Page 96 of Embrace the Serpent

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 Ithink 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!”

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