Page 102 of Embrace the Serpent

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 Iamking.”

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 couldoffer 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—”

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