Page 29 of Embrace the Serpent

“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 beyondhis 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 biteisbad, 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.

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