Page 63 of Embrace the Serpent

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.”

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