” I said. “I’m the tracker.” I explained everything about Incarnadine and the bath, about my stupidity in not realizing it sooner.

He shushed me. “You figured it out, and we’ll fix it.” He took the bucket from me and filled it. His gaze scanned the courtyard, full of soldiers. “But where will you bathe?”

I was far beyond concern for my modesty. I would have jumped into a pig pen and rolled in the mud if it meant getting the tracker dust off of me.

“Hold on,” he said as I reached for the bucket where we stood. “Come with me.”

The troupe’s painted wagon was tucked against one wall of the courtyard, with just enough of a gap behind it for me to squeeze in. Rane disappeared into the wagon and returned with a handful of soap shavings, a washcloth, and a ladle.

“I’ll stand watch, shall I?” He stood at the mouth of the gap, back to me, arms crossed.

I kept my gaze on him as I unfastened the pin that kept the folds of my borrowed costume against my skin. The fabric unspooled, slipping down my body, and I caught it before it hit the ground, folding it into a bundle that I shoved into the wagon’s wheel well. The costume wasn’t mine to burn, but the jeweldust would have wormed its way deep into the fibers and I didn’t know if I could wash them well enough.

Rane hadn’t moved. In fact, he held himself so still he might have been turned to stone.

I ladled icy water over my head and worked the soap into my hair. My teeth chattered and my skin pebbled. The washcloth was softer than what I wanted—I wanted to scour every inch of my skin—but I scrubbed and scrubbed with it until my skin smarted. It fell from my fingers into the bucket.

My fingers were numb. I dug it out of the water, and it slipped again, landing with a plop. I cursed and my chattering teeth bit my tongue. I cursed again.

“What’s wrong?”

“N—n—nothing.”

“Perhaps that’s enough.”

I gripped the ladle and poured more water over me. The rivulets on the ground sparkled.

The ladle slipped from my fingers, landing with a clatter.

“Saphira,” Rane said, in a low, commanding voice. “It won’t help anyone if you freeze to death.”

It wasn’t a problem. I couldn’t really feel the cold anymore. “I d-don’t want her to find m-me.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “I know. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“What if it’s not all g-gone?”

“You’ve washed a lot off, haven’t you? So the guards will be thrown off your scent no matter what. And if you find that there’s still dust on you, tomorrow you’ll wash again. With warm water.”

My mind felt fuzzy. I couldn’t find holes in his logic. “I c-can’t wear my old clothes again.”

He held out an arm. Draped across his forearm was his cloak.

I tiptoed to him and took it, drawing it around me. It was warm and smelled like him. “I’m turning around.”

Gently, he tugged my damp hair out from under his cloak and dried it with another washcloth. He combed it with his fingers, his nails scratching softly at my scalp, and something electric followed his touch. He braided it.

My body shivered, a burning warmth tickled my hands, my feet, my core.

He didn’t meet my gaze. He was intent on the work.

“You’re good at this,” I said.

Now his eyes met mine. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“How did you learn?”

He paused. “My lord has a lot of hair.”

I imagined him sitting behind the Serpent King, braiding his hair. It was too odd a picture.

“It’s not that funny,” Rane said, but the corner of his lips curled.

I tried to hide my smile. “All part of a huntsman’s job, is it?”

“Yes. And I’m your huntsman now.”

“Now,” I repeated. “Until we reach the kingdom.”

“Until then,” he promised. His gaze fell to my lips.

My body heated, tingling all over, and I didn’t know if it was the cold or—or something else. I couldn’t breathe. No. I didn’t want something else.

I ducked my head and pushed past him. “I—” I tried to say something lighthearted, but nothing came.

The wagon was the safest place I had, so I crept into it. Maras was there, and I mumbled some explanation. She offered me a pair of trousers and a long tunic and refused payment. She murmured something.

I nodded, but I was only half paying attention. I didn’t understand the terror squeezing my chest, the way my ears were starkly aware of every footfall and breath from outside the wagon, from where I’d left Rane.

True to his word, in the morning the commander ordered the gates opened, and our painted wagon rambled out of the fortress while the sky was still dark. Rane’s gaze landed on me gently, like a butterfly settling on a flower, and I glanced up at his eyes.

He smiled, his eyes going molten soft, and I jumped like I’d been stuck with a dagger. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep.

A soft laugh came from his direction.

I tugged the hood of his cloak down over my head and tucked my face into my knees. It was maddening, frustrating, my skin all aflutter. There was no reason in it. Rane and I—there was no “Rane and I.” For one, I was technically married to his king. Two, I’d never done this, whatever this was.

Admitting it out loud, this roiling thing in me, seemed like insanity. I might as well carve out my heart and liver and whatever else was important in me and give them to him on a platter.

This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The wagon’s rumbling slowed, and we came to a stop.

A hand brushed my shoulder. “Saphira?”

I opened my eyes and met his legs. Even his legs made something in me feel strange—I met his eyes—that was also a bad idea—and glanced to the side. Pale pink dawn light poured into the wagon through the parted curtains.

“I need to stretch my legs,” I mumbled, and scrambled out.

I picked up a few rocks for Grimney as an offering and an apology for having him stay hidden since yesterday. If I felt trapped, how much worse would he be feeling?

Pink light moved over the landscape, slowly, dreamily, a gauzy blanket being drawn across the craggy steppes and over woods nestled in low valleys.

The fort was a dollhouse atop a distant hill. I squinted. Something was moving along the road, raising a dust cloud in its wake.

Barad stepped up beside me, peering through a spyglass. “Imperial riders,” he said.

When he offered the spyglass to me, I took it. There was dust trapped between the lenses making the view fuzzy, but there was no mistaking the Imperial outriders, escorting a dark carriage that looked awfully like the one that carried Mirandel in Copperton.

She was like a dog nipping at my heels. But was she chasing me, or was she herding us to the Serpent Kingdom? We would’ve led her right there, if I hadn’t discovered the jeweldust.

She was like that. Tricky, conniving. I hadn’t seen it when we were small. For months, she wouldn’t leave me alone. She’d find me, no matter what corner of the Rose Palace I ran to. After a while, I let her in. I showed her my secret routes, the tiny door at the back of the dry goods pantry that led to the wine cellars and out into the Palace Quarter gardens, the dusty stairwell behind a tapestry that spanned the height of the palace, the secret balcony that you could get to by climbing the trellis to the fourth floor. I shared them all with her. I thought we were friends, united, carving out a little freedom in a world ruled by Lady Incarnadine.

One day, I opened the little door and found the way sealed. On the balcony, I had kept little mementoes—daisy chains, rocks I’d liked—and those were gone.

They were waiting for me. Instead, I ran. I had kept one secret from Mirandel, a path that led out of the Palace Quarter entirely. That day, I took it and never looked back.

My heart still ached with an echo of that pain. It wasn’t just that she’d betrayed my secrets. It was that she proved that she’d never cared for me. She was applauded for discovering those passageways. And the next time Incarnadine came, Mirandel was chosen.

Rane wasn’t Mirandel. But also, these feelings felt bigger, more dangerous. If Rane turned on me, it would hurt far, far worse.

But he wasn’t her. He wasn’t anything like her. He’d been honest with me.

I was suddenly aware of someone beside me. My body tingled, and I didn’t have to look to know it was Rane.

I offered him the spyglass, but instead, his fingers encircled my wrist. He drew my sleeve up and held my arm up to the light. His eyelashes were dark, his gaze intent on my skin.

I sucked in a breath. Pinpricks of light caught on my skin. Far fewer than before, but the jeweldust was still there.

His gaze held mine. “We’ll figure it out.”

My heart was trying to flutter out my throat. It felt strange and dangerous to admit it to myself, but I trusted him.

We parted ways with the theater troupe not long after, at one of the many roadside villages that catered to travelers. Maras told me she would sell my old clothes in a town far from here with such a knowing look in her eye that I realized they knew we were on the run, and they still chose to help us.

“Thank you,” I said.

Barad half jokingly offered Rane a place in the troupe. He couldn’t bring himself to make me the same offer, joke or not. I figured he couldn’t risk that I would take him up on it.

I let Grimney out the moment they were out of sight, and he stretched with such a flair for drama that I wished Barad could have seen it.

Bathing became an obsession. We made our way as before. Wherever there was an inn or resthouse, Rane would order a bath, and I’d scrub myself raw.

It was at the last inn, when I came down freshly scrubbed, my hair drying into a poofy mess, that I saw the map. It was painted on the wall. My eyes caught on a name that was faded, like someone had halfheartedly scrubbed at it—Marehold. I mapped it out with my fingers. We were not two days’ ride from it.

“We’re close,” Rane said from behind me. I shivered. He wasn’t talking about Marehold.

“Have I got it all off?”

He held a hand out, paused for permission, and when I nodded, drew a lock of my hair into his hands. He encircled my wrist and raised it. His breath puffed against my skin and goose bumps rose in its wake. “Almost.”

“We can’t enter until it’s all gone.”

He studied me. “There’s a waterfall, not far from the crossing. We’ll stop there.”

We moved quickly. Rane had a purse with a seemingly unending supply of coin, and he bought me a new bag. I washed all my tools before transferring them over. Grimney ran away when I told him to bathe, and Rane had to grab him and bribe him with seashells.

Rane held Grimney under one arm. “We’ll have to ride.”

“You mean horses?”

“It’ll be fine,” he said as he left for the stables.

He came back leading two horses. A gray shaggy one and a sleek dark one. The gray one was mine. It gave me a distrusting look out of the corner of its eye. “It hates me.”

“She’s a lovely old mare, slow and reliable,” Rane said. “In fact, she’s a grandma.”

“Grandmas can hate people too,” I said.

He looked to the sky. “Just get on her.”

He helped me up, his hands gripping my waist. The ghost of his touch lingered. But luckily, I was soon distracted by the terror of being high off the ground, at the whims of an unknowable beast.

My rear slid around on the saddle, and then when the horse began to move, I gripped tight with my thighs, but each step sent my bones bouncing.

Rane took the reins, looping them around his wrist. My horse looked at him and then back at me, as if judging me for having him lead us.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” I whispered to it.

“Sorry?” Rane said.

“Not you,” I said. And then, realizing how that sounded, I added, “I was talking to the horse.”

“. . . And what was she saying?”

He was laughing.

Grimney, seated before him, was grinning up at him adoringly.

“What happens after I finish the work?” I asked.

“Whatever you want. You’ll have your new identity. A shop. Riches.”

I was silent.

“What do you want to happen?” he asked.

I shot him a glance. “The Serpent King said some of the divine peoples live outside his kingdom. Like the water horses.”

“Some do.”

“Would you?”

He drew in a breath.

My face must have been radiating heat. “Never mind.”

“I dream about it, sometimes, being free of my responsibilities. There’s so much of this world I haven’t seen, so many of its people I’d love to meet. Jewelsmithing fascinates me. It’s not something we have in the kingdom, not anymore. But it used to be part of our history.”

My scarred and callused jewelsmith’s hands.

“What I mean to say,” he said, “is that there is a part of me that would love to work in your jewelsmithery. I could sweep up, if you liked.”

I stole a look at him. “Maybe, if you work hard, one day I’ll promote you to my apprentice.”

His hair fell into his eyes as he smiled. “What an honor that would be.”

My nose got a whiff of fresh rain, which was a welcome change to the green earthiness of damp bark and the sweet rot of leaves decaying underfoot. A mist hung low to the ground, and as our horses picked their way through, it eddied in lazy swirls around their legs.

The dappled sunlight painted Rane in gold and shadow. His broad shoulders caught the light, but his back was shadowed. The lock of hair that curled into his collar was gold. His long fingers as he helped Grimney position a seashell, those too were gold.

He glanced back, and I jerked my gaze to the side.

“We’re here.” Rane pulled back a large fern, and beyond, the waterfall shone like a stream of silver.

It sang in a dozen voices. A low moan, a tinkle of droplets, a babbling as the water danced around the smooth rocks jutting out of the pool, and loudest of all, a liquid purr as it streamed from above and plunged into the pool below.

Rane dismounted in one smooth movement, and I held my breath as he gripped my waist and helped me down. My legs were stiff and throbbing, and I felt like I’d be permanently bowlegged.

The air was scented with herbs, bitter and aromatic. I knelt and touched one, its thin gray leaves pebbled with droplets that glimmered like jewels.

“They say the plants here are special,” Rane said. “The waters are blessed. A star fell in love with a light she saw dancing on the surface of the pool. She watched, night after night, and one day, she fell from the sky to meet her beloved. As she fell, the light grew brighter and brighter, and in the moment before she fell into the water and was extinguished, she realized it was her own reflection. They say her spirit is still here, and at night, the stars above are reflected in this pool brighter than anywhere else in the world.”

“Is that true?”

“Perhaps. But it has been a long time since a star has come to earth. I’ve never met one.”

How strange he seemed in that moment. He was still a divine person, no matter how familiar he was becoming.

“I’ll be over there,” Rane said. “Call if you need me.”

His back disappeared into the trees. He whistled an unfamiliar tune that melded with sounds of the waterfall and the singing of the birds and the chattering of tree-dwelling creatures. I waited till his whistling felt like it was within range of a shout, but far enough away that I could bathe in privacy.

Grimney toddled along the riverbank, picking at the smooth stones. “Stand watch,” I said to him. He saluted. I dropped my bag onto a flat boulder beside him.

I undressed, and the wind caressed my skin. I shivered. In the dappled sunlight, my skin glittered faintly, the specks of jeweldust sparse. Maybe it was the influence of Rane’s story, but they made me think of constellations.

The water was cool and clear; the silty riverbed was soft underfoot, and it deepened gradually. A current flowed, a dark ribbon deep in the pool, feeding an underground stream.

My bag now held a collection of soaps, from dried soapberries, to a scrubby aromatic powder made from green gram and orange peels. I used one after the other, scrubbing my hair until it squeaked, and my skin until it smarted.

I stood under the waterfall and let the pressure beat down on me and wash the soap away. Pleasure and pain mingled as it worked the tension from my shoulders.

Under the light, my arm no longer glittered. My heart leapt as I checked every inch of skin and hair.

My focus was so narrow that it took me precious moments to notice that the forest had fallen silent.

Grimney stood still, watching the trees.

I darted to my bag, reaching for the bundle of fresh clothes inside, and dressed quickly, ignoring the way the fabric clung to my skin.

The back of my neck prickled. I spun around.

The mist clung to her, as if she was an apparition. Mirandel, draped in white, strode to me. “Aria,” she said. “You’ve been hard to find.”

“Saphira,” I corrected her.

Her neck was oddly red. She drew her white silk shawl higher when she noticed the direction of my gaze.

“You’ve been making it harder to track you lately,” she said. “Though, if I must be honest, I’m a little disappointed it took you so long to figure it out.”

My mouth twisted into a scowl. “Why are you following me? I thought you were supposed to go get married to some noble.”

“Unfortunately, you stole the one I had my eye on.”

I bit my lip before I could say, You can have him.

Mirandel sighed and tossed her hair. It fell over her shoulder like a curtain of dark silk. “Come home.”

“Why would I do that?” I needed time. Rane wasn’t whistling. Was he watching? I scanned the trees, but there was no sign of him.

“You always had trouble understanding the way the world works,” she said pityingly. “You’re a jewelsmith. An extraordinary one. You should’ve told everyone. I can’t imagine why you didn’t. If you had, you would be sitting pretty, with all the luxuries of life at your fingertips. You’re cleverer than Galen—you could have had real power, not just a shabby little shop on Gem Lane. You could’ve had it all. You still can, if you come with me. I’ll help you.”

Her mention of Galen made me tense. Part of me wanted to know what had happened to him. I bit it back. “I don’t want that.”

“I know what you want,” Mirandel hissed. She drew so close I could see the violet shadows under her eyes. “You want what I want. You want to be safe.”

I reared back.

“Yes.” She smiled, but there was no mirth in it. “I told you; I know you. The difference between you and me is that I know how to get there. With enough power, you can be safe.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want that.”

“So you’ll keep running forever? You’re a coward, Saphira. You always have been. Hiding and sniveling. If you were just once brave enough to take what you wanted . . .”

I didn’t disagree. I wasn’t brave, I knew that well enough.

“Well?” Mirandel said. “Say something.”

“You’re talking enough for the both of us.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Why? You don’t even like me.”

“I do. I always have. I just—I don’t know how to—be nice.”

She set her mouth in that gargoyle-ish way I remembered from so long ago. It made my heart ache. Between us was something dark and unsaid. We had both survived our childhood, but neither of us had come out unchanged. A memory came to me, of her bringing me food she’d filched from the kitchens, yelling at me to eat. I missed the friend she almost had been.

“I’m not coming with you,” I said. “I won’t be kept in a cage to make jewels for her.”

We both knew who I meant. She clicked her teeth. “Lady Incarnadine won’t hurt you. Not now that you’re useful to her.”

“I don’t want to be useful to her.”

“We all have to kneel, Saphira. All you get to do is choose to whom.”

I didn’t respond.

“Please. Come. My orders were to bring you alive, if possible. If impossible, I was told it’s better to have you dead than in the Serpent Kingdom.”

“You’ll kill me?”

“If I wanted to kill you, would I have spent this long yapping? No. I don’t want to. So don’t make me.”

I’m not making you, I wanted to say. Incarnadine is.

I crossed my arms, and she met my mulish expression with one of her own.

“Let the stars know that I tried.” Mirandel drew out something golden from her pocket.

The yellow tourmaline choker. She put it on in one quick motion.

I clapped my hands over my ears.

“Saphira,” she said, and her voice was like honey, even muffled. “Lower your hands. Come with me.”

My hands fell to my sides, my feet shuffled forward. I tightened my thighs, resisting.

“You want to come with me,” Mirandel said.

I wanted to go with her. My body moved. There was something I needed to remember—

“Take my hand.” She held out a hand, and I took it. “All right, men,” she said.

Imperial soldiers came out of the woods. Dozens of them, from all directions. I saw them at the edges of my vision; I couldn’t look away from Mirandel. Her dark kohl-lined eyes studied me.

One of the Imperial soldiers rose like a shadow behind her.

Her eyes widened, and her hand pulled free of mine, reaching for her neck.

The tourmaline collar fell, knocked aside, and flew into the water.

“Get it!” Mirandel shouted.

A honeyed veil fell from my mind, and I scrambled back, away from her. From the pool came a splash. Grimney had the collar. He waved it triumphantly and dove into the water.

The soldiers trained arrows on him.

Mirandel screamed. “Shoot!”

I darted into the water, after Grimney.

The air filled with haunting whistles.

I glanced back, time slowing to a crawl. Arrows flew toward me, and a soldier sprinted toward me, his illusion melting away, his eyes dark with fear.

Rane’s body hit me and knocked me down into the water. He breathed into my ear. “Are you all right?”

I found myself nodding. He pushed himself up and turned around.

An arrow in his side dripped blood. A drop fell to the water and spread. Another and another, a rivulet of red, twining with the water and touching the dark soil at the pool’s edge. A hissing came from the water, from the earth, from the air. Serpents poured from the forest. Cobras, vipers, in every color and pattern.

I screamed, and I wasn’t the only one. The soldiers screamed as the serpents slithered up their legs, as they were consumed by the mass of snakes.

The serpents came for Mirandel. She wrested a bow from a soldier and nocked an arrow.

A haunting whistle. An arrow hit Rane in the chest, right in the heart. He fell backward, and I caught him.

I held Rane up as he reached for the water, trailing his fingers in a careful pattern. He murmured something, and a horse rose from the water, so pale it was almost blue.

Mirandel and the soldiers had been forced back into the forest, but I caught flashes of light as they swung blades, cutting a path through the serpents.

“Saphira,” Rane said. “We must go home.”

“Yes,” I said urgently. “Tell me how.”

Rane’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted.

The water horse whinnied. “Come here,” I said to it. “Please. Help me, and I’ll get you whatever treats you want. And I’ll never say anything bad about horses ever again.”

It padded close and knelt. I dragged Rane onto its back. “Grims!” I called, and Grimney rose. The collar wasn’t in his hands, but that didn’t matter. I scooped him up and climbed up on the horse’s back, behind Rane. His body slumped against me, fever-warm.

“Please,” I whispered to the horse, “Take us home.”

14

A grinning moon rose in the twilight sky, casting a silver haze over the forest. The horse beneath me proved it was no ordinary steed; its hooves barely touched the ground, moving with a weightless speed that felt like we were riding on a secret path known only to the wind. Despite the vise grip my thighs had on its sides, I had a feeling it was taking great pains to keep us from flying off its back.

With one hand I held on to the horse’s mane, which it tolerated, while my other arm tightened around Rane’s waist. His breath was ragged against my ear, and his dark hair, damp with sweat, brushed against my cheek. Mirandel’s arrow protruded from his chest, trembling with his every breath.

The moments at the waterfall played in my mind: Rane saving me, his blood falling, the serpents rising, so many of them, all coming to his aid.

I could feel his strength waning, his body growing heavier against mine. “Stay with me,” I whispered.

“I—I’m fine,” he said. His hand lifted slowly, laboriously, to the shaft of the arrow.

“Rane—”

A sharp intake of breath and a loud snap. The broken shaft of the arrow slipped through his fingers, but a good few inches still stuck out of his chest. “That hurt,” he mumbled.

“You idiot,” I said, before I could think better of it.

He laughed weakly.

The movement of the horse’s muscles quickened as it picked up speed. Trees blurred past us, shadows merging into a stream of shapes. My blood rushed in my ears. The horse vibrated under me, the way a water current pulses, the beat quickening in time with my heart. The forest seemed to part for us, the branches bending away as if they knew the importance of our mission.

“Hold on,” I murmured, shifting slightly to support him better. His head lolled against my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of his blood seeping through his tunic.

His fingers twitched against my arm, like he meant to hold on. “Don’t die,” I said, and my lips brushed his temple. His breathing hitched, and for a moment, I feared he would slip away entirely. But then his eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me with startling clarity.

“I shall endeavor not to.” His eyes shut, and his breathing evened out. I had to believe we were going to make it.

We rode on, the warmth of twilight fading to dusk, and the forest began to thin, the patches of sky growing larger and larger.

The horse slowed. The scent of salt and lushly blooming foliage filled my nose.

We were on a road, or what remained of one. The once-smooth gray stone lay cracked and shattered, vines growing through the cracks and spewing bell-shaped flowers across the path.

On either side of us rose mounds of fluffy greenery. One had a square of thick, mottled glass. They were homes, I realized. Homes, shops, a bathhouse, a village meetinghouse. It was like a blanket of moss and wildflowers had been draped over the village, as if the village had been tucked in and laid to rest.

At the far edge of the village, perched upon the rise like a sentinel, was an abandoned little palace. Vines crept up its once-majestic walls, tendrils curling around broken columns and winding through the rotted wooden lattices that covered the windows.

The horse flew, picking its way through the ruins as sure-footed as a goat.

There was no one living here. This couldn’t be the Serpent Kingdom. I glared at the back of the horse’s head, but then figured it was foolish of me to expect it to know where Rane’s home was.

The grand entrance was a dark, gaping mouth, drawing us in.

The sound of the horse’s hooves changed as we trotted on the springy remains of the immense wooden doors. A thicket of vines lay under the doors, decaying and crushed.

Though the palace was open to the elements, a heaviness fell upon me as we crossed the threshold. A moaning wind came to greet us, and a chattering rose in its wake, dried leaves, shattered pottery, delicate ornaments, the debris little critters had brought in, all of it bidding us welcome.

An echo came from the grand hall, a phantom whisper of laughter and music. A song I could almost remember—

Rane’s breath caught.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered to him. To the horse, I said, “You can put us down.”

It tossed its head: No. And then for good measure, it glanced back at me with a rude look that said: You fool.

It took the stairs by fives—I gripped Rane tighter as we tilted—and then trotted confidently down a hallway. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the roof, illuminating patches of vibrant green moss and wildflowers that grew like a patchy carpet over marbled floors. White and cream marble, with accents of smoky pale blue—sea glass, maybe—and I had barely finished the thought that green would complement it well, when we turned a corner and new accents of pale green showed through the patches of moss.

At the end of the hallway, the horse nudged open a door.

A large bed, with tatters of silk hanging from the canopy. A line of dolls sat on the dresser. The colors were faded, muted, like a half-remembered dream.

The roof had stubbornly hung on in this corner of the palace, protecting this room from the vines and the salt air.

The horse shifted under me, and I held on as it lowered itself to a kneeling position before the bed. Grimney thumped down first. I slid off, catching Rane as he toppled sideways, and lowered him slowly onto the bed. His arm fell with a thump and a cloud of dust billowed up. I sneezed. Oh. The mutedness of the colors—it was because a thick layer of dust covered everything.

The coverlets were moth-eaten and molding, and I rolled them aside, cajoling Rane to shift over to the relatively cleaner sheets. Rane put up little fight and collapsed obligingly.

“I’m perfectly all right,” Rane slurred.

I snorted. Behind me came several thumps, like a little stone golem was walking away. “Grims!” I called, but he kept going, and the horse followed him.

Rane’s eyelids fluttered and squeezed shut.

“Okay,” I said, “I can do this.”

I grabbed the dagger from his belt and cut off his jacket, and then his shirt. The wound in his side, where the first arrow had gotten him, was leaking a thin stream of blood, but it was already closing up.

The half an arrow sticking out of his chest was the bigger problem. Faintly, around the wound, Rane’s skin had become pale and silvery. My fingers hovered. It didn’t look like the arrow was causing it.

I needed supplies.

Kitchens and useful places were usually on the first floor, and that was where I headed. There were untouched candles covered in dust and flint beside them, and with light, my task became easier. The kitchens were bare, and the pantry was covered in the sludge of what may have once been food. At last, I found a windowless room lined with wooden shelves, where the twiggy fossils of plants hung from the ceiling, and a large countertop was covered with labeled clay pots and a series of mortars and pestles. Perhaps the lords of this place had once had an apothecarist.

The pastes and plants were too old to be of use, but in one of the drawers I found sheets of bandages. I also grabbed a small round pot, and a flint and some of the dried herbs to use as kindling.

In the courtyard, there was a waterspout and a small pump beside it, carved to look like horses with fish tails. The handle groaned and wouldn’t give, not until I gave it a good kick. Something shifted, and when I put my whole weight on it, it gave. It screeched and sludge poured out, dark and murky. I worked the pump until clear water poured onto the flagstones, and only then did I fill the pot. The water smelled mildly briny, but there was no trace of rot.

Back in Rane’s room, I built a fire in the fireplace, and hung the pot over it.

As the water heated, I unwrapped the peri tablecloth and had it set itself. It was our only source of food, even if I did have to scoop out each tiny morsel that materialized, until I’d gathered enough for four ordinary-sized mouthfuls.

Small bubbles rose in the water. When it came to a roiling boil, I took the pot off the fire.

A thump came at the door. Grimney held handful of herbs.

“What are these?”

“Prrdys,” he said. They’ll help stop the blood.

“How do you know that?”

“Frrdyn zzrd lyd.”

“You’re not older than me,” I said. “I made you seven years ago.”

He looked at me pityingly. “Qrrzy.” The stones that made him up were thousands of years old, he said.

The plants emitted a bitter scent. It did smell rather like the medicines that city apothecaries dispensed in glass bottles.

“Fine,” I said.

Grimney took the plants and—by using one hand as a mortar and the other a pestle—he ground them into a paste.

Rane’s breathing was shallow. With one hand on his chest to hold him down, I yanked out the arrow.

Rane moaned.

The arrow came out easily, but the blood—my mouth filled with bile and I tried not to gag. Luckily, it hadn’t gone in too deep. Perhaps because the tip was dented—maybe it hadn’t picked up enough speed to pierce deeper.

I quickly washed the wound, packed it in Grimney’s plants, and wrapped it in clean bandages. I did the same with the wound in his side.

“Rane?” I whispered.

His lips parted. The tension was gone from his body; he’d slipped into deep sleep. I cleaned up, and then sat by his side.

His dark eyelashes cast long shadows that nearly brushed his cheekbones. They trembled as he dreamed. He breathed in, sharp, and relaxed, his muscles loosening one by one, his palms splaying, his shoulders falling into the mattress.

I blinked. His eyelashes were silver. And then, from the roots of his hair came a shimmering as his dark locks turned pale and grew until they brushed the tops of his ribs. His cheekbones sharpened, his lips grew a touch thinner, and most startlingly, iridescent scales spread over his skin, creeping up his neck and ears, though his face remained smooth.

In the space of a heartbeat, he had changed. The tension between his brows eased, as if he had let go of his last burden.

I had half risen, my arm shielding my face, and when it seemed that the changes were done, I lowered myself, and with a quick glance behind me, I leaned in.

It felt like gazing upon a secret.

Tiny silver scales covered the backs of his hands and cascaded down his long fingers, making delicate patterns around his knuckles. They glinted in the firelight like diamonds. A jolt of recognition went through me. A memory came, of the Serpent King, on our wedding day, his hand reaching for mine.

But his face wasn’t the Serpent King’s. Neither was it Rane’s.

And yet it was familiar. Each individual feature was familiar; the long eyes were the Serpent King’s, the strong, straight nose was Rane’s. The coloring was the Serpent King’s, but the slenderness of his face, the way his lips curled at the corner as he dreamed, those were Rane’s.

But who was he?

I waited hours at his bedside, filling with hope at every twitch of his lashes, every change in his breath. He didn’t wake, but he had no fever. If he just woke for a moment, if I could figure out how to get to his kingdom. . . .

I got to my feet. Grimney sat on the edge of the bed, watching the sleeping figure like a loyal bodyguard.

I couldn’t bring myself to think of him as Rane. Needling me, at the back of my mind, was the feeling that I didn’t know him. I mean, we were just strangers making a deal, so it wasn’t like I expected to know his favorite color or anything. But that I hadn’t known his true face?

My mind was drawing connections, making leaps that I didn’t want to face. So what if he looked like the Serpent King? Maybe all serpent people did. Maybe any serpent person could call up an army of snakes with a drop of blood.

I needed space to think.

The hallway had filled with dappled sunlight from the holes in the roof. Tattered tapestries hung limply, too faded to make out, but an image flashed in my mind of them whole and vibrant, depicting tales of divine peoples, the whole story captured in a single panel. I imagined being small, lying on the floor and looking up at the tapestries. The image faded.

The moss squelched underfoot nauseatingly, so I leapt from patch to patch of bare tile, like a child, skipping along.

I followed the roar of the sea, to a set of double doors standing ajar. I slipped through without touching them. Dust motes danced in the slanting rays of sunlight, and all was bathed in a golden haze.

The far wall was all arches and simple columns, open to the sea. The shutters had long rotted away, and scraggly rags whipped in the wind.

They had been pale silk once, dancing in the wind.

I crossed to them, stepping over the rotted cushions that were strewn across the once-beautiful carpet. Even now, faded by sunlight, the thread work was astonishing. It had been soft, I remembered—

I came to a large, dark stain. My thoughts stuttered to a halt.

My gaze was drawn by inches, my breathing coming fast, my ears ringing.

Directly opposite the stain, leaning against the wall, was a wardrobe. The inlaid wood was now a mottled gray and riddled with cracks. It was so small, only as tall as I was.

I touched it and the wardrobe doors creaked open.

A cloud of scent rose, of sea salt and age and faintly, of jasmine oil. It took thousands of flowers for a single tiny bottle of oil. I knew this because my mother had told me, as she dabbed it on her wrists.

Clothes hung inside, faded but I knew that red silk, and that pink beadwork shawl. I had once crouched between them, holding my breath, clutching my mother’s ring.

I had watched, as, as my mother fell, and—

An eye had appeared in the gap. Incarnadine had taken me.

She had taken everything from me. Then, and again, with Galen and her task. She was coming for me even now.

Mirandel wasn’t wrong. No ordinary person could stand up to Incarnadine. And I wasn’t even that. I was a coward, and I was running out of places to hide.

Only the Serpent King had thwarted her. He had kept his kingdom safe.

At least, that was what I’d been told. Was it true? Or was it an illusion, as real as Rane’s face?

When I returned, Rane was awake and newly illusioned. I searched his features and the dark of his hair for any hint of the secret face and found none.

“How do you feel?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

He grumbled, “Please don’t fuss so much over a mere scratch.”

A scratch? “It was an arrow to the chest.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Eat this,” I said, and handed him the bowl I’d filled with multiple feasts for tiny people. Tiny flatbreads and date cakes swam in a sea of several dozen mixed soups and curries. It was probably revolting, but it was sustenance.

“It’s delicious,” he said, and downed it quickly. He set it aside and leaned back.

I took note of each time Rane grimaced and clenched his fists. There was little I could do for the pain.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” Rane said. “My heart stopped it, if you must know.”

I gave him a blank look. That wasn’t reassuring.

“My heart is a jewel,” he said confidentially.

“I’m sure it’s very precious to you.”

“That’s not what I mean. My heart is, truly and quite literally, a gemstone. It runs in my family.”

The thought percolated through my mind, until all of it sank in. That explained the nicked arrow, but not much else.

“So,” Rane was saying, “if you would kindly stop looking at me with that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“It’s rather nurse-like. Like you think I’m an invalid. It’s bruising my pride.”

I rolled my eyes. “And however can an arrow to the chest possibly compare to the devastating pain of a bruised ego?”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “You do understand me.”

That was the thing. “Why did you do it?”

He looked away. “When I saw the arrow would hit you . . . I didn’t have a better idea. Honestly, I still think it was a good idea.”

“What about . . . the serpents?”

His breath hitched.

I went on. “And when you were asleep . . . your illusion fell.”

“I’ve been able to keep an illusion in my sleep since I was six.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. You did take an arrow to the chest.”

He gave me a wry look. “Now it feels like you’re enjoying it.”

“Do all serpent people look like you? The silver hair, the silver skin?”

“No,” he breathed. And then, pleadingly, “Saphira . . .”

“Can all serpent people cast illusions? Or is it just you and the Serpent King?”

“It’s just me.”

His words hung in the air, and slowly registered. Deep down, some part of me knew, had known from the moment the serpents had come.

Rane met my gaze, waiting.

“You’re the Serpent King.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I . . . wanted to be Rane. I couldn’t move openly in the city, so . . . and then it was never a good time to tell you. You thought I was a monster. I didn’t want to scare you. It was selfish, too. I didn’t want you to run. I wanted . . .” He sighed. “I wasn’t supposed to be king, did you know?”

I shook my head.

“My brother was. He was the eldest, and he was made for it. He was noble, right. A swordsman and a scholar. I spent all that time sneaking away and getting into trouble. But then . . . eventually I had to become what they wanted me to be. I owed it to him. So I crafted the Serpent King. He’s perfect. And there’s Rane. He’s what . . . I might have been, if the crown had spared me.”

Rane was how he saw himself. The Serpent King was what he needed everyone to see him as. But the glimpse I’d had of his true face was handsomer than Rane’s, more human than the inhumanly sharp cheekbones the Serpent King sported. I was comparing the two. But the person I had all these feelings for—he didn’t exist.

“Are you very furious?” he asked mildly.

“I just . . . I liked Rane.”

“Ah. But you can’t feel the same about the monster.” The way his lips twisted at monster, and the way his wry smile didn’t reach his eyes—there I saw the Serpent King. “You do not condone what I have done, and I understand. I will say this: I have finished every fight that has come to me, but I have never struck first.”

My voice was very quiet. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth now?”

“I swear, on my heart, on my kingdom. I will never lie to you.”

I looked into his illusioned eyes and I wondered.

15

I was once again in my parents’ old rooms. The ocean roar mingled with the blood rushing in my ears. There was a careful path my gaze had to travel, to avoid my mother’s wardrobe, the stain on the carpet, even the lattice screen that shielded the bed, because if I looked there, I could almost see my mother, sitting on the edge of the low bed, combing her long dark hair—

I slapped my cheeks. I needed to stop.

In a wooden trunk, I found several of my father’s clothes. It seemed he had been rather taken with the billowy tunics preferred by the kingdoms of the northwest, because that was all he had. I picked the first that didn’t fall to pieces when I shook it out.

I rose and stopped in my tracks.

Rane had followed me. He was bare-chested but for his bandages, but it didn’t seem to bother him, despite the chill of the ocean air.

He moved to the balcony. “I hadn’t realized we were in Marehold. I wonder why the water horse brought us here.”

I thrust the tunic at him, and he took it gingerly, careful not to brush my fingers.

“You know this place?” I asked in my most nonchalant voice.

“It’s not far from the border,” he said. “The people here were great allies to us, once.”

“Did you know them?”

He inclined his head. “Some of the survivors took refuge in my kingdom.”

It was on the tip of my tongue. I think this was my home. But I didn’t think I could talk about it without crying, and I couldn’t bear to cry in front of him.

“We should go,” I said instead.

“Yes. Before that girl with the horrible necklace shows up.”

I left without looking back.

Grimney was waiting for us in the courtyard, already mounted on the displeased-looking water horse. I was glad it hadn’t melted away into mist, or returned to the ocean, or whatever its kind did. But as Rane helped me up and then mounted behind me, my back tingling with the heat of him, I wished that it had gone. If we were on foot, we wouldn’t have to touch at all.

But then again, if we were on foot, that would make it easier for Mirandel or anyone tracking us to catch up.

We were at the forest’s edge when I glanced back.

The green-blanketed village was bathed in silver moonlight. I tried to picture what my homeland must’ve once looked like. I had the faintest memory of walking down a busy sunlit street, dodging skirts and robed legs, a large hand gripping mine tight. There was something sweet on the air, a sugared treat, and I wanted it. A soft voice came from above—

I couldn’t remember.

There was nothing of that left. No people, no busy street. Just vines and ruins and a sadness that was so palpable I could imagine it taking form, a hulking shadow that crept through the palace and the plant-eaten streets, mourning and mourning forevermore.

But my homeland hadn’t just withered away. It had been put to death. And maybe I could keep running from Incarnadine for the rest of my life, but I could never run back home.

“Saphira?”

I jolted out of my thoughts and twisted to glance at him.

Rane’s expression was inscrutable. “That day . . . You said you were an Imperial Ward. I never asked where you came from.”

Was I that transparent? All I could manage was a tight shrug.

His breath puffed against my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “What should I call you?”

“Rane is my name, or at least the part of it I like best. I was born Adamant Temerane of the House of Naga.”

It was easier, somehow, to talk to him like this, where he couldn’t see my expression and I didn’t have to meet his eyes. Something about his confession had been bothering me.

“There were times when you and the Serpent King were in the same place.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a rumble at my back. “My huntsmen are all able to take on the role, so to speak, as long as I put the illusion on them. We prepared for this mission specifically; we assumed that anything that could go wrong would do so. But there’s little we can’t escape with a hearty amount of misdirection, a bit of flash, and a mild amount of chaos.”

“Our wedding,” I said, “who was the Serpent King then?”

“I was.”

“The carriage ride out of the city?”

“That was Vanon. Of all my huntsmen, he knows me best. When I’m not wearing the guise of the Serpent King, he usually is.”

I frowned, remembering the way he had groaned about sitting with me.

Rane seemed to understand my silence, because he said, “Was he horrible? He’s usually a little horrible. He was born that way. Cautious and cynical.”

“Was it him you were arguing with, that night in the tent, before the wedding?”

“You heard that? Yes, that was him.”

“Cobalt Town? Our wedding night?”

“That was me. I wouldn’t have—and anyway, it’s not like we—” He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. “Next question.”

There was one question that lingered on the tip of my tongue. Who was the Serpent King in the forest, covered in blood?

I couldn’t bring myself to ask, not pressed so close to him, not when I didn’t know what that would mean.

The air grew warmer and humid as the vegetation grew denser and wetter. The sounds of the wild surrounded us, the canopy teeming with birdsong and a strange chittering, creatures rustling through the vegetation below. Small flowers grew on everything like stars, scenting the air sweetly, mingling with the scent of mushrooms and damp.

We came to a small clearing. Rane drew the horse to a standstill before a wall of trees so tangled with vines that we would need to hack our way through.

“We’re here,” he said.

He raised a finger, and just beyond his fingertip, the world shimmered and shifted.

A seam appeared in the air, sewn with such tiny stitches as to be nearly invisible. Rane drew his finger down, and following his motion, the seam unraveled and a hidden pocket of the world appeared.

The trees slunk apart, bowing their canopies and forming an archway. A path emerged, speckled with tiny stones that caught the moonlight.

A delicious thrill went down my spine.

Rane whispered into my ear. “Would you like to enter my kingdom?”

“That’s where the job is,” I said.

Grimney stood up on the horse’s back, and I steadied him.

We rode through the seam, and a violent shiver shook me. The air was cooler on this side, and it smelled of recent rain and crushed mint. The creature noises were stranger; a bird was singing a lament. The moonlight was softer, gentler.

A cold wind ran its fingers down the skin of my arms. A whispering began at the edges of my hearing, growing louder with each step. An invisible force tugged at me, urging me to turn back.

Dread fell over me like a too-heavy blanket. My stomach roiled.

I gripped at the reins, but I couldn’t dislodge Rane’s hands. “We have to turn back.”

“Saphira?”

Shadows were lurking in the trees, eyes watching from the darkness. The ground beneath us pulsed, the path writhing like a living entity.

My head throbbed. “We can’t—Something’s wrong.”

He cursed. “The wards have you. They should’ve recognized that you’re with me—”

I wasn’t with him. We were strangers, making a deal. “Stop the horse.”

“Of all the times for the wards to work perfectly—”

The horse wasn’t stopping, it wasn’t even slowing—something was squeezing my heart. I had to go—

My hands scrambled on the reins, and when I couldn’t force the horse around, I swung my leg over and leapt, just as Rane clicked his teeth and the horse slowed. I was thrown free, crumpling to the ground.

“Saphira!” Rane’s voice blended with the howling of the wind, of the voices—I had to go back—

Acrid, sour bile filled my mouth. The sky was spinning. The air itself seemed to hiss, You are not welcome.

Arms circled me. “Saphira, I’m so very sorry.”

I looked up into Rane’s eyes, those dark eyes that I liked so much, the eyes that were a lie, an illusion, and I looked past them, to the dark clouds. My skin was hot, my head spun. “I have to go.”

His voice came from far away, frantic. “It’s the enchantments—let me help you.”

I burrowed into his neck. His warmth, his smell took the edge off the wrongness. I was shaking, and I couldn’t stop.

A hand stroked my back. “Do you trust me?”

Trust? Trusting only led to pain. If I had learned one lesson in my life, it was that. My heart was a small thing, bruised and brittle, and I didn’t know how much more it could weather.

I breathed in his scent, and I wanted to cry. “Yes.”

The warmth left me as he took a step back. A circle of heat remained around my wrist. Softly, he tugged at my hand, and I gave it to him.

He lowered his slightly parted lips to my wrist, and his breath puffed against my pulse. In the fading pink-gold light, his fangs glinted as he scraped them, ever so gently, across my skin.

Like a prayer, he whispered, “Forgive me.”

He bit down. His fangs sank into the flesh of my wrist. The feeling was so white-hot sharp that I couldn’t even scream. The stinging pain ran up my arm and cut through my veins. A flood of warmth chased it.

All was sensation. My eyes were open, but I could not see. Colors exploded in my vision, bright and endless, like staring into the sun. I felt myself rising through my body, higher, higher—

Ecstasy. A reverent stillness beyond myself. It was everything. I was everything.

I trembled there, on the line that divided myself from the rest of the world. My vision was inward; I saw in myself an expanse so endless, full of possibility, full of desire to see where my art could take me and what I could yet create; and then I saw lips, they smiled at me crookedly, and was this inside me or outside? The lips parted and shaped words, and how I wanted them. This was a dream; those lips had come to my dreams before, dreams that disappeared from my mind before sunrise. And then I saw dark silver eyes, wide and searching, ringed by dark lashes glistening with tiny drops of unshed tears, like diamonds.

I was carried, but I did not look away from those eyes. My hearing returned first, a rushing of blood in my ears. And under the rushing came words. When I was small, before Galen, I had listened outside theaters, hearing the dialogue of plays and filling in the action from my own imagination. I wasn’t sure if I was small again, lying on a roof, eyes open to the stars, listening to a story that was never meant for me.

Part 3
The Death

16

The world rocked back and forth, and there was a pressure under my knees, behind my back. My eyes were crusted with salt, and the world swam into focus. My surroundings—a blur of shadows and muted colors—dipped and rose like I was on a boat, and—oh, I was being carried.

Strong arms cradled me against a broad chest, the steady rhythm of his steps drawing me from the haze of sleep. My heart quickened, a flutter of shy uncertainty mingling with a strange sense of safety, of being home.

I shifted slightly in his embrace, angling for a better look. The softest hint of light came through the trees overhead, casting soft shadows across his face: inhumanly sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, brows of dark silver. His hair spilled across his chest and pooled in my lap, a river of moonlight.

As if sensing my scrutiny, he glanced down at me, his gaze softening with a hint of a smile. “There you are.” His voice was a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’ve changed,” I said, tugging at a lock of his hair. He wore the guise of the Serpent King, but now, having seen what I thought of as Rane’s secret face, I felt myself comparing the two. The Serpent King seemed several years older, several times more foreboding, and quite a bit less handsome. I felt my cheeks warm at that last thought.

“In my kingdom, I must be what they need me to be,” he said.

I dropped my gaze. “Where’s—”

“Your loyal squire?” Rane nodded to my side.

Grimney was riding a very small water horse, clutching my bag of tools, looking very proper and dashing.

“Where did he—how—the horse?”

“I was—ah—distracted and left him behind. He caught up, and I did not dare ask for specifics.”

Grimney saluted me.

“Look,” Rane said. “This is one of my favorite views.”

We cleared the trees, and light fell on him like a dusting of palest gold, and for a moment, as his lips quirked, it was like I could see through his illusion like a veil, to the man beneath.

“You aren’t looking,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The view,” he said, his eyes dancing. He lifted his gaze, and I followed it.

The first light of dawn poured into a valley surrounded by rising cliffs. A vast lake shimmered in the pink glow of morning, ripples rising as the wind raked its fingers across it.

A palace rose from the depths, half-submerged. Its walls were a luminous white, aglow with dewdrops that caught the sunlight. Grand stairs led straight into the water, and waves lapped at the walls and windows.

A town clung to the lake’s edge, pale and gleaming like a cluster of pearls. Delicate white bridges arched over canals, their reflections merging with their corporeal forms to create an illusion of endless loops and spirals. Lanterns hung from delicate brackets, their golden light fading in the dawn, casting dancing shadows on streets that gleamed like mother-of-pearl. A short and frog-like figure yawned as they maneuvered a long pole to put out a streetlamp.

A horn sounded. It came from the direction of a tall white spire—a watchtower.

“We have been spotted,” Rane said. His genuine smile felt out of place on the Serpent King’s face.

“I can walk,” I said, pushing at his chest. He set me on my feet. My legs were unsteady, and there was a white fuzz creeping along the edges of my thoughts.

“Easy,” he said, taking my arm.

“I’m fine.”

“My venom is potent,” he said with an apologetic air.

His embarrassment embarrassed me. “Is it? I didn’t feel anything.”

He raised a brow. “You swooned into my arms.”

“I needed rest. It’s been a long and trying few days.”

“Oh, I see. You’re doing that peculiar thing, where you pretend you never feel anything.”

“I feel things,” I said.

“But you hide it.”

“You hide your entire face.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “We understand each other so well.”

It seemed unwise to flaunt Grimney to our audience, as he was a creature born of jewelsmithing. With only a little convincing, he gifted a seashell to his horse and settled into my pocket. The horse dissolved into mist as Grimney waved goodbye. Despite my protests, Rane slung my bag over his shoulder.

The town had come awake, a handful of people gathering to see who the horn heralded. And what fascinating people they were; a too-thin, too-tall man with glowing eyes; a blue-skinned figure whose clothes swirled like water; a wizened being who came up to my knee, their white beard nearly as tall as they were.

Rane said, “I feel light as air, to be back home. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think we could pull this mission off.”

“This mission, meaning me.”

“Indeed.”

“You didn’t think I would come?”

“I thought we would be killed.”

A huntsman hurried from the watchtower, arriving at Rane’s side and keeping pace with us. “My lord?”

“We need a healer,” Rane murmured, while smiling at his people. The huntsman disappeared into the crowd.

Rane sucked in a sharp breath. His grip briefly tightened on my arm.

“I’m fine,” he said, before I could ask.

“Remember,” I said, “I can tell when you’re hiding.”

He breathed a laugh as we reached the lake’s shore.

Swans rose from the water, pulling an open-air chariot shaped like a lotus. It swayed under my feet, and Rane slipped an arm around my waist.

A fine sweat glimmered on his skin. I wrapped my arm around his waist, taking some of his weight. “I’m not helping you,” I said, “as you’re clearly fine. I need help keeping my balance.”

His eyes laughed. “Glad to be of assistance.”

Fish glided past, their movements slow and graceful, while strange plants swayed in the currents, their tendrils long and sinuous. And then, deeper, sea serpents swam below, their skin glinting like shards of sunlight.

The palace seemed to float on the lake, its foundation blending seamlessly with the water. Turrets and towers reached skyward, their domes capped with pale blue tiles that shimmered faintly. Ivy of palest green wrapped itself around the walls, its scent crisp and mingling with the cool morning air. This was what I smelled on Rane, on his cloak.

Balconies jutted out from the palace, supported by columns that arched lightly, like cobras about to strike. The balustrades were intricate lattices of pale stone, twisted and curled into the shapes of horses, dragons, lotuses. Through the wide, arched windows, I caught glimpses of ethereal spaces; a terrace where a fountain bubbled, catching the sunlight and gleaming pale gold; a hall of gold mosaic, and I imagined that dancing there might feel like dancing upon the sun itself; a floating garden where heavy buds hung indolently, waiting to bloom, upon trees that bowed like courtiers.

The grand entrance was a set of double doors made from wood so ancient that time had polished it as pale and smooth as stone. Silver handles were shaped like entwined serpents, but before I could touch them, the doors swung open of their own accord.

A grand hall, its ceiling high and vaulted, supported by columns of pale marble. The chandeliers above were brass and sea glass, their many arms holding candles that flickered with a warm, golden light. The scent I associated with Rane was stronger here, sun-kissed water, fresh green vines, and something dark and heady, like flowers that bloomed at night.

Inside, the air was filled with the soft murmur of the lake, the sound of water lapping gently against the palace’s outer walls. A grand staircase curved both up and down, upward to the higher floors suffused with pink morning light, and downward into the depths of the palace, where I could faintly make out long columns painted in a hazy, rippling blue-green light.

“Do you like it?” Rane whispered.

I didn’t answer. I was too awed.

We took the stairs up, and an attendant met us at the landing. “The healer is waiting in your rooms.”

Rane’s rooms were at the heart of the palace. He coughed as he opened the double doors. “I told them not to touch anything,” he said apologetically.

Oversized cushions in jewel-toned silks were strewn haphazardly across the floor. A low table of polished teak dominated the center of the room, littered with an assortment of odds and ends—a half-finished game of chess, a stack of parchment covered in hastily scrawled notes, and an eclectic array of trinkets and baubles.

At one end of the room, a massive window looked out onto the gardens and the lake beyond, its panes adorned with delicate carvings of lotus blossoms and swirling patterns. Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting warm pools of light onto the polished stone floor. A small birdcage hung from the ceiling, and its occupant—a rather sly-looking nightingale—trilled in welcome.

“I told you to go out and see the world.” Rane opened the birdcage. The bird clasped the bars in its beak and shut the door again.

“My lord? You called for me?” The healer had long, flowing hair and a serpentine look to her features. She had stepped out of another room, and just visible behind her was the edge of a lavish bed.

I squirmed. These were Rane’s private rooms. A king’s.

He had not felt so much of a king in the Imperial City. There he was an outsider. But here, the way people hung on to his words, the new set to his shoulders, upright and confident, but also a little burdened—he really was a king.

The healer bowed. “My lord, if you will?” She gestured to the bedroom.

“Not me,” Rane said, drawing me forward. “The wards got her.”

I interrupted. “Your injury is far more serious.”

Rane lowered himself onto a cushion, pasting a lordly expression on his face. “I’ll permit her to look me over as soon as she’s done with you.”

The healer met my eyes with an amused expression. “I’m really fine,” I whispered to her.

She dutifully looked me over, lingering at the twin marks on my wrist, before telling me to rest and that the wards and the venom might have lasting effects.

She had only just turned her attention to Rane, when came the patter of quick footsteps outside.

A low feminine voice came, growing louder. “Oh, Naina, you’re here—have you heard—you have?—It’s dreadful isn’t it—A bride, can you believe the nerve of him—No, don’t fret, your shawl is fine, dear—Oh, don’t blame me, I did my best—He must get it from your side of the family—”

Two women barged in. One was like a spear, tall and sharp and frowning, and the other was short and bent and smiling.

I smiled back at the short one. Like a trap snapping shut, her eyes narrowed. “Adamant,” she said. “Introduce us.”

“I’m Saphira, the—”

“My bride,” Rane said, cutting me off before I could say jewelsmith.

“Come, now,” the short one continued, “the rumors cannot be true. My darling little one would never get married in the Imperial City.”

Rane had a mulish expression. “We did.”

“Oh, dear,” said the tall one mildly, wringing her hands. “Well, when one is in love—”

The short one interrupted, growing weepier with each word. “With none of our customs? None of our people? Do you hate us so? I told you, Naina, nothing good would come of his curiosity—always wanting to see beyond the border—”

“It wasn’t curiosity,” Rane said.

“What was it, then?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she went on. “Now he keeps secrets from us. What secret can you keep from me? What can you not tell your grandmother, why, I was there when you shed your first skin—”

I said, “What?”

Twin spots of pink rose in Rane’s cheeks and melted away quickly, as if he had drawn an illusion over them.

The short one was muttering. “If your brother were here—”

“He isn’t.” Rane said sharply. And then sighing, “Please, Grandmother. The healer says I need rest. I could die if I say another word.”

The healer stiffened and, at Rane’s look, nodded awkwardly.

The short one toddled over, and Rane bent so she could pat his cheeks. “You need food, is what you need. And what the people need is to celebrate.”

“Do whatever you want. Plan another wedding, if you must. But leave us be.” He collapsed into a chair, an arm over his eyes.

The short one left grinning, like she’d achieved her means. The tall one hung back. “She wants what’s best for you, as do I.”

“I know,” Rane grumbled.

She turned to me. “I am Naina, Rane’s mother. Welcome to the family. I am looking forward to getting to know you.”

“Er, thank you,” I said, and bowed. As my nose was pointed at the ground, it occurred to me that bowing was expected of jewelsmiths, but perhaps not of whatever I was pretending to be.

When I straightened, she was gone.

Rane grumbled at the healer to hurry up. I shared the sentiment. I had a long list of questions for him, once we were alone.

The healer busied herself with the bandage on his chest, murmuring something soothing.

The haze over my thoughts was growing, and I folded myself down onto a divan, watching her work. The lapping of the lake, the distant sound of birdcall, Rane’s low grumbles—I felt something in me unclench, just a little.

The next thing I knew, I was blinking awake. The sun was high, and I was in a vast bed with soft sheets.

This is Rane’s bed.

I jumped out, flinging the sheets aside. I pressed my hands to my cheeks. Why was I so embarrassed all the time?

Low voices came from the main room. I patted my pocket, but it was empty.

Rane—that is, the Serpent King—was surrounded by people. Several of his huntsmen ringed him, and none of them wore helms.

One was speaking, and she fell silent as they all noticed me. I froze, and then, noticing a platter of assorted cakes and gingered candies, I pretended I had come for them. I stuffed a little poppy seed cake in my mouth and glanced at them through the curtain of my hair.

Rane gestured for her to continue.

“Vanon’s four are yet to return,” the huntsman said.

“He’ll be fine,” Rane said. “What of the border?”

“There are two outsiders who made it through the border recently. One seemed like an honest accident. We erased his memories and let him go. The other, we’re not sure. He might be an Imperial scout. We have him imprisoned.”

They attended to a few other bits of business before they filed out.

As the door shut, Rane let out a long exhale. We were suddenly alone.

A singsong chattering came from the birdcage, where Grimney perched, nodding intently at the nightingale. Almost alone, I amended my thoughts.

Rane moved to the balcony. The lake glittered in the afternoon light, the town and its bridges and canals gleaming white. In the distance were the forest-covered hills we had come through, and in the air above them was a soft line where soft golden sunshine turned suddenly to a misty gloom. The border wasn’t perfectly straight but curved with the landscape.

I kept my voice quiet. “They said outsiders came through the border. But how?”

He shifted so I could stand beside him. “The enchantments that protect my people are failing. There are cracks in the border. They disappear and reappear in new places, and of late, more and more are appearing. You remember Barad’s stories—some creatures have crept through, the selfish ones and the ones that are more beast than being, and I worry that people will soon realize that the divide between us is not as impenetrable as it was. I must fix this before my people realize the wards are weakening. That is the reason I brought you here.”

“They don’t know?”

“They must not. When my grandfather raised the wards, he promised all who sought refuge in our kingdom that they would be safe here. I cannot let his gift fail under my reign.”

“I know nothing of your kind of powers.”

“It is not my kind of powers that protects us, but yours.”

“Jewelsmithing?”

He hushed me and glanced over his shoulder. “Be careful when you speak of it. My people remember the old days, and their fear of jewelsmiths is strong. We must be very careful.”

“That’s why you called me your bride.”

“Surely you don’t object to pretending, just a little longer?”

The teasing in his eyes, the warmth of his body, it muddled my mind. “We’ll pretend only when we have to.” It sometimes felt like we were pretending when we didn’t need to. And that was making it harder to keep track of what was real.

He shifted, putting a little distance between us. “As you wish.”

I wished that little distance didn’t make something in me twinge. “I’d like to get to work.”

A knock came at the door.

“Tonight,” Rane said. “When the palace is asleep.”

As night fell, the palace came alive. Boats hung with glowing lanterns crossed the lake, and the lights mingled with the reflection of the starry sky.

The curtains were drawn back, and Rane joined me out on the balcony. He was dressed in flowing robes of palest silver that matched his Serpent King illusion.

I was in the same color, in a dress that fell from my shoulders and wrapped around my waist. In place of jewels, my arms were covered in delicate patterns in deep red. A dozen people had arrived to help me dress and prepare, and one had brought a paste of ground leaves, applied to my skin in careful lines. Once dry, the paste had been rubbed away with a sweet-smelling oil, leaving the pattern inked into my skin.

She’d asked me if I wanted her to hide Rane’s name within the design, for him to find. I’d imagined Rane bent over my arms, scanning each inch of my skin, and had promptly broken out in sweat. She’d laughed at my expression and never brought it up again.

“Your grandmother works fast,” I said.

“It’s only the first night. Our weddings are long affairs.”

“And when I finish the job—”

“I won’t hold you here against your will.”

“Won’t they be angry with you?”

“It’s for their best interests, too. They’ll come around, in time.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It wasn’t for me to tell him what to do. But it felt like, in being what he thought they needed from him, he wasn’t giving them a chance to truly support him.

We descended to the gardens, and in the dark of the archway, he took my hand. The calluses and warmth of his hand were becoming familiar to me, and that familiarity alarmed me. The way my fingers slotted perfectly in between his, the way his thumb traced over mine. My insides buzzed like I had swallowed a thousand bees.

It was all just pretend, I reminded myself.

I took a deep breath, and we stepped together through the arch. We were at once greeted by the sounds of merriment, with laughter and the low hum of conversation. The gardens seemed to float upon the lake, lush islands connected by delicate bridges, the largest of which held a pavilion designed so cleverly that it seemed to grow from the flowering bushes. Twinkling lights floated upon the lake and hung from the trees, casting a dreamy glow that made the partygoers seem unreal.

A hush fell as we entered, and the weight of their gazes fell like an anvil. Rane inclined his head but said nothing, and the conversations resumed, though I felt their attention still.

Rane touched my elbow. He moved to a small table of refreshments at the water’s edge, and my gaze fell to the lake. On a lotus pad, a circle of small people were drinking out of upturned flowers. Some were slender, with wings of gossamer, and others were squat. They were peris. My tiny tablecloth was precisely their size.

A goblet was pressed into my hands, textured with carvings. I peered inside. “It’s empty,” I said, wondering if it were some sort of enchanted drink, if I was unworthy of seeing it.

“Yes,” Rane said. “Watch.”

He poured wine into it, and the goblet was carved so finely, that the wine painted the thinnest parts dark with shadows, and a design revealed itself. It was an image of intertwined serpents, and as I turned the goblet, the same image repeated but the serpents transformed into a man and a woman mid-embrace. I glanced at Rane, and my face heated. I raised it to my lips and drank.

“My lord,” came a lilting voice. A green-haired nature spirit greeted Rane. She was all rounded edges and lush curves, and as she turned her dark green eyes on me, such warmth and darkness radiated from them that I was sure that there would be no softer or more nourishing place than in her arms, tucked against her softness.

The hand around my waist squeezed, and a voice said, “I would thank you not to flirt with my wife.”

She laughed, and it sounded like the wind rustling through leaves. “Forgive me, my lord.”

The trance fell. Oh, horsepiss. I took another swig of wine.

“Are you all right?” Rane murmured in my ear.

“I’m fine,” I said.

His brow raised. “Are you?”

I was out of my depth. Pretending to be enamored with Rane was one thing. At this point I was sure I could do that in my sleep. But to pretend to be a queen? I had none of the qualities that made a good queen. I wasn’t even sure what those qualities were. Probably it involved talking. And not being flustered by a cup or by the first guest to say hello.

I said, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Rane took that as an invitation to delve through the crowd, greeting people and taking their well-wishes. I was happy to nod and smile, until a voice addressed me directly. “My lady.”

Rane was midconversation with a bear in elegant silks and didn’t notice.

I turned to the voice. A tall figure with feathers, an eagle-like curve to his nose and lips. Ancient. Scarred, burns along one wing. “Tell me, do you know of the Cloud-Head Mountains?”

I shook my head.

“They are the most beautiful mountains, above the cloud layer. My ancestors had an eyrie perched on the highest tip of the eastern one, the one that first greets the sun. You should go, if you can. You would blend in with the invaders.”

I took a swig of wine in lieu of responding.

“I can never return. My children, my grandchildren . . . none of us can.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

He inclined his head.

Rane pulled me away before I could say anything else. “There’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

We moved through the garden, and I watched the party with different eyes. A small, well-wrinkled fellow floated by on a levitating carpet, bundled up as if the mild temperature was the iciest of chills. A well-muscled man with the head of a crane stood alone, looking out over the water, goblet clutched in his hand. There was what appeared to be a very large rat standing on its hind legs, who was garbed in robes tied in an elaborate fashion and topped with a headpiece that would be the envy of any noble in the Imperial City. He was in conversation with a tigress who slunk ever closer to him, with a rather hungry look in her eye.

However beautiful this kingdom was, however they danced and made merry, there was an undercurrent of tension, of loss. Somehow, it made me like them better.

The sounds of merriment faded the deeper we moved through the gardens. Rane paused before a bridge that led to a small island. He looked nervous.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Someone who came to us from Marehold.” He paused. “If you don’t want to meet her—”

“No,” I said. “I do.”

He hung back as I crossed the bridge and stepped through a trellis-covered arch. My heart began to pound.

She sat alone, her fingers tracing patterns in the dust on the bench, her back straight but not tense. There was a scar on her temple, a pale, jagged line that stretched over her ear. She wore it neither proudly nor shamefully; her hair did not grow where the scar marked her, but she didn’t hide it.

She turned when she sensed my presence, her eyes meeting mine. They were the same eyes I remembered from my childhood, the ones I had seen in my dreams for twelve years, the ones I thought I had lost forever.

She opened her mouth, and I knew what would come, her lips would shape the words: Hide. Don’t let them find you.

She said, “My little Aria.”

I swallowed, trying to find words that wouldn’t betray the wild hope inside me. “Mother?”

Her smile was small, hesitant. “You remember me?”

I looked away, out at the gardens. The flowers were beginning to open, their colors vivid against the green. “I never forgot you,” I said, my voice steady but quiet.

She rose from her seat, leaning heavily on a cane and crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. She stopped a few paces away, close enough to touch but far enough to respect the distance I needed. “You’ve grown so much.” she said, and wiped her eyes.

I moved to her, but I didn’t know how to do this, how to embrace her, and my arms were wooden. All at once, she wrapped her arms around my stiff body and pulled me close. She was so soft, and smelled like I remembered, and suddenly the thing I’d been bottling up for my whole life spilled over, and I wept and wept, loud and ungraceful, as she murmured into my hair, running her hands up and down my back.

I calmed after some time. “I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling.

“Oh, my dear.” Her eyes shone, and I felt guilty for her tears. “Life has been difficult for you, hasn’t it?”

I swallowed again, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t go. “How did you survive?”

Her hand moved to her scar, a reflexive gesture. “The Serpent King found me. He offered refuge to those who survived. I didn’t know . . . It was a month before I woke, months again before I could see. I didn’t know you had been taken. I thought you had been k—” She stopped, composed herself. “When he called me today and told me that someone had survived, I hoped it was you. I’ve thought of you every single day.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

Her hand gripped mine. She found the ring. “My old ring.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s broken. B-but it helped me survive.”

“Then it has done everything I hoped.”

It hurt to look at her. It felt like she was a phantasm, a gift that would disappear upon waking. I wanted desperately to make her stay with me, to never let her go, but another part of me felt like the sun was growing in my chest, a warmth that threatened to burn, and I had better protect myself and squash it now. That part didn’t trust that she wouldn’t disappear again. It didn’t trust that I would survive if she did.

I met her eyes. “I want to know you,” I said.

Her fingers tightened around mine in a silent promise. “We have time,” she said softly. “We’re safe now.”

17

My mother and I . . . We were everything to each other, and we were strangers. Like a game, we volleyed the words Do you remember? back and forth, and each time I answered yes. They were only half lies—I wanted to remember, and I was sure somewhere deep in me, the memories existed.

I didn’t know how to share myself with her. The girl she remembered, the one who climbed trees and played mischief on the cook, was like a fairy tale. She was adventurous and brave. And I? I was something else.

She offered for me to come and stay with her in town. But it was a formality. She thought I was Rane’s bride, and I didn’t correct her.

She kissed my cheek before she left.

I watched her go and then sat alone until my legs protested from the hardness of the stone bench.

The party was over when I trudged back, attendants pointing the way.

I found Rane in his rooms, wearing his dark-haired illusion. He was resting on the divan, his robes loose at his throat, hand pressed lightly into the skin over his wound.

His eyelids rose as I stepped closer.

My voice came in a whisper. “How did you know?” I hadn’t said I was from Marehold. I hadn’t told him who I was, who my mother was.

His voice was scratchy with sleep. “It went well?”

“Tell me how you knew.”

He raised three fingers. “One, you asked the water horse to take us home. It didn’t take us to my home, so it follows that perhaps, it took us to yours. Two, you were an Imperial Ward, which made it likely that you had come from a family noble enough or important enough for the Emperor and Incarnadine to take you as one of their pawns.”

“And three?”

“And I saw the look in your eyes, there in Marehold.”

“The look in my eyes?”

“Your eyes tell me quite a lot.”

I dropped my gaze, alarmed.

His clothes rustled as he stood. “It’s all right. I can keep a secret.” He moved closer and exhaled softly. “You are pleased, aren’t you? Or are you angry with me?”

“Angry? No. The opposite.”

“What is the opposite?”

He was so close I could count each of his dark lashes. He had added a tiny little beauty spot under one eye, or perhaps it was always there.

His gaze fell to my lips.

I was so aware of my mouth, of the wind on my lips, and the dryness that bound them together.

I licked my lips, and he drew in a ragged breath.

“Saphira,” he said. “Tell me that I’m not alone in feeling this.”

Heat washed over me from my head to my toes, and I felt too alive, too visible. I whispered, “What do my eyes say?”

His breathed a laugh that diffused across the skin of my jaw. The light pressure of his fingers as they ran through my hair, cradled the nape of my neck. I tilted my head up; my body arched toward him.

The air between us warmed, and my skin came awake. Something was happening, and I was afraid to admit it, afraid to close the gap between us. And yet I yearned for him to come closer, to give me what I dared not take.

An entire world of promise fit in the gap between us. I held my breath as his gaze fell to my lips.

A tap came at the door.

The promise held for a moment, as real as a thread of silk, and as fragile. We drew apart, and it snapped. He shook himself, and I let out a slow breath, rubbing my arms, trying to contain all that had bloomed in me.

“Oh stars,” Rane cursed. He pulled on an illusion between one heartbeat and the next, growing taller, his shoulders broadening and arms thickening with muscle. Silvery scales shone on his neck and his features lost their softness and lanky charm, gaining sharpness and the subtle lines of someone a decade older. All traces of his injury disappeared. “Enter.”

A huntsman came in, and his eyes darted to me. Apologetically, he said, “The update you requested on Vanon and his four, my lord. We think he may have detoured to the east to avoid Imperial Guards. They may be a day or two behind.”

“Fine,” Rane said. “Give me another update in the morning.”

The huntsman bowed. “My lord, my lady.” He retreated as quickly as he came.

We were alone again, save for Grimney and the nightingale, who were both asleep. Something had softened between us, a veil had fallen. But there were things I could say to Rane that I was too shy to say to the Serpent King.

He noticed something in me, because he said, “What is it?”

“The palace is asleep, isn’t it?”

“As asleep as it gets. Shall I show you its secrets?”

We took the back stairs down and ended up near the kitchens. Rane pressed a finger to his lips and cast an illusion on me. As it trickled down my spine, my vision blurred. I blinked hard.

The hallway seemed larger than before. And before me, where Rane had been, stood a short figure in the neat robes of the palace attendants. His face was that of a toad’s.

I felt my cheeks. Smooth, cool, a little wet.

“Charming,” Rane croaked.

I laughed.

We crept past a large archway. Inside, a cook was sitting at a large table, his head in his hands.

A kitchen maid was organizing stacks of dry goods.

“What about ginger?” the cook was saying.

“About a dozen fresh roots and five bottles of powder.”

The cook clicked his teeth. “We’re low on pearl milk, spiny fish, plum wine, no mulberries at all—how am I supposed to put on a wedding?”

He wailed, and the maid patted him on the back.

A three-fingered hand grabbed mine and tugged me away.

Even as a toad, the way his eyes crinkled with laughter was so distinctly Rane.

We moved down hallways, toward the main hall.

Rane shimmered and grew, and he became tall, thin, birdlike. My vision blurred, and the world had shifted, shrunk in some way. I met Rane’s gaze, and I now came up to his nose. I was taller. Rane’s hair had become dark feathers that seemed to defy gravity, like bird’s crest.

A boy was coming in from the gardens, flowers clutched in his hands, muttering, “Jaster, I know you probably have plans already, but in case you don’t, maybe you and I can go to the wedding together? If you want. Or not.” He moaned.

“What’s that?” Rane said.

The boy shrieked in surprise, whirling around.

“You’re not asking Jaster like that, are you?”

“W-well—”

I touched Rane’s arm. The boy looked terrified. Rane said, “My dear, shouldn’t he speak from the heart?”

“Er, yes,” I said, and felt my illusion flicker. Rane recast it instantly, and I wondered how fast he could cast them. The boy’s attention turned to me, hope shining in his eyes. I said, “Say what you feel.”

The boy swallowed. “When Jaster looks at me, I get sweaty, and I think I’m going to die.”

Rane made a soft choked noise.

“That’s lovely,” I said, and I meant it. “That’s how I feel, too.” Rane recast the illusion immediately.

The boy beamed at me. “You think it’ll work? It is the truth. You’re right. My thanks to you both,” he said, bowing so suddenly that the flowers in his grip shed a few petals.

“Wait—” Rane called, but the boy was gone. He sighed. “I was thinking something more along the lines of I find you lovely or when I look in your eyes, I feel like I’m home, and sometimes I get that feeling whenever I see anything that same deep warm brown.”

“Perhaps Jaster’s eyes aren’t brown,” I said, and this time, my illusion fell and stayed gone.

Rane laced our fingers together. “Yours are.”

I ducked my head.

“Tell me,” he said. “Do I make you sweaty and feel like you’re going to die?”

I covered my face.

His laughter rose delighted and bright, and it wrapped around me, a soft, bubbly warmth sinking into my skin.

I felt strangely raw. The night had torn too many emotions out of me.

For some reason, I heard Galen’s voice. Everything comes at a price, and the cost is set by what people want from you. Love? What of it? Love is the fanciful idea of getting something for no price at all, and tell me, have you ever seen that happen? No, love is another word for being cheated out of what you’re owed, and if you ever feel it, know you’re being played.

It didn’t feel like that, like I was being hoodwinked. It made me think . . . what if I stopped running? Could I really have this? Could this happiness be mine?

As we reached the deserted main hall, Rane let himself look like the Rane I first knew, his illusion melting into dark hair, dark eyes, a slender face.

A soft blue-green glow played on the walls, emanating from below. The grand stairs curved down into the greenish depths. The banister was cool to the touch.

We descended together. Water lapped at the tall windows, but the lower we went, the quieter it became. A heavy, thick silence.

Part of the greenish glow came from lanterns that lit the way. The other part came from the creatures outside, swimming past the windows, spots of glowing light dotting their bodies.

The stairs ended in an underwater hall, lined with tall columns and windows.

There were dozens of doors facing the windows. Rane went to one that seemed identical to the others, from the pale white surface to the intricate trim and the large golden lock.

He drew a cord from around his neck. At its end was a key.

Rane unlocked the door.

There were more stairs beyond. Lower and lower we went, until we reached a pool so still that it could’ve been a mirror. Across its surface were lotuses.

I saw myself reflected in the water. Rane stepped up behind me.

I asked, “Is there any limit to what you can make me look like?”

“What would you like to be?”

My hair turned straight, then it lightened. Brown, pale brown, wheat, like fire, silver like moonlight. His illusion shifted to match.

“Can you make it so I can tell the truth?”

“Yes. The problem with tying an illusion to a person is that. But if I tether it to, say, a locket, or a jacket, then it’s far steadier.”

“Is that how it works for you?”

“Not exactly. I’m constantly feeding the illusion with my power.”

He changed himself into me, and me into the Serpent King.

“Oh,” I said, moving my hand and watching the reflected Serpent King move his. “I see why you like this. I’m so large. I do feel rather strong and intimidating.”

The Saphira reflected in the pool looked offended. The illusions fell away as Rane switched us back. “It’s not about being intimidating.”

“Isn’t it? What about an illusion that no one would pay much attention to?”

His hands stilled. “You’re thinking about your payment, your shop.”

I hadn’t been, but now I was.

Rane went on. “If that’s still what you want, it’s yours. But . . . you could stay here.”

And hide my jewelsmithing, for as long as I lived.

Oh. Was this the price?

“You don’t want to stay here?” he asked, reading my expression.

“Your people would not be happy if they knew what I am.”

“I very much like what you are, and I am their king,” he said. “Give them time. I will make them see you as I do.”

Maybe. I didn’t want to think about it, not now. “Make me into something else.”

His magic spilled over us, a cascade, and we changed again and again, becoming anyone and anything. A thousand faces he wore, and in each of them, I found hints of him, like each strange face was a door to his soul and they were all unlocked to me.

His gaze seared into me, the same intense look, unchanging, as the rest changed, and then his eyes were familiar, the dark gray of shadows on a moonlit night, and his lashes were silver, and he wore his true, secret face. The air between us was thick and charged and still.

I drew a ragged breath—and the scent of him, aquatic and the crisp green of ivy and something else, something that was only his. My head tilted back as he drew closer, to keep holding his gaze.

His hand moved to my face and the callused tips of his fingers brushed my cheek. I shivered. My skin tingled where his fingers touched, warmth spreading down my neck.

His breath caressed my lips, a question.

The space between us shrank infinitesimally; this was my answer. My heart pounded, and my eyes fluttered shut.

I felt the soft brush of his lips, barely a touch. All the world narrowed, every nerve in my body attuned to him, to the next touch, the next breath.

His lips met mine. And I knew more about him; the soft way he kissed, tender, exploring. His lips were warm and firm, and my body was liquid, and I curved into him, my hand finding his neck, his arm wrapping around my lower back and drawing me closer.

I felt him smile against my lips. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek with a tenderness that made me feel strange and soft and seen.

When we finally broke apart, it felt like something new was between us, an invisible thread that tied my heart to his. Our breaths mingled, and my chest felt alight. My eyes fluttered open to find him watching me, his gaze filled with a mixture of wonder and something deeper, something that felt like home.

The water reflected us. I met my gaze; my face, the dark hair, the large dark eyes, my nose, my lips, but there was something different. “What did you change?” I asked.

He pressed a kiss to my hair. “There’s no illusion on you.”

As we descended, the air became cooler, and human craftsmanship gave way to the designs of nature. Hallways became tunnels, until we came at last to a vast cavern. The craggy rock walls were spotted with stalagmites that glowed a ghostly green.

Our footsteps echoed fourfold, and I took pains to tread softly. Rane carried a lantern he’d pulled from a sconce, and it cast a small radius of warm light. A path wound around huge rock spires that rose upward, disappearing into the dark above our heads, each so wide around that to encircle one would take five of me standing fingertip to fingertip.

The path leveled out before a pool that was suffused with light. Stepping stones made a path across it, to a small domed shrine that gleamed in the dark, like a pearl in an oyster.

Rane went first across the pool, and I followed, as drawn to the shrine as if it had a hook around my spine.

White marbled columns supported a domed roof of palest alabaster. And hanging between the columns were threads of gold strewn with jewels that glistened like raindrops.

A stone plinth stood in the center of the shrine, and on it was what looked like an immense globe made of concentric rings. It was the greatest working of jewelsmithing I had ever seen. Gold, silver, orichalcum, copper, electrum, ashtadhatu—almost every metal that a jewelsmith could use was there. And the jewels, hundreds of little ones, all working together.

I stepped inside, through a gap in the golden thread work. The loops and whorls of the setting were all around me, and I imagined this was what it would be like if I were the size of a dust mote and had found myself inside the setting of a magnificent medallion.

I was absorbed, following the threads, working out the meaning, and understanding the design of a long-gone jewelsmith. It was endlessly complex, fascinatingly clever, and it felt familiar. Somewhere, somehow, I had met this jewelsmith’s work before.

Picking carefully through the jewelwork, I began to decipher the setting.

Here, on the outer ring, were clever ways to mark the border of the kingdom. Small stones encircled in gold; the latticework said they were references, shards of greater stones that were buried somewhere above in a corresponding location.

And here was the structure of the enchantment. It would allow to pass those recognized by the heart of the setting. Those it recognized could then let others in by claiming them as their own.

Deeper was the gold that said the kingdom would disappear from the world, none would be able to find it, even if they knew where it was on a map.

All the kingdom was here, rendered by a hand who had taken great pains to understand it intimately. There was great love in this working.

All the golden lines led to the center. All the power came from the heart of the setting. A great red-orange stone.

It was almost the color of a ruby, but unlike rubies, it was not cheeky, playful, trying to burn.

It was tired.

The stone drew me in, and a crushing weight fell on my shoulders, followed by a sneaking fear that crept around my ankles and sank into me, hollowing me out, whispering that if I ever let that weight down, everything I cared for would be lost. My muscles strained, my neck bowed, my shoulders stiffened and trembled under the weight. I couldn’t bear it—but neither could I bear losing everything I held dear.

I thought of Grimney. My mother. I thought of Rane.

“Saphira?” A warmth between my shoulder blades, a hand, stroking lightly, bringing me back to myself.

The jewel’s influence fell away. There were tears on my lashes, and I scrubbed them away. The fear that came from the gem was so like my own, the fear that had been my shadow and my teacher ever since I was taken from my home. In a way, the working was like my mother’s ring, but instead of shielding one person, it protected an entire kingdom. “This is incredible.”

“My great-grandfather had it made,” Rane said. “It was in his father’s time—my great-great-grandfather—that the Emperor first rose to power, with the aid of the jewelsmith Darvald. My people had not worried much, even when the first stories came, of a tinkerer who had bent peris to his will. Not when he captured the ghoul lights in jewels. And then Darvald captured a djinn, and it was too late.

“My great-grandfather loved birds. He fed them daily. Can you imagine a serpent lord whom birds adore? He was gentle in that way. Beloved by his family, his people. And though he was not a warrior king, he took up the war that he inherited. He forged alliances with the other divine peoples, which was more difficult than you might imagine. Some of us, like the serpent lords and the eagle folk, had leaders and territories, but many of us were wild, prone to mischief, unwilling to change or to believe we were at risk. You must understand, for centuries, we had become accustomed to living amongst your kind, perhaps the way crows are accustomed to hummingbirds. We thought we were the more powerful.

“My great-grandfather forged those alliances, and then he met with Darvald. He risked his life to show Darvald who we were and convince him that he was wrong. It took a rare genius to invent what Darvald had done, but copying his work took only ordinary skill. Darvald wept, but what he had unleashed could not be contained.

“My great-grandfather’s last hope was this enchantment. He was born with a heartstone, which is uncommon for our kind. Some are born with other stones, a jewel between their eyes, a jewel in their navel. But a heartstone is a sign of rare power.

“He made the greatest sacrifice our people can: he gave his heartstone to power it. And without his heart, he changed. Birds did not please him. He slapped his wife. He grew horrid. Died young, alone, ostracized from the kingdom he saved. The stories of the Serpent King’s cruelty come from that time.

“The working was kept a secret, so even today, few know what he sacrificed. He became a monster, for us. Because of him, we survived.”

Rane let me take his hand. “I can’t let it fall apart under me,” he said.

“It won’t.”

I turned back to the setting, with the knowledge that it was Darvald’s work. That was why something about this had felt familiar. I was again following in his footsteps.

On first look, there had been nothing that jumped out as obviously wrong. Some of the work was old-fashioned, using twice the metal it would need with modern methods. But it wasn’t wrong; it would still work fine.

I made a note of the outer ring, of the stones that corresponded to ones above. Perhaps some of those had shifted with time. That was worth checking.

As I worked my way inward, I grew more confused. It was in astonishing condition, the work pristine, the jewels firmly set—Darvald had even thought to add a layer to protect the setting by purifying the air and keeping the metals from tarnishing.

After a good hour, I sat back on my heels. The setting was perfect. That left only—

My teeth stung as if I had bitten into ice, and my tongue coated with something bitter.

I stepped closer to the heartstone. It was beautifully cut in long facets to make its power flow as strongly as possible.

“I need more light,” I said.

Rane held his lantern higher, angling it toward me.

In the light I saw the problem, and my heart sank. A crack. It started in the base of the jewel, a single deep crack rising up through the center, almost perfectly parallel with the facets, so that it was concealed from casual observation. The light shifted, and I realized it wasn’t just a single crack. There were hundreds, splintering fractures that ran through the entirety of the jewel, fractures so thin that they seemed to disappear entirely if I came at it from the side by even the slightest angle.

I could redo every inch of this setting, and it wouldn’t matter. All the power came from the heartstone, and the heartstone had succumbed to the pressure of a hundred years of fear.

“Rane.” My voice trembled with emotion. I swallowed and whispered. “I can’t fix this.”

“You’re the best jewelsmith in the Empire,” he said. “Of course you can.”

His words would have made me blush any other day. “It’s not that.”

He shook his head smilingly, his brows pulled together. Confusion was his last shield from the truth. “Whatever materials you need, however rare, I can get for you.”

“It’s not that, either.”

A silence fell.

“Please,” he said, and his smile was gone. I didn’t know if he was begging me to tell him or to spare him from the truth.

“The heartstone is cracked. It’s holding on by a thread. The whole thing could shatter at any moment.”

“Saphira,” he said, and his hands cradled my head, so gently. “You’re so smart. So brilliant. There must be something we can do.”

“The stone can’t be saved,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

He stepped back out of the light, and shadows fell over his features. “This stone can’t. But what if you had another?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking. “That would work. With another that is its equal—” I cut off, something rising in me that felt like a dark omen.

Rane’s hand rose to his chest, to his heart. “There is one other.”

18

The palace was as silent and still as a held breath. We moved through it without speaking, his hand in mine. When we were in his rooms, we stayed like that, hands clasped as if it were the most natural thing.

I drank in the way moonlight crowned him in silver.

I whispered, “Everyone else in this world is selfish. Why do you have to be noble?”

He laughed, low and rumbly. “If I were noble, I would’ve plucked my heart out the moment you told me the old heartstone couldn’t be fixed.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll find another way.”

“I know you will. You’re brilliant.”

“I’d do it even if you—even if we—even if I didn’t feel—”

He reached and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and said, like a secret, “That’s very noble of you.”

I ducked my head, and the air filled with the distant sound of the lake lapping at the palace walls.

“I have to tell you something,” I whispered, pulling back. “When I first saw jewelsmiths at work . . . it seemed wondrous. It felt like the world had opened up, become endless. It felt like a promise, that there was beauty in the world, that you could make beauty exist in the world, just through the work of your own hands. And when I say beauty, I mean—I mean all the good things. Joy, and being nice for no reason at all. Not being afraid. Taking care of other people instead of taking from them. I’m not explaining it right. What I mean is that it was a revelation, because, until then, it seemed the world had been trying to teach me that if I wanted to survive, I had to be cruel.

“I don’t know when I lost that feeling. Over the years, with Galen, it became about survival again. About doing what needed to be done, and I didn’t fight when Galen chased fame, when he brought me petty little jobs that showed me all the ways people felt not good enough. I did them. . . . I didn’t want to lose what little I had.

“These past few weeks . . . it feels like I remember what art could be. What it could do, what it could mean. Who I could be.”

It was the most I had ever spoken at once. My cheeks heated.

I covered my face. It was embarrassing. I hadn’t even said it right, and still, it felt like my insides were flayed open, like he could look right into the deepest, darkest parts of me.

He touched the backs of my hands. “Can I come in?”

I lowered them.

His eyes twinkled down at me. “I have a secret, too. I knew you, long before I met you. When I first held your work, I could feel the kindness behind it. It was there in the little ways you protected people, like the serpent-head clasp that made people feel safe. I collected stories of your pieces, chased every rumor about Galen’s work. People said that the effects were so natural that sometimes people didn’t even notice the jewels. Yours were so perfectly tailored to the wearer. You saw them. You listened.” He said intently, “I don’t think I could trust my heart to anyone else.”

“I mean it, I’ll find another way—”

“I know you will. But even still. My heart is yours.”

I felt lightheaded, my skin burning, my chest aflutter. I was embarrassed and something else. I wanted to run; I wanted to press closer to him.

“That’s right.” He smiled. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

His arms wrapped around me, and I remembered a dream I used to have.

It came to me often, back in those early days of being a ward in the Rose Palace. I’d sneak away and find old, abandoned rooms to sleep in, away from everyone else. Drafty rooms in the ancient part of the palace, where the wind whistled through gaps in stone and the nights grew cold enough to see my breath.

Those nights, I had the dream. Of warmth sinking into my bones, into the dark corners of my heart where I’d tucked away all the things I didn’t dare hope for.

Inside me, like a ghost, was the girl I had once been. I felt her marvel at him, at the softness in his eyes, at the good fortune that was too incredible, too inconceivable. It couldn’t be real, she felt.

After all, the dream was my mind tricking me, hiding the cold from me, giving me a way to ignore the numbness that had set into my bones.

Wasn’t this the same? With every brush of his lips at my temple, at my cheeks, at the bite mark on my wrist, he was driving away the numbness that had become part of me.

I pulled back. His eyes were alight with wonder. This is real, I told the ghost inside.

It was real because I could already taste the pain of losing him.

I kissed him.

It was the softest brush of my lips on his, but it sent vibrations through every inch of my body. I was coming alive. He opened to me, his head tilting into my touch. I pressed my lips against his, and this time his answered, moving against me like he was speaking silent words in a secret language. But my skin understood.

I was rising beyond myself.

I shivered as he drew my hair over my shoulder, as he unclasped my dress. Our clothes pooled at our feet. I didn’t hide from him.

He wore no illusion. And he shivered at my touch.

This is real.

My body whispered it each time his skin grazed mine, each time I tasted his lips.

Until even the ghost in me was convinced.

Sunlight seeped in through my eyelids, chasing away the last of my dream. It slipped through the cracks in my thoughts and sank back to wherever it was that dreams hid from the waking world.

My cheek was pressed against soft fabric, but it was warm, and it rose and fell in time with the sound of soft breathing. I froze, coming awake all at once.

I looked up into Rane’s true face, all aglow in the light of day. Locks of silver hair splayed across his shoulders, his brow was smooth and untroubled, his lips soft and just barely parted. The tips of his fangs were just visible. He was, I realized with no small surprise, rather cute.

I shifted, and the arm around me tightened, tucking me against his side. My face was warm, and I pressed it back into his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt, and beneath, the firm, reassuring solidity of his body. I lowered my ear to his chest, listening for a heart that would never beat.

I felt a strange new peace. I had always been running, always trying to survive. I had never before had someone to protect, and it made me feel different. Stronger.

Golden light filtered through the windows, catching on dust particles. The lake glittered with sunlight, and trembling reflections danced across the ceiling and walls.

Movement at the door caught my eye. Grimney, sneaking in on tiptoes. He climbed up the woodwork and perched on the foot of the bed.

He glanced meaningfully between Rane and me, then wiggled his stone eyebrows.

I shut my eyes and pretended I hadn’t seen him. When I peeked to see if he had gone, he met my gaze, grinning delightedly, and mimed rocking a baby in his arms.

I groaned and threw a pillow in his direction.

Rane shifted under me, his eyes opening. The gentleness in his expression stole my breath, and then I saw the change as he remembered the cracked heartstone.

“Give me some time,” I said.

“You said it could not be fixed.”

“And you said I’m the best jewelsmith in the Empire,” I said. “I’ll find another way.”

His gaze softened as he chose to put his trust in me.

It felt not like a burden, but like a soft, glimmering thing, something to light the way. It buoyed me as I scarfed down a breakfast and gathered tools, as we descended down into the submerged levels of the palace.

I was prepared with several lanterns, a pad to make drawings, my jewelsmith’s spectacles and tools. Grimney had come along, to keep me company or to tease me, I wasn’t sure.

Rane hovered as I set up. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

Over breakfast, his huntsmen had whispered reports into his ear, and a half dozen people had quite nearly begged for his time. I said, “Not for this.”

“I can cancel my meetings,” he said. “This is more important.”

“Go on,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

He murmured something else, but the world had already faded for me, the way it did when my work drew me in.

The heartstone glimmered in the light of three lanterns, its fractures unmissable. Could I build something, a cage of sorts, to keep the jewel from shattering and falling apart? I talked it over with Grimney, who mostly shrugged, but hearing my thoughts out loud helped. I drew a dozen designs for the cage, and as I did, a flaw in the idea became apparent. The heartstone was under so much pressure, that asking anything more of it—even asking it not to shatter—would only shatter it more quickly. The only thing was to lessen the pressure, somehow.

For hours, I studied the heartstone, drawing every fragment of an idea that came to me.

When my hand started shaking, when I started fearing I’d never find a way, I turned my attention away from the central stone to the rest of it.

Maybe that was the key. What would it take to replace the heartstone? It was a singular jewel with a drive to protect, which Darvald had sculpted into the kingdom’s enchantments. But it wasn’t a single effect; there were dozens. The way the paths into the kingdom were hidden, the illness that fell upon those who crossed without permission, the way the kingdom was concealed from view . . . There were a dozen effects. I needed to map them all.

For the concealment, perhaps, if I had a hundred jewels like the one in my mother’s ring. It was so rare that I hadn’t come across another with that same property in all my years jewelsmithing. But perhaps, with Rane’s resources, more could be found.

I had firsthand experience with the ill effects of crossing the border, and I could mimic that—there was a pinkish beryl from one particular mine, that some folks in the city used to shrink their appetites, which could easily become intense nausea.

Faintly, the design began to materialize in my mind. With many, many jewels, all working together, it was possible. It would mean redoing Darvald’s work entirely, which was a massive undertaking. A lifetime of scrambling to deliver on Galen’s promises had made me a quick jewelsmith, but even for me, it would take at least a year.

I sat with the tired jewel. Its presence was comforting, as if it were thanking me for trying. It felt like I was sitting with someone.

I didn’t know if the jewel could hold on for a year. But I wouldn’t give Rane up. So it had to.

Footsteps shook me out of it. Rane approached, Grimney riding on his shoulder. “My spy tells me that you haven’t eaten.”

Guiltily, I recalled the small satchel of snacks Rane had given me. It sat in my bag, forgotten. “I’ll eat now,” I said.

“Yes, you will. Your mother is waiting.”

Rane chatted as we climbed, pulling on his Serpent King illusion. His day had consisted of kingly duties, most of which would’ve bored me to tears, but which he seemed to delight in. He laughed as he recounted how he settled a dispute between two fishermen who had both cast lines into the same massive eel and who both claimed it as their catch.

“Anyway,” he said, “we’re now serving eel at our wedding.”

I found myself smiling with him, even as his words registered. “Isn’t that sort of . . . eating your own kind?”

“I am not an eel,” Rane said, offended. “And eels are not snakes. They are fish, admittedly ones with excellent style.”

I hid my smile. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s entirely different,” he muttered. “You would hate being married to an eel.”

“I’d get used to it.” A giggle escaped me, and it was a sound I’d never made before.

He stepped closer and took my hand. He didn’t speak, just stood with me in the quiet, his thumb brushing soothing circles on my palm. I knew what he wanted to ask.

My voice was quiet. “I wanted to wait until I was sure, but I think I might have found a way. I need time and jewels. A lot of jewels. And—”

I broke off as he picked me up and swung me into the air. Laughter spilled out of me.

He spun me and then drew me to him, setting me down.

His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the cool air. “Your eel of a husband thanks you.”

I leaned into him, and his breath hitched.

We made our way to the gardens, where the air was rich with the scents of spices. The sky was the vivid red-orange of sunset, and the lake’s surface glimmered, reflecting it, casting everything in a soft red-gold haze.

One of the slender bridges took us to an island strewn with jasmines, where our dinner awaited.

The table was set under a canopy of intertwined vines and flowers, their petals softly glowing in the lantern light. Platters of food were spread across the table, aromatic saffron rice studded with cashews, spiced chickpeas, roasted eggplant with perfectly charred edges, yogurt with pomegranate seeds, flaky breads, a dozen other things, vibrant and steaming. Candles flickered amongst the platters, and the soft, sweet aroma of beeswax mingled pleasantly with the scent of food.

A rug was on the grass, and around the table were low chairs and dozens of plump cushions.

My mother’s head was bent toward Rane’s mother’s, and they were chatting animatedly. Rane’s grandmother was snoozing in her seat.

Rane inclined his head. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

His grandmother woke with a start. “Finally!”

My mother’s face lit up as she saw me. I moved to sit beside her, drinking in the lines of her face, the scar, the way her smile came slow, as if it needed time to blossom.

The conversation picked up, and I answered where I needed to. Rane’s grandmother gave us the details for the wedding—for flowers, she’d chosen osmanthus and marigold for the aroma, and for the menu, every cuisine had to be represented to suit every sort of divine person, and she’d heard that I enjoyed eel, and if there was any other addition to the menu, she would prefer to be told sooner rather than later, and because of my complexion, she had decided on red silk for my dress, and if I had opinions, I had better voice them—I nodded along. My mother made tiny little suggestions of customs that were apparently our family’s, and Rane’s grandmother seemed surprisingly enthused to have input.

They slowly cut me out of the conversation, and I relaxed.

I reached for a pistachio cake and met Rane’s eye. There was a glint of mischief there, a nameless humor. He raised a brow. Should we run away and let them get married?

Sure. I smiled back at him. Grimney sat at his elbow, eating from a delicate bowl filled with stones.

As the sky darkened, I found my muscles loosening, the tension seeping out of me. I leaned back, tilting my head and letting the colors and sounds of the garden wash over me. All of this was mine to protect.

Grimney was juggling, amusing our mothers. He caught a stone in his mouth and chomped down.

Rane had come to sit by me, and I rested my head on his shoulder, paying little attention to anything except for the deep vibrations in his chest when he spoke. My belly was full, and I was content to daydream.

Until a scream tore through the air. My calm shattered, and I jumped to my feet.

Rane had also risen, his arm splayed as if he would put me behind him.

“Stay here,” he said, and his stance changed. The sound had come from across the bridge, from the courtyard, and Rane moved like a warrior toward it.

He took two steps and stopped.

A woman in white armor came over the bridge.

My mother’s hand gripped mine, and for a moment I was once again a child about to lose everything to Incarnadine.

But it wasn’t Incarnadine. Her hair was dark silk, and there was a glint of yellow at her throat. At her side was a bronze-haired man, clad in the scale-like armor of the Serpent King’s huntsmen, though his was splattered with what looked like dried blood.

The courtyard behind them was full of huntsmen splayed on the ground. They had gone through them to get to us. Please let them not be dead.

She showed no shame, no remorse. Who else but Mirandel had the kind of pride that made her assume that she was welcome at every party?

My mouth was dry, my hands were sweating, and I wished it were the other way around.

“Vanon?” Rane said. His gaze was on the huntsman at Mirandel’s side. Vanon, the missing huntsman, the one who played the Serpent King. His gaze was blank, unseeing.

Vanon blinked, brows knitting, and he seemed to surface from some sunken space within him. “My lord? My lord—you mustn’t listen to h—”

“Heel, Vanon,” Mirandel said.

At her command, the cloudiness returned to Vanon’s gaze.

She tossed her hair back, drawing attention to the yellow tourmaline choker on her neck.

I had done this. I’d made the collar without thinking about what it would mean, what it would lead to. The divine peoples were right to fear jewelsmithing.

“Release him,” Rane said.

“Why would I do that? He has been quite useful. It’s quite astonishing how deeply your people trust your huntsmen. They were all so accommodating. Vanon, pull out my seat.”

He pulled out one of the low chairs at the head of the table, and Mirandel sat, crossing her legs.

She murmured something I didn’t catch, and Vanon knelt at her side, directly on the rug.

She filled her plate and ate slowly. “Come, Aria, sit with me.”

My body moved, and I was suddenly sitting beside her, on a plump cushion that put me lower than her. I still had freedom to move my hands and wipe my palms on my dress. But she could take away that freedom any moment.

I thought quickly. The jewel made it a compulsion to obey the wearer’s commands. But to be influenced, you still had to hear the command.

Beeswax candles flickered on the table. The wax.

When her gaze shifted to Rane, I grabbed a candle, pinched the flame out, and poured the wax onto a napkin in my hand. It was hot, even to my well-callused fingers, but in a second, I had four little ear plugs.

I met Rane’s gaze, and he understood. He moved to me, speaking with her all the while, and laid his hands on my shoulders. I reached up and slipped him two lumps, under the guise of holding his hands.

Rane took them, even as he asked, “What is your purpose here?”

“To conquer.” Mirandel smiled. “We have secured the ways into your kingdom. My lady’s soldiers are inside your borders, and every second that passes, more enter.”

My heart dropped. I twisted, seeking Rane, and saw the same horror in his eyes.

Soldiers inside the borders? But how?

But it was too dangerous to keep listening to her. I pressed the wax into my ears. All sound disappeared, save for the blood rushing in my head.

Mirandel’s mouth moved. She stared at me.

Rane stuffed the wax in his ears. He moved like lightning, holding a carving knife to her throat.

Mirandel laughed. She raised an arm, her lips moving, and pointed to Vanon.

That same cloudiness was in Vanon’s eyes as he held a dagger to his own throat. A thin red line dripped down his neck. Rane was a tense coil, fists at his sides. She had him.

I leapt over the table and shoved a napkin in her mouth, and momentum carried us both to the ground. I reached for the tourmaline collar, and my fingers brushed the clasp—

Mirandel bucked under me, tossing me to the ground and pinning me under her. Her eyes were wild, and her lips pulled back in a snarl. She reached for the wax, her fingers jabbing my ear, and I thrashed, trying to throw her off.

The collar fell from her neck, landing on my chest. I grabbed it as Mirandel was pulled off of me. Rane gripped the back of her neck, and she fought him.

But she no longer had the collar. I ran my fingers along the two sharp edges where Rane had sliced cleanly through the clasp.

She met my gaze, and the fight went out of her.

I pulled the wax from one ear.

Mirandel hissed at me and Rane both. “You can kill me. That will not stop Lady Incarnadine. Oh, I can see what you’re thinking. She won’t care if you take me hostage. She is not burdened by sentimentality. But she will take it as a declaration of war. She will come, and she will raze you. Or, you can surrender and spare us all the river of blood. It’s your choice. She expects an answer no later than dawn.”

19

I was going to lose him. My mind latched on to the thought, letting it carve a groove through me like an oxcart carving a path on a dirt road.

A pair of huntsmen marched Mirandel in front of us, back across the bridge, into the courtyard where the bodies of a dozen huntsmen lay on the ground. There was no blood, no gore.

Rane knelt beside one, his long silver hair brushing the flagstone, and let out a relieved breath. “They’re just asleep.”

Mirandel sniffed.

It wasn’t mercy. Mirandel wasn’t capable of mercy. It was probably that it was faster to command them to fall asleep than it was to kill them.

“You will be kept in rooms as befits a messenger,” Rane said. “And released at dawn.”

A pair of huntsmen marched Mirandel away. She shot me an oily, triumphant look. Her choker was in my hands, but she had a right to gloat. The damage was done.

“Where is she going?” I asked quietly.

Rane kept his gaze on her until she was marched into the palace. “To the lower levels. There are some lovely rooms with no windows and only a single barred door.”

“Like a dungeon?”

“We’re far too civilized to have a dungeon,” he said. “It’s a perfectly humane holding room.”

“She deserves a dungeon,” I said.

He didn’t disagree. But he was avoiding my gaze.

He spoke to his huntsmen, and the word went out, and the machinery of his kingdom began to turn.

The watchtower sent a report confirming Mirandel’s story. From their position at the lake’s edge, they could see lights at the border, smoke from fires.

One of the eagle folk had flown as close as she dared, and before the soldiers had chased her away with arrows, she had counted a dozen command tents being set up and had glimpsed flags being hoisted. The Emperor’s standard flew, bearing his crown.

I touched my chest, over my scar.

Only the soldiers from the Imperial City used that flag. But the scout reported other flags, from the five garrisons closest to the borders of the Serpent Kingdom. They had once been the armies of the neighboring lands, until they were conquered. Their parents or grandparents had fought against the Emperor, and now they fought alongside him.

My nails bit into my palms. I knew what was coming: the report mentioned a flag bearing the crown and flames of Lady Incarnadine.

She was here. It was the Emperor’s army in name, but she was the one who led them, who swept through kingdoms and stole their children.

The troops were making no effort to hide their presence. They were confident.

We had less than a full night to prepare for war.

I slipped out of my thoughts and caught the last of Rane’s words. “. . . Vanon was the best at locating the cracks in the border. He must’ve shown Mirandel. But the cracks are not wide. It will take time for the bulk of the armies to enter the kingdom. We must stay calm and prepare.”

He parceled out his orders to the huntsmen. “Send word to the watchtower that we need an idea for how many soldiers there are, and how fast they’re coming through. The town must be evacuated at once, and all the townspeople brought here.”

“They won’t want to leave,” one of the huntsmen said.

“You must convince them. Their lives are what matter now.” Rane steeled himself. “And send word to the heads of the families. I will meet with them in a half hour’s time.”

He had never seemed so kingly, so much the Serpent King, and so little like Rane.

The huntsmen dispersed to carry out their orders, and Rane came to me, at last meeting my eyes. “How long would it take you to do what you needed to do?”

“A year,” I whispered.

“There’s no choice, then.”

“Rane.”

“How does it work, exactly? When my heart is put in, the borders will be fixed.”

“Yes.”

“What about the soldiers already inside?”

I thought back to what I had read in the design. “The heartstone grants permission to enter. And each person who is granted permission can share it by claiming another as theirs, like you did to me when you, uh”—I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice—“bit me.”

His lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles.

I continued, “With a new heartstone, the permissions would be redone. You would grant permission to whomever you wanted, and . . . you may be able to revoke permission to anyone inside the borders.”

“They would be forced out?”

I hesitated to confirm, to give him another reason to give up his heart. “I’d have to double-check.”

He nodded. “How long would it take?”

My mouth was dry. “Rane . . .”

He cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. He didn’t want this any more than I did.

If everything could stay the same, if Rane’s heart was the exact same size as his grandfather’s and came precut, the work would be somewhat simple, a matter of hours. But Rane’s heart would not come out of his chest cut and faceted. Cutting even the simplest jewel was nerve-racking work. There’s no way to fix a mistake. A cut is forever.

And I didn’t exactly have a perfect workspace. In the village at least I’d had a blacksmith to help me. Here, if they knew what I was doing to their king, I was sure they’d hand me over to Incarnadine themselves. Or just murder me. I might even have deserved it.

My chest tightened, and I forced myself to breathe.

Once cut, the next problem would be the setting.

To do it right—to fully understand the heartstone’s setting and make sure there were no traps to removing it, to take time to measure each facet of the old stone and research every cut that would be made to the new heartstone, to find or make the same mix of metals of the same purity and composition—a responsible jewelsmith would take months. A responsible jewelsmith would take at least a month to just be sure of every possible effect of removing the old heartstone, before even starting to consider how best to implement Rane’s.

I thought of that pressure on Rane’s heart. I would have liked to figure out a way to mitigate it, to ease him slowly into it. The thought of Rane’s heartstone shattering made a cold hollowness open in my chest.

But that wasn’t what he was asking. He was asking for me to save his people, not save him.

I thought of the most difficult jewels I’d worked on. There was a trancelike state I could get to, where things flowed from me. It would take a week, maybe. I couldn’t ask him for that, for his people to fight that long, to spill that much blood.

My voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper. “Three days.”

It was a gathering of the heads of each branch of divine peoples, each fantastical and noble, some wise and others fierce, of every possible size and clad in a magnificent array of styles. And then there was me.

I felt myself shrinking into my skin, and somehow Rane could read my mind, because every time I thought of running out the door, his hand brushed my back.

We had gathered in the dining hall, around the long table, though there were many that preferred to stand or, more accurately, loom.

There were peris, two of them, tiny and charming, and I wished I could just talk to them about their craft.

From there, it got considerably less friendly. There were frog- and toad-like folks who swelled up every time someone said something they didn’t agree with. There were sylphs and naiads, who sighed and giggled behind their hands in an oddly malicious way. The rakshasa leader, who seemed to be picking his teeth with a human thigh bone. I avoided eye contact with the tiger folk and, really, every divine person much larger than I was.

The loudest were the eagle folk, huge and feathered, winged and with piercing eyes. Power radiated from them, the kind that made me think they could be a pain in Rane’s side if they so chose.

Rane was calling for order. “Yes. The Imperial Army is at our border. They have found a weakness in the enchantments. But I have a plan. I will be able to reinforce the enchantments soon. I need three days.” He paused. “However, they have given us till dawn to surrender.”

“So war has come to us at last,” said the head of the eagle folk.

Someone said, “If we surrender . . . no blood will be spilled.”

“But we will never be free again. They’ll trap us all. You want to be slave to a ring?”

“Let us fight. If the twilight of the divine is upon us, let us not go meekly.”

“The Serpent King has a plan. If we just hold out—”

“Plans, plans. All plans fail.”

“Just because your plans fail—the plans of an imbecile might fail, but that does not mean all plans will.”

It descended into arguments. Some were directed at Rane.

Rane bore it without flinching. I took a step forward, and Rane’s hand touched mine, holding me back. He shot me a glance, and I read a small bit of delight in it. You would fight for me?

A clear divide emerged. On one side were the kind of divine people who had lived quietly in the wild and were content to follow Rane’s lead. And then there were the fiercer sorts who had left kingdoms of their own to take refuge here. The kind whose pride was all the more precious because they had already given so much of it up.

After a minute, Rane crossed his arms, and a person that looked like a tree banged their arm—or branch—on the table for silence.

Rane nodded his thanks. “I should have told you sooner,” Rane said. “The truth is, the enchantments have been weakening for some time. I kept it from you, thinking I could solve it on my own.”

A toad croaked, “Fat load of good that did.”

Rane went on. “My ancestors made a promise to you, and it’s my intent to uphold it.”

One of the tiny peris said, in a squeaky, noble voice, “Now, son, we’re all in this together.”

The golden-plumed leader of the eagle folk boomed. “What is your plan? Why does it need three days?”

Rane took a deep breath and admitted the truth. About me being a jewelsmith. About what had protected them all this time. About his great-grandfather’s heartstone.

They were silent.

Rane’s voice filled the room, quiet though it was. “As I said, we have a solution.”

“What solution is there to that?”

Rane tapped his chest.

A hideous silence.

“Give her three days.”

Faced with the sacrifice he was prepared to make, many of them seemed to settle on his side. But there were a few who muttered things—I caught one saying, “Never trust a jewelsmith”—and I felt their gazes digging into the side of my face.

The leader of the eagle folk spoke. “We’ll get you your three days.”

The solemnity in his gaze stuck with me long after the meeting ended.

Rane and I returned to the entry hall. The night was middle-aged, and the townspeople were arriving in batches as boats ferried them across the lake. Families, groups of friends, always overladen with items, things too precious to give up. But I didn’t mind that. If they were worried about a tapestry, then they still had hope that they’d one day have a place to hang it.

“Why did you tell them about me?” I asked.

“If we get through this, this will be your home. I wanted you not to have to lie about who you are.”

He made it so the blame would rest on him.

The grand hall echoed with the sounds of hurried footsteps and anxious whispers.

Two folks were carrying a crate of foods. One’s grip slipped, and it crashed to the floor.

Rane dove into helping them, lifting the crate easily and carrying it to the edge of the hall, where palace cooks were sorting and storing food.

I bit my lip. They were stealing glances at me. They knew I was their king’s bride. I had never felt so visible.

Two gazes lingered. Two gold-skinned, goat-horned children, clutching each other and staring at me. I wrangled a smile onto my mouth and crouched to be eye level. “I know where the other children are playing,” I said, showing them where a half dozen children were engaged in some sort of game with marbles. “If any of them are mean to you, come get me.”

I scanned the crowd until I caught sight of a frantic gold-skinned woman and pointed the children out to her. She thanked me, clutching my arms, and went to them.

Just one more, I thought, as I guided families to the ballroom. Large bouquets of flowers fragranced the air—wedding preparations that no one had a chance to get rid of. Bedrolls were scattered on the polished floor, cushions strewn about, families gathering with each other.

The cook and six of his assistants were handing out an evening meal, portioning out steaming breads, saffron rice, stewed eggplant, something hearty made with gourds, and a half dozen other things—a whole feast. Perhaps eel was on the menu.

A stooped figure shambled in, struggling to carry a heavy basket filled with herbs and medicines. Her skin was like moss-covered rock, and she left a small trail of pebbles in her wake. I rushed to her side, and she let me lift the basket out of her hands. She held on to my arm, and I helped her to a seat by the hearth.

She didn’t let go and looked to me beseechingly. Out of her craggy mouth came a very sweet voice like falling gravel. “Przprzp, dzzry.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

She beamed at me and patted my hand, which was still wrapped around the basket of herbs. “Rrssn drrzn.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be useful. Thank you.”

As I dropped off the herbs, I thought of her, stooped and toiling to pick herbs for the soon-to-be injured. My chest ached.

She, like all of them, was well aware of the battle that had come to us. No one spoke about the unfairness of it, that they were once again forced from their homes. There was no need. We were all in the same situation, we all felt the same horror.

I met Rane’s eyes across the hall. Part of me had been aware of his presence this whole time. Part of me had taken this small reprieve.

He strode to me, and I knew I could no longer run.

“Is it time?” I asked anyway.

Before he could answer, a voice called his name. Rane’s grandmother hurried across the hall, her face pinched. “I have heard what you mean to do,” she said. “You cannot. I forbid it.”

Rane’s eyes were kind. “Forgive me, grandmother. But I am king.”

Her imperiousness faded, and fear shone from her eyes. “You don’t know what he became.”

“I do,” Rane said. “I know the stories.”

“They’re not just stories.” A flicker of pain. “Do not do this.”

Rane wrapped his arms around her, kissed her on the top of her head, and let her go.

He took my hand and strode away, and I would’ve said something, but for the shadows in his eyes.

We were several paces away when she called, “Rane?”

His grip tightened as he turned.

In a voice that shook like dry leaves, she said, “I never told him I loved him. I never told him goodbye.” She took a deep breath. “Goodbye, my dear boy.”

Every order had been given, every preparation was underway. All but one.

The moonlight haloed him, and he was never more a storybook creature, ethereal, belonging to a world different from mine. Rane wore no illusion, and I drank in the sight of his secret face. He was clad in a robe that left his chest exposed. There was only a small scar where the arrow had hit him.

I wanted to etch this moment into my memory—the way his hair framed his face, the slight curve of his lips as he tried to reassure me, the unwavering warmth in his gaze. I reached up, but I stopped before I touched his cheek.

The walls seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

He took my hand and pressed something into it. It fit in my palm, silvery and iridescent, like a scale from an immense creature. “I’ve anchored an illusion to this, one that will let you move freely. If you speak the word written on it, it’ll activate. And you have access to the treasury. Take what you need for a new life.”

“I’m not running away,” I said.

“I won’t hold you to this. To me. It was one thing when I could offer you my kingdom. But you deserve better than what is coming.”

I pushed the scale against his chest. “We’re already married.”

“Saphira. I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to be noble.”

He huffed. “What do you want from me?”

“Marry me again. This time for no other reason than we want to.”

He looked startled, and then something warm simmered in his expression. “I will. I would. But we don’t have time—the dresses, the altar, the flowers—”

I pulled my mother’s ring from my finger. “Will you marry me?”

He laughed, delighted. “Yes.”

I slipped it on his finger. He had no rings, no jewelry, and I tapped the scale in his hands.

He flourished it and said, “And you, will you marry me?”

A warmth rose in me from my toes to the tips of my hair. “Yes.” I took the scale from him.

He kissed me, and I rose onto the tips of my toes to kiss him back. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to drink him in, to get lost in the softness of his lips, in how his hair slipped through my fingers, in how he smiled into the kiss and that smile sank into my skin and settled deep in my bones.

If this was our last kiss, I wanted it to be everything. It would have to last me a lifetime.

We broke apart, and he whispered to me. “They can take out my heart. But it isn’t just my heart that loves you. My eyes, the tips of my fingers.”

I laughed into him. “Your liver? Your toes?”

“Everything,” he said. “Even my nose hairs.”

“You can keep those.”

A mild cough came from behind us. The healer had arrived.

I pulled away, but Rane held on to me and said, “You won’t lose me.”

I wanted to believe him. I didn’t want to lose him. And I didn’t want him to lose himself. He was so good at playing the Serpent King or the charming just-a-huntsman role of Rane. He hid his secret face so well that I worried he might not care for it. I didn’t think he found it as precious as I did.

It was just a room, a spare bedroom. But in the moonlight the bed looked like an altar. A small, wizened figure waited by the bed, with bluish skin and long whiskers.

“Are you ready, my lord?” the figure said in a deep, melodious voice. “Do not fear. My father was once called to your great-grandfather’s side for the same ritual we do now.”

Rane lay down on the bed. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

The healer put his hand on Rane’s chest, right above the scar, and he began to chant what sounded like a lullaby in breathy, whispered tones.

The healer’s entire body became translucent, and slowly, he reached into Rane’s chest, his hand disappearing.

Rane’s gaze locked on to mine. Fear flickered in his eyes, and his hands gripped the sheets so hard his knuckles went white.

Rane’s entire body tensed like a wire pulled to the brink of snapping.

The healer withdrew his hand, and clutched in it was an immense jewel of deepest, darkest red.

A choked sound came from Rane, his eyes shuttering. The healer handed the heartstone to me.

I clutched it to my chest—it was warm, and I felt its power seeping into me, all curiosity and joy and cheeky mischief—and finally I could touch him. I stroked his hand, his arm, his face, until the tension left his body.

His eyelids trembled. I whispered a prayer. When he opens his eyes, let him be there. Let me not have lost him. Let him still be mine.

A shimmer went through the air around him, as he knitted an illusion over himself almost unconsciously, wiping away every last trace of his true face.

He opened his eyes, and I met the cold gaze of the Serpent King.

20

His huntsmen surrounded him the moment he stepped out into the corridor, a half dozen of them speaking at once, their gazes sweeping him from head to toe.

I stood with the healer in the dark of the room, watching Rane through the doorway. The healer turned to me, his face drawn and desperately sad, and gave me a thick velvet cloth. Carefully, I wrapped the heartstone in layers until it was safely bundled up.

I nodded my thanks to the healer—I didn’t trust that I could speak around the knot in my throat—and stepped out into the hallway, joining the cluster of huntsmen.

They loomed like giants in the tight quarters of the corridor, and I would’ve been intimidated if it weren’t for the soft looks of worry that they all wore.

My gaze went to Rane. There was something different about his Serpent King guise. The long silver hair, the inhumanly sharp cheekbones, all that was the same. But his gestures, his expressions, they felt somehow heavier, more solid. He no longer wore it like a costume that was several sizes too big.

The Serpent King spoke. “We have only a few hours before dawn. Tell me what has changed.”

A huntsman with trembling hands dropped her pen. Before, Rane would’ve shot her a smile to set her at ease, to bolster her courage. Now he merely nodded curtly, his lips pressed into a thin line, and said, “No need for that.” The huntsman straightened, her fear replaced by a rigid obedience.

The Serpent King gestured for the huntsmen to draw closer. They encircled him, and a few ducked their heads as he neared, a gesture of respect for their king. A huntsman began, “The eagle folk are in position. We think they will attempt to cross the lake.”

My mind painted an image of Rane in his dark-haired illusion, sharing a joke that cut the tension and uplifted their spirits.

But the Serpent King listened to their reports without a single emotion crossing his features, and his responses were just as even.

I followed him with my eyes, my chest tightening with each step he took away from me. He never looked back. His huntsmen watched me warily, guessing what it was that I clutched to my chest. I dropped my gaze to the floor. Some wore decidedly unfriendly expressions, and I longed to disappear, to blend in with the wall.

“My lady. Is there anything I can help you with?” a feminine voice said. A huntsman whose dark brown hair was tied in warrior’s braids gave me a small nod of acknowledgment.

“A worktable. A jewelsmith’s forge.” I paused at the way her lips thinned. I guessed they didn’t have those. But I could make one. “Fire brick, charcoal, fire starter.”

She nodded.

Over her shoulder, I met his eyes. He had turned at the sound of my voice. For a moment, the world fell away, and I searched every inch of his face. There was no quick softening around his eyes, no beautiful crinkling, and his lips were flat, perfectly even, and I missed the way they used to cant up to one side, even when he was resting, like he was always quietly amused.

His heartstone was warm against my chest, but the man before me was so cold he might have been carved from marble.

He came to me, and he seemed taller, and his eyes were strange. His pupils had become slits. “You should get to work.”

“I’m going now.” I took a step back and hesitated. “How do you feel?”

There was a flicker of something, a flicker of what might be Rane. “. . . Feel?” He paused. “I am not what I was. But I will be what my people need.”

I wanted to say something else, but what could I say in front of all his huntsmen? How would it look if, on the eve of battle, his little wife asked him if he loved her still?

I nodded. I turned and strode down the hall without looking back. It was too embarrassing, too painful to meet his gaze and know what his answer would’ve been.

The submerged levels no longer felt strange to me as I descended the steps. The tall windows revealed a lake as dark as the night sky; that is, black but for the softly glowing sea creatures that swam in the distance. One swam close, its ridged body peppered with pinpricks that shone like blue-green candles, and it trained its dark, bulbous eye on me.

There was intelligence in its look, and when I gave it a little bow, it bobbed its head in return.

A throat was cleared behind me. A handful of huntsmen followed me like immense, well-muscled ducklings, their arms laden with everything I would need.

“This way,” I said, and led them to the door. Rane and I had tied a thread that went from the door to the shrine, and I used it to find my way. The distance didn’t seem quite so far without Rane to distract me, or perhaps I was walking faster because of the heavy footfalls that dogged my every step.

Their gasps rang out as we reached the shrine, awe clear in their wide eyes and agape mouths, though they pasted on neutral, soldierly expressions when they noticed my gaze.

The golden marvel of jewelsmithing twinkled in the light of our lanterns.

Within a short amount of time, I had everything I needed set up beside the shrine. A vast worktable held my tools and what I needed to make a padded vise to hold the heartstone. As the huntsmen deposited what they carried, I found quite a few things I hadn’t asked for, like ancient tools that probably once belonged to a blacksmith, a basket of bits and pieces that may have once been part of a loom, and large pointy wood-handled things that could’ve been farming implements or fishing harpoons, for all I knew. It was like they imagined that the more tools I had, the better our odds. But I thanked them because I understood. They were helpless in the domain of jewelsmithing, the same way I was helpless when it came to getting my Rane back.

I was bent over the heartstone, setting it in the vise, when a nervous cough came from my side.

The braided huntsman. She was the brave one, it seemed, for the others stood far away from the shrine and the jewelsmithing within. “My lady, do you need further assistance?”

Every time she called me my lady, a shiver went down my spine. It was what people called Lady Incarnadine, not me. But all I said was, “No, thank you.”

“We’ll send someone to stay with you,” she said. “I’m afraid the rest of us need to—”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, turning back to my work. “I’ll be fine.”

Their footsteps receded, and my shoulders unclenched.

My little makeshift workroom looked rather out of place in the cavern. It couldn’t be helped. And besides, Darvald would’ve worked the same way. Maybe even had his table in the same spot. It was the flattest area, right next to the shrine. Maybe his ghost was here, watching me once again fix one of his pieces.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I’ll fix this,” I said to the air. “But this is the last time I touch your work.”

The air did not respond.

But a hope grew in my chest: if I made this work and the army was forced back beyond the border, then over the next year I could make the new version that I’d dreamed up. My own work. And then I could give Rane back his heart.

First, I had to do this as quickly as possible. The fastest path was to cut down Rane’s heartstone to match the old one exactly, so it could fit in its place with a minimum of adjustments. I measured Rane’s carefully, ignoring the sensations that came from it, playful and curious, warm and protective. To map out the cuts in advance, I had to make sure there were no imperfections in the stone that would cause it to break in a way I didn’t want.

The only way to measure the old heartstone was to slip into the shrine, lower myself into a careful crouch beside the goldwork, and as gently as a butterfly landing on a leaf, wrap a cord around the jewel. The tiny marks all along the cord’s length told me numbers that I jotted down.

I held my breath as I unwrapped the cord and rewrapped it around the old heartstone at a lower angle. Despite the cold, my hands sweated as I wrapped and rewrapped the cord. Soon, my notepad filled with careful measurements, each facet drawn and measured. After a dozen measurements, my thighs cramped, and carefully, carefully, I shifted my weight. It would’ve been easier to take it out and bring it to the worktable, but I didn’t want to pull it out until the last moment, with the new one ready to slot in its place. Otherwise, I’d be giving Incarnadine’s troops a helping hand by dropping the border enchantment entirely.

The rhythm of the work drew me in like a spell, and the ache in my thighs faded away. I don’t know how long I was like that, barely conscious of the outside world, until one of the lanterns flickered out, and the sudden dimness pulled me back.

I relit it, and the light fell upon the pool of water, casting shadows on the boulders beyond. It didn’t reach the walls of the cavern, which loomed so dark and distant that I could almost pretend it was still nighttime. But even though no sunlight could reach me here, my body knew it was morning. Above, the fighting had begun. Blood was being spilled for every second I took.

My stomach twisted, and I wasted another dozen seconds willing my hands to stop shaking.

I dove back into my work.

The sound of approaching footsteps barely entered my notice, easy enough to ignore. A cough came, and then another, louder. A deep voice said, “My lady.”

Sensation returned to me. I sat back on my heels, and my stomach let out a sad little growl like it was about to give up on ever being fed. My thighs burned, my ankles trembled, and my neck had a crick so well set that when I limped out of the shrine, I had to hold my head at an angle. I massaged my neck, waving in the direction of whichever poor huntsman had drawn the short straw of checking in on me. I croaked, “I’m fine.”

“My lady—it’s urgent.”

I snapped my head up. “I can’t leave my work—Vanon?”

The huntsman had stepped closer, and the light caught his bronze hair and familiar face. Vanon’s cheeks were hollow; there were dark circles under his eyes. “You’re needed upstairs. They said you had to come. Something’s happened . . .” He hesitated. “They said I shouldn’t spring it on you. But it’s your mother.”

The nervousness in his eyes set off the embers that had been smoldering in my gut since dawn.

I flew across the bridge, into the tunnels, and up, up through the door and up the stairs—and as I climbed the stairs, it struck me what I would find—carnage everywhere; rubble from where the palace had been breached; the air thick with stone dust; and my mother, my mother whom I had gotten a second chance to know, whom I would never know, if I reached the top of the stairs and she was gone, her body in a pool of blood, just like back then—

I burst out into the entrance hall.

Three startled townsfolk shrieked, and one dropped his basket of laundry. I pushed through to the center of the hall, picking my way through the crowd of palace servants and townsfolk, seeing no rubble, no blood, no bodies.

My heartbeat echoed through my head.

A gust of wind carried voices from the courtyard. The Serpent King’s long silver hair glinted in the sunlight. At the edge where the flagstones of the courtyard met the lapping waves of the lake, he stood with several of his huntsmen, leaning over a table laid with a map. A winged runner landed—she had birdlike features that were less eagle and more pigeon—and brought him a scroll, breathlessly delivering a report.

She pointed at the watchtower across the lake. The Imperial Army seemed like ants, swarming down the forested slope in neat dark lines. They had surrounded the watchtower, but it seemed they could not get in through the stone or up the smooth walls.

On the forest side, Imperial soldiers toppled trees, making flat barges to cross the lake. On the town side, smoke rose into the sky over the pearly bridges and canals.

“They’re torching the town,” one of the huntsmen was saying. “My father’s shop—”

The Serpent King shook his head, a note of warning in his voice. “They want us to meet them in battle. We won’t be tempted. We can rebuild, if we survive.”

I had too little breath to speak. “I—”

He noticed me. “What are you doing here?”

“My mother—where is she?”

“She’s there.” He gestured back the way I had come. Past the entrance hall, into the ballroom.

The ballroom was still strewn with wedding decorations, but the townspeople had arranged foodstuffs into organized piles, and it looked almost like a small town square. A group of children were playing with Grimney, and their laughter sounded strange and distorted to my ears.

My mother rose to her feet, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

She . . . looked fine.

“Saphira, what is it?” The Serpent King said from beside my ear.

I jumped, not having felt him come near. I didn’t understand. “Vanon said—”

“Vanon?” A strange look came over him, thoughts flickering in his eyes. His posture grew tense as a drawn bow as he pieced together something I could not yet see. He beckoned to a huntsman. “Vanon was stationed—where?”

The huntsman stammered. “H-he offered to guard the Imperial messenger.”

The bowstring snapped, and the Serpent King flew into action. “Seal the exits. We must find them. Send huntsmen to the shrine.”

The huntsman objected. “But—he wouldn’t help her, not after what she did to him—”

“We don’t know that,” the Serpent King said. “All we know is that he told Saphira a lie, and she left the heartstones alone.”

I flinched at that, as the implication dawned on me. Horror sank through my bones.

Several of the huntsmen set off at a run down the stairs. I took a step after them, but an arm blocked my way.

The Serpent King’s eyes were cold as he said, “Stay here.”

There was a hiss under his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have left, no matter what he said.” Guilt squeezed my throat.

“We are lucky they didn’t try to take you.”

My body was a coil of tension. How many minutes had it been since I left the shrine?

The Serpent King didn’t meet my eyes. How could he not blame me?

A horn blew in the distance, from the direction of the watchtower on the other side of the lake. Beyond it, the sky seemed to tremble, like a desert mirage, and a hot wind blew, sending ripples across the water.

Bile filled my mouth. No.

The horn blew again, and a tiny dot leapt out of the top of the watchtower and streaked toward us. They flew erratically, dodging arrows from below.

I glanced back. The stairs leading to the submerged levels showed no signs of the huntsmen.

The tiny dot had grown into a winged runner, now streaking low and fast across the lake, racing their rippling shadow.

The stairs were quiet, empty.

The winged runner touched down, shouting, “The army—they’ve broken through!”

A strange shiver seemed to go through the Serpent King, as if he had fought back an illusion. His hands were fists at his side. “The border has fallen.”

The sound of breaking glass interrupted my thoughts. Someone screamed, “Stop them!”

I ran to the edge of the courtyard.

Two figures dove out of a balcony, into the lake. They rose up on water horses, breaking into a gallop across the surface of the lake.

One rider had a stream of black hair like silk, the other a head of bronze. Mirandel and Vanon.

Eagle folk streaked after them, their wings catching a current, bows in their hands. They shot at both of them. Mirandel was faster, evading the arrows, but Vanon’s horse balked, rearing on its hind legs, and he fell behind.

The eagle folk chased after her, but she crossed onto the lakeshore, and the ranks of Imperial soldiers surrounded her.

The eagle folk were forced to fall back, though they picked up Vanon on the way.

The report came to us minutes later. The old heartstone was shattered. And Rane’s heart was gone.

Mirandel had stolen it.

Vanon gave no explanation, said nothing at all, as the eagle folk brought him before the Serpent King. He only stared at the ground, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. Huntsmen led him away to be imprisoned.

A healer murmured to the Serpent King, saying the prolonged exposure to the tourmaline collar had made him susceptible to Mirandel’s voice, to her commands, even after she no longer had access to the jewel.

Nothing could be done. There was no restoring the border enchantments. The entire reason Rane had brought me here had come to nothing. And worse, by bringing me here, it felt like I had inflicted my ghosts upon them.

My thumb sought out my mother’s ring, before I remembered that the Serpent King had it.

He stood alone, a dark look on his face, his thoughts turned inward. My gaze fell to his hands, to his unadorned fingers, and my heart twinged.

The Serpent King exhaled and straightened. “The plan has changed. We will do everything in our power to retrieve the heartstone.”

His words sent a ripple through the huntsmen.

Within a quarter of an hour, the huntsmen were helmed and armed to the teeth. Their mounts rose from the lake, more water than horse, their manes flowing in the air like froth on a wave. Behind them the lake was dark as a bruise, reflecting the gloomy clouds shrouding the sky.

Standing alone was the Serpent King. His silver hair whipped in the wind. He seemed immense, like his shoulders could blot out the sky. Silver-armored, covered in scales, his pupils slitted.

A stranger.

He strode to me, dangerous, purposeful.

“I think this is the end,” he said quietly.

“It might not be,” I said.

He did not smile. “I will do what I must.”

“Rane—” I touched his hand, and he turned. I rose to the tips of my toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He stood still as stone, and I realized I had already lost him.

He said, “Goodbye.”

The huntsmen took off, their horses racing across the lake’s surface.

The Serpent King lingered on the lake’s edge. He tilted his head up to the sky, and like a flower unfolding, he grew.

Scales rippled across his skin, shimmering in the dim light, and his form twisted and grew, transforming into the massive, sinuous shape of a giant silver serpent.

He grew larger and larger, and he slid out the balcony, down into the lake, so immense that he almost looked like a bridge crossing the water, a serpent large enough to devour the world.

My mother sat with me on the balcony, Grimney in her lap.

The lake was dark and scattered with debris, the remains of the barges. The Imperial Army was at the lakeshore. Behind them, the forest rose, and atop the rise was a line of grand tents. Their flags flapped in the wind, too far to make out anything but the color, but I knew Incarnadine’s was among them.

The town was aflame. Imperial soldiers fought the huntsmen and the divine peoples.

The air smelled of copper and ash.

The reports had come in promising, at first. They were close to breaking through the ranks. They had stopped the advance on the town. They were hopeful they could fight to the heartstone.

And then something changed. The tone grew nervous. There’s something wrong with the king.

My fingers traced the edges of the silver scale, over and over again.

I knew my husband was capable of wearing a thousand faces. Perhaps he would always have new faces, new sides that I could never know.

I understood him. He didn’t value himself. He valued his responsibility. His people. He was willing to become a monster to protect us.

He had become a monster.

The trees in the woods were falling.

The army was focused entirely on the Serpent King. He rose from the tree line like a knife, silver scales glinting, and cut down.

He rose again, higher, and I leaned over the railing, straining to see across the distance—his scales seemed mottled and marred, and it almost looked like he had grown thin spines—

They weren’t spines. They were spears, stuck in his body from where he’d been stabbed.

Let it be dust and dirt that mottled his scales, not blood.

He would kill everyone, or they would kill him.

I gripped the balcony railing. I knew how to deal with horrors. I only had to run away, take my mother and Grimney with me. That was what I had always done. What I was good at.

Rane had given me all the means to do so. We had said our goodbyes, and part of me thought he wanted me to run.

Everything faded.

And in that empty space, that sun-bleached whiteness, I came to the end of myself.

The old Saphira was dead.

21

Ash fell from the sky in soft flakes. One fell onto my palm, and I made a fist, crushing it into a dark smudge.

The palace courtyard had turned gray with it, smeared across the flagstone in streaks from the huntsmen’s hurrying feet. Most of them had gone to fight, but a few remained to receive the injured and relay reports to and from the watchtower.

One of the watchmen skidded to a stop when she noticed me. “My . . . lady? Has something happened?”

Her gaze shot to the palace.

“No, everything is fine,” I said. Well, my husband was a heartless snake, and we were at war with an undefeated army, but I figured she meant the townspeople. The children and those who could not fight were well protected within the palace. When I left them, Rane’s grandmother was marshaling all the other grandmothers to dump hot oil over the balconies if the Imperial Army made it across the lake.

I continued, “Could you call up a horse for me?”

She blinked very slowly. “A . . . horse?”

“I’m going to meet with Lady Incarnadine.”

“My lady, forgive me for asking, but is that wise?”

She was head and shoulders taller than me, and even through the bulk of her armor, it was clear that she was corded with muscle. She looked so very strong and capable, like she could face anything, and I vowed to myself that if I came back from this, I’d lift heavy things or do whatever you did to look like that.

She probably saw me as having gone a little mad. My face was likely peaky from lack of sleep, and there was a good chance that more of my hair had escaped my braid than was still in it. I was in a too-fine tunic of green silk that a well-aimed toothpick could cut through, never mind a sword, and slung across my chest was my bag of tools. I had thought of leaving them behind, but I felt more myself with them. I was what I was, and the way the huntsman was looking at me, I had a feeling I was never going to inspire her confidence in me.

I patted her on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ll take responsibility for what happens.”

She knelt at the edge of the lake and dipped her fingers in. A water horse rose at once, shaking its mane and splashing droplets everywhere. Its body was darker than before, as if the debris polluting the lake were affecting it.

The huntsman saddled it up and brought it to me, but there was doubt in her eyes as she helped me up.

The horse trotted to the edge of the courtyard. A tug came at my ankle. Grimney looked up at me. “Whyzzy?”

I explained, “I’m trying out bravery for a change.”

He looked pointedly at my hands shaking on the reins.

“Yes, well, I haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

“Grrzy,” he said, holding his arms up like a child.

I shook my head. “It’s safer for you here.”

He stomped over to the lake and held his little hand over the water, threatening to call a tiny horse for himself if I didn’t take him with me.

I stared him down.

He dipped his fingers in, and almost instantly, as if it was waiting for him, a miniature horse’s head rose from the water. Grimney raised his brows.

I knew when I was beaten. “Fine.”

He grinned as I scooped him up and set him on the saddle before me.

The water horse took off at my whispered command: Take me to the tents on the ridge. If there was anything worse than riding a horse on land, it was riding a horse on water.

With one hand, I held on to the reins, and with the other, I pulled the tourmaline collar from my pocket and wrapped it around my neck, hoping that my quick repair job on the clasp would hold. At once, it warmed uncomfortably. I cleared my throat, and my voice vibrated twofold.

We were fast approaching the lakeshore. The bulk of the fighting was to the east, near to the town, but there were Imperial soldiers aplenty waiting for us, their spears at the ready.

“Let me pass!” I shouted.

A bewildered look came over them, and they lowered their weapons. We barreled through them, and Grimney pelted pebbles at their heads.

I touched the collar. It was one thing to have seen Mirandel use it. Another to wear it and feel its power for myself. It finally sank in: I made this. I brought this power into the world.

Also, it hadn’t been soldered together well. That contributed to the vibration, the warmth. If I added a few cooling jewels, too, it would be perfectly comfortable to wear—but no, I would never again make something without thinking about what it could do.

I was coming around to the idea that I was every bit as powerful as Rane thought I was. If one is a giant, one must be watchful where one steps.

An arrow flew past my head. “Let me pass unharmed,” I shouted again, and the warmth at my throat increased, my sweat pooling in the hollow at the base of my neck.

I paid closer attention. The soldiers within a certain radius—about ten people across—lowered their weapons immediately. But those outside that radius still pushed through, aiming their spears and arrows at me. It occurred to me that it might have been smart to don armor before coming out here.

With regular shouting, and Grimney taking over the reins, we made it past the line of Imperial soldiers. For a moment, we rode unimpeded.

The ground sloped upward, the trees growing thicker, and we came out onto the forest path that Rane and I had taken when we first entered the kingdom.

As we reached higher ground, the trees on either side grew briefly thin, and to the right, I caught a glimpse of the town.

The giant silver serpent—it was hard to think of the beast as Rane—tore through the main square, slithering across canals and onto streets, destroying bridges, homes, shops.

People fled from his path. From this distance, they seemed the size of ants. They ran from him, and from the red-gold flames that had sprung up like poppies, scrambling across the rubble of the ruined town.

The carnage turned my stomach.

The horse slowed its gait. Up ahead, on the ridge, the encampment loomed over us.

A whispered, “You will let me pass,” got us past the lone guard on the road, and then we were inside the camp.

We passed rows of simple tents flying five different flags; some were empty, and some were occupied by soldiers eating and readying themselves. I recognized the Imperial standard, as well as the frog-and-shield flag of the garrison Rane and I had so briefly entertained. Unlike the soldiers from the city, they were strumming music and playing cards with a strange sort of intensity, like they were trying very hard not to think of what was to come.

I moved quickly past them, lest they recognize me or, worse, ask for a repeat performance.

Amongst the other garrisons, the atmosphere was subdued. They spoke in whispers, and the wind carried snippets to my ears. They feared the silver serpent. They had greater numbers, but how many would have to fall before they took the Serpent King down?

We went deeper into the camp.

Above one of the tents rose a billow of fire. A smith’s tent, open on three sides, for both a blacksmith and army jewelsmith. A short figure was repairing a sword. He looked up.

It was Galen. I had a strange feeling. He looked so small, so ridiculous. Why had I let him decide so much for me?

He glanced at me, but I turned away.

Others were staring. Servants, pausing in their work to gape at me. The horse, being pale blue-green, was drawing too much attention.

I dismounted ungracefully and whispered to the horse. “Stay out of trouble. But I may need you again, quite soon.”

It whinnied and pointed its nose at Grimney, as if to say, He can reach me.

The horse became mist, and Grimney and I were alone in the enemy’s camp.

“Come along,” I said to him. On foot, we didn’t stand out too much, considering the number of attendants and maids running around. The army had not traveled light at all.

The tents grew larger and more ornate as we made our way to the other end of the encampment, which was on a ridge overlooking the Serpent Kingdom, from the town to the half-submerged palace. The atmosphere here was jubilant. I could almost pretend I was back in the Imperial City, amongst the tents of those who had come for the Season. These tents, too, bore crests of noble families, like this was all a party, another way to curry favor with Incarnadine and the Emperor.

I searched the flags that twisted in the wind. Above a large white tent flew the crown and fire insignia of the Rose Palace.

Two guards stood at the entrance. “Let me pass,” I said, and then added, “and run to the other end of camp. Once there, scream ‘fire.’”

Their expressions went vague as they took off at a jog. I didn’t know if the tourmaline’s influence would last across the distance, but at least I’d bought a little time.

I slipped into the tent, with Grimney sticking so close he might as well have been part of my shoe.

The smoky-sweet scent of incense filled my nose, and under it was the coppery tang of blood. Incarnadine reclined on cushions, a freshly-painted map of the Serpent Kingdom laid out before her. She was injured, a gash on her leg, already bleeding through the bandages, but there was a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

“Hand me the heartstone,” I said loudly.

Her gaze rose to my face, then fell to the tourmaline collar.

“That will not work on me,” Incarnadine said.

My blood froze. I hadn’t counted on djinn being immune.

“So, little jewelsmith. Are you here to surrender?”

“No. I’m here to retrieve what you stole.”

She laughed. “This heartstone is my only way of controlling the beast.”

I paused. “You think he can be controlled?”

“No? Then perhaps I shall destroy it.”

“That won’t kill him. But it will mean he’ll stay a rampaging beast. He’s killing your soldiers by the dozens.” It was an exaggeration, but not by much.

She tapped her gold-tipped fingers against her lips. “That is fine. Our soldiers will take him down, eventually. And perhaps it will be easier to annex this kingdom if they see their king fall.”

My hands were fists. “And then what? Will you ever be satisfied with the amount of blood you’ve spilled?” It was dangerous to speak my mind, but I couldn’t stop. I felt like I’d swallowed a crazed bird that was fluttering, clawing, trying to fight its way out of my throat.

Incarnadine’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, her pupils seemed to flicker with flame. “I will be satisfied, very soon.”

A threat lingered in the air, and then she smiled. “You hate me, but it is because of me that you still live. The Emperor would have had me kill all the children. How I begged to keep you all, to raise you as my own. You have never thanked me.”

Thank her?

She sighed. “Go back to wherever you were hiding. It won’t be long now. I don’t wish to take a life that I once spared. It would make me start to believe that I am not the master of my fate.” There was a bitterness to her tone, one that made me think.

Grimney tugged at my ankle. I planted myself firmly, my feet digging into the plush rug. “I know what you are,” I said. “My mother told me you were a djinn. And you’ve served the Emperor for a very long time.”

She reared back, like I had spat on her. “Serve? I do not serve.”

Quietly, I said, “What do you call the one who takes orders?”

Heat seemed to build in the air around Incarnadine as she stared me down. “What impudence, for one who knows little.”

“I know that you want to be free.”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “And I will be free. Once the seventh kingdom falls, I will be free.” Her gaze had turned inward by the end, as if for a moment she had forgotten I was there.

It was confirmation: she was one of Darvald’s victims, bound to the Emperor. Between one blink and the next, something shifted. Incarnadine seemed suddenly less the towering villain from my memories, made of pure evil, unknowable and formidable, and she became simple, understandable, vulnerable.

I bit my lip. “Will he really let you go? I gave my power to someone, too, and he would never have let me be free. Will he really stop at seven kingdoms? What about the lands across the sea? Beyond the northern mountains?”

“Enough.” She turned her gaze, dismissing me.

Desperate, I asked, “You would make all the divine peoples share your fate?”

“Why not?” she said. “Who saved me?”

I looked into her eyes and thought, Maybe someone should have.

The tent flap swished open, and then came the whisper of sword being unsheathed. “My lady, what would you like me to do?”

There was something pointy at my throat. A pressure around my neck loosened, the tourmaline collar fell, and I caught it at my waist. The clasp had been sliced through once again. So much for my repair work.

Lady Incarnadine sighed. “You took your time, Mirandel.”

“My apologies,” Mirandel said. “Two idiots were screaming about a fire. Caused something of a fuss.”

I swallowed, and something scraped the skin of my neck. “Mirandel—”

She let out a piercing shriek, right in my ear, and I jumped. I clutched my neck, thanking the fates that I hadn’t jumped into her blade.

Mirandel shrieked again. Grimney had latched on to her, biting her calf. She shook her leg. “Stop it! Call it off!”

“Bad Grimney,” I said mildly, putting several feet of distance between me and her blade. “Let her go.”

Grimney paid me no attention.

Incarnadine spoke. “How does he not obey you?”

“Grimney?” I said, surprised. “He does what he wants.”

Incarnadine had a considering look on her face. “You’ve trapped his soul in stone, and yet you do not control him?”

Trapped his soul in stone? I’d done nothing of the sort. Grimney had full control of himself. “Not all jewelsmiths are the same. I don’t share Darvald’s beliefs. But . . .” I showed the collar. “I am as talented as he was.”

I let her consider that, until there was an opening in her expression—the slightest pinch of her eyebrows, the faintest glimmer in her eyes.

“I’ll trade you,” I said. “The heartstone for your freedom.”

She grew still.

“Tell me what Darvald made. How does the Emperor control you?”

A long silence stretched between us, taut, trembling.

She spoke in a whisper. “There is a lamp. My heart is inside. A flame . . .”

“I need your word,” I said, but I knew I had her. She didn’t trust the Emperor. And once she had her lamp, she would have no need for the heartstone. But I still wanted to hear her say it.

I held her gaze, even Grimney thumped to the floor, his little footfalls sounding as he scampered away from a panting Mirandel, and a shadow moved in my peripheral vision, as Mirandel strode toward me, her blade raised.

Incarnadine raised a quelling hand. “If you free me, the heartstone will be yours.”

22

The Emperor’s tent was easy enough to find; it was the largest and bore flags emblazoned with the crown. Grimney was at my side, and to my great displeasure, so was Mirandel.

As we drew closer, I drew the collar around my neck, holding it in place with one hand. I tried to muster up gratitude that Mirandel had only sliced through the clasp and not through a part of the goldwork that would have rendered the collar useless, but gratitude proved too ambitious of me. I settled on ignoring her.

She made it hard. She stole looks at the collar, scoffing every few seconds, and as I called a halt and peeked around the corner at the tent’s entrance, she finally found her words. “Don’t you think I tried to get the lamp when I had the collar?”

“Maybe you did,” I said. “But I’m not you.”

I scampered toward the mouth of the tent where two guards stood.

She followed, trying to kill me with her eyes alone. “You are not better than me.”

I shushed her, mimed at her to cover her ears. I cleared my throat and said, “You will fall asleep.”

They collapsed, chests rising and falling.

Mirandel snorted. “You stole that from me.”

“It was a good idea,” I said.

She scowled like I’d insulted her, and in that fleeting second, I saw the little gargoyle girl she had once been.

We snuck through the flap, into a sitting room of sorts, where a half dozen courtiers jumped to their feet in alarm. They fell asleep at my command, and we moved deeper into the tent. My heart thudded every time I pulled aside a fabric curtain, not knowing what I would find.

Mirandel scoffed at my jumpiness.

It got on my nerves. “That’s the thing,” I hissed. “I never wanted to be better than you. I never tried to be better than you. I wasn’t competing. You wanted Incarnadine’s favor so much that you saw me as a rival.”

“You never understood her. In her way, she gave us power.”

“And you don’t understand me. I don’t want power, not if it comes her way.”

She fell quiet.

At last, in the very back of the tent, we found the Emperor.

He was asleep on a settee, and for a moment, I thought that somehow I had put him to sleep, that my voice had miraculously carried across the distance and through the layers of thick fabric that made up the tent’s walls. But on the small table beside him lay the remains of a lavish meal, and I realized we had merely caught him during his post-lunch nap.

Anger heated my belly. The Serpent King was out there, and the divine peoples were fighting for their freedom, their lives. And the Emperor was sleeping. The lamp peeked out of the red sash at his waist.

I had hated Incarnadine for so long, and that had blinded me to my true enemy. But the truth had always been before me. The Imperial Army had destroyed my home. I had been forced to become an Imperial Ward. Whose brand was on my chest, on every chest? The crown of the Empire.

He was a very old man. Without the regal robes, he looked like any one of Galen’s friends, the ones who drank and indulged until it showed on their faces.

The title of Emperor was like a veil that bestowed grandeur, presence, power. But behind it, he was nothing. A slaver and a glutton. The only difference between him and Galen was the degree of power that they wielded.

He was the true monster.

Mirandel crossed her arms, tapping her foot.

I scanned the room.

A medallion lay on the ground beside the settee, the Emperor’s slack hand almost brushing it as he slept. I crept closer. A pale lavender chalcedony was surrounded by smaller jewels. A setting of protection.

I knelt and observed it from a few steps away. I didn’t want to enter its radius of influence and trigger its power. The piece slowly revealed its secrets as I studied the pattern of gold and orichalcum. It created a sort of barrier around the wearer. If I stepped forward, I’d find that my movements would slow the closer I got to it, until I was frozen and vulnerable.

The chalcedony that was prominently set in the center was a decoy. There were fail-safes galore.

It was impressive work. The work of my old friend Darvald, I thought. I was beginning to think that Darvald had become a legend mostly because he gave powerful people the means to stay powerful.

A grunt came at my back.

Mirandel smacked a guard, and he staggered back. She hissed, “Hurry up, or give me the collar.”

I held the collar to my neck. “Sit,” I said to the guard. He slumped down, and I added, “Take a nap.”

Another guard came in on his heels, and with sweep of her foot and an elegant twist, Mirandel had him kneeling and disarmed. I spared a second to send him sleeping before I turned back to the medallion.

There. The weak point was the small spinel just right of the chalcedony.

“Mirandel,” I whispered. “We need to hit that spinel—the small gray one. But we need to do it from here—we can’t get any closer than this.”

She tilted her head and drew out a small knife. She weighed it, then judged the distance.

With a flick of her wrist, she hit the gem, knocking it so cleanly out of the setting that the medallion only twitched.

She smiled like a cat, proud and preening.

I tiptoed to the Emperor’s side, and pinched the lamp’s brass handle between my thumb and forefinger, and as slowly and carefully as I dared, I tugged it from the Emperor’s sash.

It was almost out when it snagged on something.

I held my breath and yanked it free.

The Emperor’s eyes opened. “Who dares—?”

“Sleep!” I hissed.

His eyes rolled back. Oh horsepiss. He’d seen my face.

Mirandel grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

We fought our way through another three guards—well, Mirandel fought, and I sent people into their dreams. I pulled the collar away—my neck felt scalded from the heat it was giving off—and caught my breath. “When did you get good at fighting?”

She did a showy twirl of her blade. “It’s not so different from dancing.”

I hesitated for a second. “So it took you a long time.”

She glared at me, and I braced—there was a sword in her hand, she was definitely going to hit me—but slowly, she cracked a tiny smile. “A very long time.” She hesitated, then said, “You’re the only one who remembers me from back then, who knows who I was.”

“It’s the same for me.” We weren’t friends, but we were witness to each other’s childhoods. Keepers of each other’s memories.

We made it out into the sunshine, past another few guards—Mirandel pulled me behind her and deflected a blow. She thwacked a guard on the side of the head, and their helmet rang like a bell—and we ran, leaving a trail of sleeping people in our wake.

Mirandel laughed, giddy with having the lamp in our hands. She turned to me. “You’re truly doing all this for the Serpent King?”

I raised a brow back at her. “You’re doing this for Lady Incarnadine?”

“I’m loyal.”

I shrugged. “I’m in love.”

She rubbed her nose. “No one says that out loud.”

We made it to Incarnadine’s tent, and Mirandel held the flap open for me. She slipped in behind me and told Incarnadine of our success, but my focus was on the lamp.

I knelt by a light and tinkered with it. The little brass lid popped off, and heat caressed my skin. A flame flickered inside, sultry, smokeless. The flames did not move with the wind but seemed to dance in a pattern of their own making. It was a heart that suited Incarnadine.

Inset inside the body of the lamp, studded into the gold and brass, were several jewels arranged in a geometric design. This was what trapped her, what bound her to the lamp and to whoever possessed it.

She wouldn’t be free until it was undone.

In an odd way, it was similar to the jewelsmithing that made Grimney. Grimney’s was a series of stones that felt to me like they told the story of who he was. A design of creation, of holding him together, one that he was free to alter. This was a series of stones that said, This being’s free will belongs to—a ruby? No. A glass piece, made of blood. The Emperor’s blood.

I met Grimney’s gaze, and a jolt of inspiration zipped down my spine.

I didn’t have to destroy it.

If I replaced that stone, I could alter the lamp into an amulet that would protect Incarnadine from ever being trapped in the same way. I dug through my bag and brought out the tools I needed.

I got to work, letting jewelsmithing cast a trance over me. There was no fear in me; I knew I could do this. Rane had given me the gift of being able to see myself though his eyes, and that had changed me. They could take Rane from me, but they couldn’t take that.

Mirandel came to my side, saying something about time and people waking up, but her words faded into a distant murmur.

As I reworked Darvald’s design, I imagined the ghost of him watching over me. Maybe the man he had become in his old age, the one who had built the border enchantments to protect the divine peoples from his legacy, would approve of what I did.

One last twist, and it was done.

Incarnadine inhaled sharply. All the air in the tent drew toward her, and then she exhaled and grew. The air trembled around her, and a gust of desert wind shook the tent, tearing the cords and sending the roof flapping. The sunlight fell on her, dividing her into light and shadow.

Her face was shadow but for the pinpricks of fire in her eyes.

She drew me into her arms and kissed me, and it felt like sticking my head in a furnace. The peach fuzz on my face might have melted away, and I could only hope I still had my eyebrows.

“Will you keep your word?” I asked.

She beckoned, and Mirandel brought her a beautifully engraved lead-lined box. With one gold-tipped finger, Incarnadine unlatched the box and lifted the lid.

The heartstone gleamed from a bed of velvet. I clutched it to my chest, feeling the sweet warmth of it wash over me. Rane’s curiosity, his protectiveness, his joy.

I met Incarnadine’s gaze, and understanding passed between us.

As I left, I heard Mirandel ask, “My lady, what now?”

Incarnadine answered in a voice that crackled like woodfire, “You are free. As am I.”

I glanced back, as Incarnadine rose into the air. Mirandel seemed small and forlorn.

My heart twinged at the look on her face, but I had no time to waste. If the Emperor wasn’t already awake, he would be any second.

I called for the horse, and after a heartbeat, Grimney echoed me.

Out of the mist in the air, the horse materialized. Grimney helped me up—pushing my feet from below, like a highly motivated footstool—and as soon as I was seated, the horse took off, Grimney holding on to my skirts.

The battlefield was all noise and chaos, and I didn’t understand why this had to be the way people solved their problems. The scent of blood mingled with the dust and ash that hung in the air.

Screams and the clashing of steel came from every direction, so loud I knew that no one would hear me or be able to obey any command I gave, even if I could keep holding the tourmaline collar to my neck while on horseback.

The horse did its best to dodge spears and arrows. One clipped its ear, and the ear burst into droplets that splashed my face.

The arrow whistled past, just inches past my head.

The horse reared back, refusing to go toward Rane. There were too many soldiers. We couldn’t get through.

I could’ve wept with frustration, if I weren’t so afraid.

A horn blew—a familiar sound.

Huntsmen. I rode to them, elated, until I noticed they were riding away from the battle. They were splattered in mud and blood, weariness on their faces.

They surrounded me. “My lady, we must retreat!”

“The Serpent King—”

One huntsmen drew close. “He’s gone.”

My heart stopped.

“Nothing can stop him. He doesn’t recognize friend from foe.” He looked to a huntsman who was riding double, his head lolling, a makeshift bandage around his waist.

“I have his heartstone,” I said, lifting it. “I can turn him back. Please.”

“We can’t lose any more men. We should get home and flee with our families. Does your mother not wait for you?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go alone.”

“My lady!” he called as I urged the horse on, pushing through the huntsmen. He caught up beside me and said, “It’s hopeless.”

“I said fine. Don’t come.”

His mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head. “You are a lot like him.”

He raised the horn to his lips and blew two triumphant notes.

On either side of me, the huntsmen surged forward, weapons raised against the Imperial soldiers, as they cleared a path for me.

Ahead, amidst the carnage, the Serpent King towered, his massive serpentine body weaving through the throng of soldiers. His silver scales had grown dim under a layer of dust that mingled with the deep red of what could only be blood. Spears protruded from his flanks, but he moved with relentless fury, his eyes ablaze. There was nothing of Rane in them, only pure destruction.

He had lost himself. Without his heart, he was a primal beast driven by vengeance and pain. His tail lashed out, sending soldiers flying on both sides, his jaws snapping with lethal precision. They fell before him, terror etched on their faces, knowing they were no match for his size, for his wrath.

My horse surged forward, through the path carved by the huntsmen, and we cut through the chaos. I leaned low over its neck, urging it on, feeling the rhythmic pounding of its hooves beneath me.

A shadow flickered in the corner of my eye, and something struck us. I crashed to the ground, the horse vanished into mist, and Grimney tumbled away.

The wind was knocked out of me. I wheezed, scrambling to my feet, half crawling to where the heartstone had fallen. It was in danger, surrounded by soldiers in metal-tipped shoes, horses with iron hooves. One kicked it, sending it skittering.

Feet stopped before me, clad in platinum shoes, and a deep voice bellowed, “Destroy the stone!”

I looked up. The Emperor, his jeweled armor polished and glinting, set with garnets for strength and jasper for endurance, his eyes cold, his mouth twisted in fury.

He raised his sword.

A shadow fell over us. The Serpent King, his eyes blazing with a fury that made my blood run cold, loomed above, his massive form coiling with terrifying grace. His eyes locked on to the Emperor, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.

His gaze found me, and then shifted to his heart.

“Go—your heart!” I screamed.

The heart was lost in between hooves. A soldier advanced on it, bearing a mace glinting with jewels—he raised it—

Time seemed to slow as the Serpent King faced his choice, his immense eyes flicking from me to the heartstone. The Emperor’s sword swung down toward me, and I braced.

A roar, so loud the earth trembled, and the serpent lunged toward me, placing himself between me and the blade. I heard the clang as the sword bit into his scales, but he did not flinch. His massive body coiled protectively around me, his eyes blazing with defiance.

In the distance, in the direction of the heartstone, came a loud and horrible crack.

“No!” I screamed, from within the embrace of his coils.

The heartstone. His skin was slippery with blood, but I managed to climb out, just as the Serpent King’s tail smacked into a line of advancing soldiers.

I ducked, falling to my knees, and I crawled to the huddle of soldiers, a glimpse of red at their feet.

A hand closed around my ankle and pulled me back. The Emperor, his eyes wild, a crazed smile on his lips, a curved dagger in his hand. “Who are you, little girl, to stand against the crown? Do you not know what happens to those who defy me? Their blood is the fertilizer from which my empire grows.”

I pushed at him, twisting to get away, to get to the heartstone, but he dragged me back.

A sudden surge of heat turned the air scorching and bright, and the Emperor turned to its source. A pillar of red-orange flames, and in their center, a figure of pure white fire.

Her gaze landed on me. “I come to pay two debts. One to the girl who freed me—our bargain was too deeply in my favor—and now the scales are balanced. And the other . . .” She turned to the Emperor as I scrambled back, putting distance between me and them.

“You betray me?” he spat.

Incarnadine laughed, a sound like crackling fire. “A friend betrays. A slave merely rebels.”

The dirt under her feet turned to glass with each step she took toward him.

The Emperor realized his predicament, for he softened his voice. “Y-you were not my slave.” Sweat beaded on his brow. “I—I loved you. I would have married you, but for the laws.”

“Do you want my love?” Incarnadine said, tilting her head.

His heat-reddened cheeks rounded as he smiled, confident. “Of course.”

She moved like a leaping flame, closing the gap between them, and embraced him. He screamed, thrashing, but she did not let go. The light grew blinding, and I raised my arm to block it. His screams ended, and then came the scent of burnt flesh.

The light dimmed. Incarnadine made a soft sound, an exhalation of pure relief, and I felt it like a cool wind on my skin. It was the end of his reign, the end of his Empire, the end of children being stolen from their homes.

My fingers found the mark on my chest, concealed by my clothes.

Nothing remained of the Emperor but ash and a puddle of molten metal. It was over.

She met my gaze, her eyes twin fires, and she rose into the sky with such force that a wall of air slammed into the soldiers on all sides, clearing a circle around me and the serpent. He reared up, his great silver head rising into the sky, his eyes on me.

I scrambled across the steaming dirt, to where a shard glinted red against the earth.

It was lodged in the dirt by the force it had been struck with. I clawed it out with shaking hands, and turned it over, scrubbing the dirt away.

There was no crack. But I’d heard it—

Some feet away lay the remains of a mace, the metal dented, the handle snapped.

It was impossible. Even a diamond would likely shatter when hammered with such force.

I clutched the heartstone to my chest, and it warmed me like a hug, but something had changed. It was like it had honed itself, become more itself, and waves of feeling washed over me, so full of emotion and so indescribably, extraordinarily Rane.

It wanted so many things. To protect, to discover, to go home.

I felt the Serpent King’s eyes on me. He held himself still as I approached, the great serpentine coil of his body so taut that his scales were trembling. The look in his eyes was gentle, fearful.

I held the heartstone out like an offering.

He lowered his head. I stepped closer, feeling the warmth of his scales beneath my fingers, and the heartstone touched his scales, right over his chest.

With a shuddering gasp, he transformed, his massive body shrinking, the spears plinking to the ground, until Rane stood before me, silver-haired and beautiful. He collapsed to his knees, and I fell beside him, cradling him in my arms, his head coming to rest in the crook of my elbow.

“Forgive me,” he said.

“For what?”

“I never wanted you to see me as a monster.”

Oh, Rane. I cupped his face in my palm. His secret face. “That’s not what I see.”

His eyes opened, clear and amused, but in their depths was a faint flicker of pain.

“You were supposed to go for your heart,” I scolded.

He put a hand to my cheek. “You are my heart.”

My face heated, and I ducked my head. “No, really.” It didn’t make sense. He had been so far gone.

“I told you,” he said. “It’s not just my heart that loves you. My kidneys love you. My tail loves you, even when it’s not here. Even the points of my fangs love you. Even—”

I put my hand over his lips. “Okay, that’s enough.”

He laughed against my palm, and a glint of gold caught my eye, from the open collar of his shirt. My mother’s ring, tied on a cord around his neck. He hadn’t taken it off.

I met his laughing eyes, and it felt like all the world was in them. He was mine—he had always been mine—and all the world was ours. And I was unafraid.

My hand fell to his chest as he rose, sitting up, meeting my gaze.

I wanted him to see me, to read in my eyes what I felt for him. He had loved me as a king, as a servant, as a beast. His love had changed me, and by loving him back, I had changed myself more.

I kissed him, and when his lips curled in a smile, so did mine.

23

I considered myself married to Rane, and I wasn’t too bothered about which of our weddings—the first to the Serpent King, or the second in secret—was the official one. After all, a wedding didn’t matter as much as the life we were building together.

On this, I was quickly corrected.

The consensus was unanimous between Rane’s grandmother, my mother, and about two dozen divine people whose names I hadn’t yet learned, but who were surprisingly opinionated about my life, nonetheless. The wedding festivities—for a proper wedding—would be resumed at once.

“It’ll lift up everyone’s spirits,” my mother said. “Rebuilding has been so hard on the townspeople, especially.”

Rane, the coward, smiled at me with stars in his eyes. “Whatever you want, my love.”

“Fine,” I said, and a cheer broke out so loudly that I was afraid no one heard me continue, “but let’s keep it simple.”

It was not simple. It was fifty times more elaborate and tedious than the festivities they had planned when we first arrived.

“Well, when you first arrived,” Rane’s grandmother explained when I grumbled about it, “you were a strange girl we did not know.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Now you have saved us all from the Emperor, and from fear.” She tapped the amulet I had made her, of a rare metal that was almost blue. “You will have the best we can give you.”

It was fine, for a while. The preparations took months, and the town grew livelier as people rebuilt in the hopes of having things in good shape for the wedding.

I didn’t even mind the weeks of dinners or bestowing gifts on the townspeople.

But then, before the last ceremony, it all went downhill.

“What do you mean, we have to be kept apart for a week?” My face went warm as I realized I was admitting to a room of people that I couldn’t be away from Rane that long. Across the room, Rane’s lips twitched. He was standing between my mother and a few of his huntsmen, none of whose eyes I wanted to meet.

“It’s tradition,” Rane’s grandmother said.

Rane crossed to me, and under the cover of a hug, whispered into my ear, “Let’s humor them. We’ll find a way to meet.”

“Fine,” I said.

But the huntsmen and castle staff seemed to multiply overnight, guarding every door I even thought about opening, and I couldn’t walk five steps without someone apologizing and redirecting me.

We’d gotten lucky five days ago, when we’d passed each other in the hall. Rane had run to me and swept me up into his arms for one glorious moment, until his grandmother came brandishing her cane and yelling, “Inauspicious!”

We’d underestimated her. And with each passing day, my mood had darkened, until I seemed to carry gloomy thundercloud everywhere I went.

“You know, most of them have only been married once,” I grumbled to Grimney under my breath. “I’m the one with the most experience here.”

He patted my knee consolingly. My arms were stretched out, as two tiny peri women painted designs across my skin in a dark green paste.

I glanced at the polished brass mirror, checking the reflection to see if anyone was looking at me. My mother had just left the room, Rane’s grandmother slumbered in a chair, and Rane’s mother was speaking with a slim woman carrying bundles of marigolds.

“In my pocket,” I hissed to Grimney. He drew out the folded note, slid it between his teeth, and saluted.

The peris paused to watch as he shimmied down the leg of my chair and concealed himself in a bundle of silk—someone’s shawl, by the looks of it. The shawl slouched across the floor, past Rane’s mother’s feet, and out the door.

My shoulders relaxed. One of the peris wrung her hands. “It is unlucky, my lady. And it is only one more day until the final ceremony, no?”

I eyed her, thinking rude thoughts.

The other peri coughed, sending meaningful looks at her companion. “My lady, what do you think?” She gestured at my arms.

I gasped. It was far finer than last time—far too fine to be made by hands other than the tiny, skilled ones of the peris.

A story unfolded on my skin, in thin, intricate lines. It began above my elbows with a mosaic of jewels and a handful of tools, and then a stylized carriage rolled across my forearm, following a twisting road to little towns, through a curtain of leaves, across waves, and then, on my palms, the road became a serpent at the base of the submerged palace. Delicate ivy twined around my fingers, highlighting my calluses and making them somehow beautiful.

I couldn’t find the words, but they smiled at the look on my face. They bowed and left me, with orders to let the paste dry.

Others took their places. A frog-like woman with bold red lips treated my face to a series of concoctions and goopy creams that smelled so strongly of herbs that I figured I might as well have stuck my face in a shrub. Another massaged oil into my hair, tutting at every knot, gasping at the few locks that ended abruptly where I’d burned them while working.

Rane’s mother spoke to them appreciatively. They were not servants, but divine folk coming to pay their respects and help prepare me. Tomorrow is the final ceremony, they kept saying. Aren’t you excited to see him?

Were they taunting me? I tried to keep a mild, grateful smile on my face, but somehow it kept sliding down into a scowl. As they covered my face and shoulders in yellow goop, I let the smile drop. No one could see anyway.

My gaze was on the door. Grimney was nowhere to be seen. But a jolt of hope shot through me every time the door opened.

The sun set, and my hopes dimmed. They scraped the creams from my face but left the paste on my arms.

I went to bed in a foul mood. Grimney had forsaken me. And my skin was covered in gunk. Was Rane being subjected to this, too?

Eventually, I fell into a surly sort of sleep, and it felt like no time at all had passed before dawn broke.

The door opened—a jolt of hope—but two burly people came in, carrying a copper tub. They filled it with steaming water, and a willowy blue-skinned woman came in, followed by Rane’s mother. They drew a screen for privacy, but the blue-skinned woman stayed. “Happy wedding day, my lady.”

My last one, I hoped. I sighed and let her help me bathe. But I stopped her when she uncapped a bottle of salts. “Not that. No powders, no salts, please.”

She obliged me with the demeanor of someone coddling a toddler.

The oils were washed from my hair, the residue from my face, the paste scraped from my arms. Lines of deep, dark red had soaked into my skin, and I twisted my arms, taking in the design, surprised at how ornamented and beautiful I felt.

I rose from the bath and dried off, feeling soft and tender and new, and a traitorous thought whispered through my mind: maybe there was a thing or two about weddings I didn’t know. She drew an enchanted comb through my hair that dried it instantly, into a glossy mane.

The door opened—I dared not hope—and my mother came in with a bundle of red silk in her arms.

“Come,” she said, smiling, and for a moment Grimney wasn’t forefront in my mind.

My mother draped me in silk, wrapping and pleating around me, pinning it with care. Each touch of her fingers felt like a hug, filling a deep, hungry well within me. I watched her hands work, memorizing the way she held a pin between her lips.

She stepped back, turning away and wiping the corner of her eye.

I blinked hard. I didn’t want to cry.

“My beautiful girl.” She made a gesture to ward away the evil eye, to protect me.

I hesitated for a moment, before wrapping my arms around her.

Over her shoulder, my gaze went to the door. It opened a crack. Grimney snuck through the door on all fours, a note clenched between his teeth. Elation sizzled through me. He pressed himself to the wall and, like a crab, scuttled along it, toward me.

“Let’s finish getting you ready,” my mother said, and guided me back into the seat before the brass mirror. I gestured for Grimney to hide in the folds of my dress, and then I met my gaze in the mirror. My skin was glowing, my hair shone like glass.

My reflection’s lips curved in an impressed expression. They had polished me up the same way I polished up a raw jewel. “I look great,” I said. “Aren’t we done?”

A handful of laughs cut off sharply when they realized I wasn’t joking. Grimney tapped my ankle, and I lowered my hand. A note was pressed into my palm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of bottles of cosmetics being placed on the vanity. I unfolded the note, concealing it in my palm.

Rane’s sinewy, energetic handwriting, in deep green ink.

Say the word and I’ll climb up the balcony and steal you away. But you’re the girl who faced the Emperor, what could you ever be afraid of?

I hid a smile. The answer was his grandmother.

One more thing, don’t be alarmed, but—

The note was torn out of my hands. Rane’s grandmother tutted. “Don’t you bring fate down on your heads now, when you only have hours left,” she said, tucking the note into her dress.

I scowled, too irritated to hide my feelings like I usually would.

To my surprise, she smiled. “If you’ll fight me for him, then he’s picked well.”

Hesitantly, I smiled back.

“And, if you’re so eager to read,” she said as she pulled out a stack of envelopes, “you had better attend to your wedding correspondence. Some of our neighboring rulers will have written.”

Oh good. Exactly what I wanted to deal with on my wedding day. Letters from strangers, who no doubt expected a response. I made to shove them aside, but the one on top caught my eye: it was addressed to Aria, not Saphira.

As I opened the envelope, a dried weed fell onto my lap. The letter said

I owe you. If you ever need my aid, I will come. And, I’m happy for you. You have always deserved happiness.

—Mirandel.

I looked closer at the dried thing on my lap. Three stems had been braided together—a memory came to me, of stealing flowers from the garden, braiding their stems into as elaborate a pattern as my seven-year-old hands could manage. It had once been a bracelet, but at some point in time, it had snapped. I knew Mirandel had stolen it, but I had never imagined that she would’ve kept it. I tucked it safely away.

Only then did I notice that Grimney had disappeared. Before I could think on it, Rane’s mother put a hand on my shoulder. “One last thing.”

She braided my hair with enchanted flowers that would never wilt. Her hands moved deliberately, careful not to tug. We had yet to speak properly—if I was a woman of few words, she was a woman of fewer. We had spent some time in amiable silence; at least, I hoped it was. From her end, it might’ve been horrified silence.

From a box at her feet, she drew out a veil of gossamer silk, beautifully embroidered. “I began this when Rane was born. Each year, as Rane grew, I added to it. I made a wish on each stitch, hoping he would choose someone who suited him, who loved him, who would make him stronger and happier.”

She pinned the veil to my hair and pressed a kiss to my temple. “A mother hopes for the best for her child. If I searched every corner of this world, I would not find another like you.”

My eyes watered again. I sniffled all the way down to the floating gardens, across the bridge. Every surface was strewn with twinkling lights, and the bushes and trees had been coaxed into a full bloom. The anticipation grew under my skin, and only my mother’s hand at my elbow kept me from rushing ahead.

On either side of the path stood divine peoples. They bowed to me as I passed. One raised a hand to touch the jeweled amulet that hung over his heart, and I smiled. I had spent the last three months crafting amulets like the one I made for Rane’s grandmother. They were based on what I’d learned from Incarnadine’s lamp. Each was special, tailored to shield the wearer’s heart, so only they could control it.

I was possibly the only jewelsmith that lost money on every piece. Rane’s treasury had paid to procure the jewels and everything else I needed. I could almost hear Galen calling me an idiot for giving the amulets away freely, but I just couldn’t take the divine people’s coin, not when I was only righting a wrong. Maybe it did make me an idiot, but I could live with that.

My mother’s grip loosened on my elbow as we crossed the last bridge to the floating island at the heart of the gardens. My heart began to thud and my stomach filled with butterflies as I caught sight of the tip of the pavilion, as it all came into view.

There he was.

Looking down and toying with his sleeve, his silver hair half braided in a regal circlet, his clothes gleaming and probably beautiful, but at that moment, he looked up, and a delighted smile split his face, and nothing else mattered.

It was like the sun had come out. Of all the faces he showed to the world, this was the one I loved most. Charming, a little boyish, his smile a little crooked. His true face.

A laugh bubbled out of me, and I ran into his arms, forgetting our audience and everything proper. He caught me and held me close, and everything was warmth and the scent of ivy and sun-kissed water.

“I missed you too,” he murmured into my hair.

“It was only a week,” I said to the embroidery at his chest. “It would’ve been silly to miss you.”

A low chuckle. “It’s all right. I won’t tell.”

He took my hands in his, and I put enough space between us for the ceremony to begin.

I couldn’t pay attention to the rituals; it felt like the floaty, heady warmth in me would carry me away into the sky. Rane’s thumbs caressed my hands, and I noticed the faint trace of ink on his fingers. It wasn’t just from the notes he had written to me. He had spent the last three months composing messages to the old families and the new, inviting them to the Serpent Kingdom, and forging relationships. Our borders were open and would remain so, and his heart would stay in his chest, where it belonged.

From the stacks of letters he had received in return, his charm seemed to be working, turning strangers into allies. But anything could grow from the ashes of the Empire, and just in case, I had started work on a different sort of border enchantment. Darvald had only scratched the surface of what jewelsmithing could do. Of what I could do.

I squeezed Rane’s ink-stained hand, and his eyes crinkled as he squeezed back.

Our hands were tied together by a length of silk—a tradition from my home. My mother had filled me up with stories of her wedding and her mother’s before her, all the way back as far as she knew. And then we spoke vows over sacred water in the traditions of the Serpent Kingdom.

There was a pause, and the sound of little rock feet came from down the path. Grimney strode toward us, his chest puffed out, clad in a smartly tailored little jacket and trousers. On a little silken pillow, he held our rings.

“Don’t laugh,” Rane said. “I did warn you.”

I stifled my giggle. “Warn me?”

“Did you not get my note?”

That was what he wanted to tell me? But it wouldn’t have mattered. Grimney looked too adorable, and I couldn’t get rid of my smile as he approached. I knelt and kissed his little rocky cheek. “Thank you. You look very dashing.”

Grimney grinned and held out the pillow. Though I’d made both rings, seeing them now was seeing them anew. On mine, a faceted sapphire was cut like a window, to reveal a fragment of Rane’s scale beneath. Rane’s was made with the stone from my mother’s ring, but I’d filled in the crack with gold and small sapphires, and it looked a little like a serpent’s eye. The sapphires were the same, and our rings would let us find our way to each other.

Rane knelt on Grimney’s other side and took my ring from the pillow. Grimney patted his own cheek, and Rane obligingly kissed him.

I took the other ring. Together, Rane and I rose. The world went soft and silent, and before everyone, he slid a ring on my finger, and I did the same to him.

I drank in the sight of him.

Our first wedding had been one of necessity, born of fear.

Our second had been desperate, not a celebration but a funeral for what we could have been.

And this, our third, before all his people and all of mine, felt like we were tying together the long, winding paths of our lives. Our next steps would not be alone—we would never again be alone.

“It’s rude to refuse a wedding gift,” Rane murmured in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand drew patterns on my back as we smiled at the next couple who came to present their gifts.

The line behind them was long; it seemed everyone was determined to give us a gift before dancing or partaking in food and drink.

I had already received delicately embroidered shoes that would let me dance all night (but could do nothing for the quality of my dancing). Tools that would never dull. A whistle that would let me call an eagle (what I would do once the eagle had come, I didn’t know). A set of riddles to trick a dragon. A box that I must never open, but if I ever needed aid, I was to bury it on a moonless night. A lily pad large enough to sit on, that would transport me on water (and unlike a horse, it couldn’t bite me). Each was more wondrous than the last.

“Why are so many of them for me?” I asked Rane.

One of the eagle folk overheard. He was huge and regal, crested in a plume of feathers the color of morning sunlight. “You have given us freedom,” he said, gesturing at his amulet, “and asked nothing in return. A gift so great as what you have given us cannot be repaid, but allow us to present you with these paltry tokens of our gratitude.”

Paltry tokens? Even the Emperor hadn’t possessed such riches. It was more than I would’ve made in a lifetime of jewelsmithing, even if I had been paid five times as handsomely as Galen.

I ducked my head, embarrassed and overwhelmed, and Rane kissed my temple and whispered, “Shall we make our escape?”

I nodded.

“Thank you all,” he said to the crowd. “Please, drink, eat, make merry. But I’m afraid I must steal away my wife. . . .”

Rane led me across a bridge, and my shoulders relaxed once we had left the party behind. I shot him a grateful look, and he winked. We stopped before the palace steps, the lapping waves almost drowning out the distant sounds of revelry.

“They’re too kind,” I said.

“I think, perhaps, they see you clearly. As I do.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers from inside his jacket and held them out to me. “I may not be a perfect husband, but you should know that I’ll always keep my promises to you.”

I unfolded the papers. The first was a drawing of a tall three-story building surrounded by a low wall. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The next was similar, but with several more diamond-paned windows and a chimney belching smoke.

And the third, was Galen’s old workshop. My old workshop, with the circular window at the top.

“All three are available. Say the word, and it’ll be yours.”

My breath caught. I’d forgotten our bargain, but he’d remembered. I was so different from the old Saphira who’d made the deal. Her world had been so very small that the best she could imagine was a way to keep jewelsmithing without all of the bad things that had come with it.

I folded up the papers. My world was so much larger now. “I don’t want a shop on Gem Lane.”

A bright, surprised smile flickered on his face, but was quickly replaced with an intent look. “Are you sure? It was your dream.”

“I’d rather keep working in the palace.” I had moved out of the submerged cavern and into an unused bedroom. The little desk had worked well enough for the amulets. “I don’t mind.”

A grin blossomed across his lips as if he’d heard my thoughts, and then a touch of mischief entered his eyes. “Well, if you’re sure.” He patted his jacket, and something rustled. “Oh, I forgot. There’s one last option.” Rane pulled out one last drawing and held it up. It was of a workshop I had never seen, with flowers spilling down the side and softly rounded curves. A lake glimmered behind it.

He lowered the drawing, and across the lake, at one edge of the mostly rebuilt town, there it was. A little, perfect shop at the edge of the water. A streetlamp cast light on the gleaming glass windows, and there was a sign that hung over the door, too small to make out, but I imagined what it could say: Saphira’s Jewelsmithery.

The sunset light glimmered softly in Rane’s eyes. He hadn’t shown me this little perfect shop until he was sure that I wasn’t giving up a dream for him. But he didn’t realize that knowing him had made me into something greater than I had ever dreamed. I wanted to grow with him, for him to grow with me. I wanted to make jewels by his side. I wanted to see how loving him would continue to change me.

I stood on my tiptoes, my lips close to his, and whispered, “I have a new dream.”

He said, “Let’s make it come true.”

Our breaths mingled, and it became a promise.

Acknowledgments

This story owes a debt of gratitude to three of the most worn-out and well-loved books on my bookshelf. These were stories I first read when I was very small, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve reread them since: Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine, Which Witch? by Eva Ibbotson, and Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. There’s something about them, a certain sort of magic, where by reading them one feels braver, like everything is going to be all right. They’re warm hugs in literary form.

That feeling inspired Saphira and Rane’s story. It was the thread I followed from an idea of a girl on an adventure with her pet rock, all the way to the book you have in your hands. Thank you for reading it.

Forgive me for the sappiness of this next bit, but I also must thank my partner. Let’s just say I wouldn’t have been able to write a love story without knowing you.

And of course, it takes a village to turn a story into a book. All my thanks to the team at Harper for believing in this story—to the folks working behind the scenes, production managers Danielle McClelland and Melissa M. Cicchitelli, production editors Heather Tamarkin and Gweneth Morton, to the folks who made such a beautiful cover and interior, designer David E. Curtis and artist Ibrahim Rayintakath, to my dear editors and champions, Elizabeth Agyemang and Carolina Mancheno Ortiz. I am endlessly grateful for your work.

All my thanks to the incredibly kind and brilliant Tracey Adams and everyone at Adams Literary for being there every step of the way.

To everyone who read it early, I’m sorry and thank you. Especially Penny—you have all my love.

To my family for their undying support. Thank you for believing in me.

And to you, thank you for picking up this book.

About the Author

SUNYA MARA grew up in six different cities across five different states and now calls Los Angeles home. She studied film and business at the University of Southern California and went on to write and illustrate at Oscar-winning Granity Studios. When not telling stories, she spends her time haunting old movie theaters and staring at museum walls. Visit her online at sunyamara.com.

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Books by Sunya Mara

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Copyright

Embrace the Serpent. Text copyright © 2025 by Sunya Mara. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Without limiting the exclusive rights of any author, contributor or the publisher of this publication, any unauthorized use of this publication to train generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies is expressly prohibited. HarperCollins also exercise their rights under Article 4(3) of the Digital Single Market Directive 2019/790 and expressly reserve this publication from the text and data mining exception.

Cover art © 2025 by Ibrahim Rayintakath

Cover design by David Curtis

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024953077

Digital Edition JUNE 2025 ISBN: 978-0-06-338615-0

Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-338613-6

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