Page 74 of Embrace the Serpent

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 loudsnap. The broken shaft ofthe 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 asquare 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.

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