Page 45 of Sonnets and Serpents
“Sarazan?” Silas smirked. “Well, he’s what they named allthe tabernacles after, so I suppose that’s answer enough. He’s a mythological sea serpent, but there are conflicting legends. Some say he’s the transformed state of the god of the ocean. Others claim that he’s only a guardian, protecting the gate to the spirit world.”
“Do you believe in him?” It would be just like him to call love a myth while believing in a big magic snake.
But Silas shook his head. “Once, I thought I sensed something out there in the ocean, something big. Perhaps there’s a sea snake grown so large, it’s inspired legends. Or perhaps people are seeing the shadows of driftwood in the dark and spinning tales.”
He stepped through the tent flap, and Eliza followed.
The interior had abreeze. It startled Eliza so greatly that she stood in the entrance, feeling blessedly cool air swirl against her face and clothing, until she almost shivered beneath the silk. Her eyes adjusted to the shaded surroundings, and she realized the tent had been divided into multiple sections by sheets of gauzy material, offering a measure of privacy but also openness. Shadows moved behind the barriers, and the light smell of incense tickled her nose until she sneezed.
One of the curtains parted, and a girl perhaps a few years older than Eliza approached, dressed in flowing robes with her hair tied beneath a green scarf. She smiled and greeted them in a soft, friendly voice, introducing herself as a “sister of Sarazan.”
Silas wasted no time.
“There was a shipwreck two weeks ago,” he said. “Loegrian crew and passengers. Did you care for any survivors?”
Eliza took a step back. This was the answer she’d been searching for, and now that it was directly in front of her, she couldn’t bear to hear it in case it was the end of everything. She needed a moment to prepare. Needed—
“Yes,” said the sister.
Like a shooting star, Eliza’s heart shot from her chest, right into the sky, almost tugging her along with it. She grabbed Silas’s arm, shaking it. “Ask about Henry!”
“I’m getting there,apta.” But his voice was hardly chastising. Quickly, he outlined Henry’s description.
The answer wasanother yes.
Hewashere. Definitively. The sister described his unconscious state and the long gash on his arm, slow to heal. Eliza barely heard the details because her ears were full of the sound of his name, repeating in her mind like a chant, like a prayer.Henry, Henry, Henry.
She was floating. She was flying. If she closed her eyes, surely she would fly right to him.
Silas was frowning. He couldn’t even enjoy good news.
Then he asked, “Were there any others?”
Guilt sliced through Eliza for not considering anyone but Henry.
The sister nodded. “One other, but she was a Pravish girl, and she bore no serious wounds. She brought the boy for treatment, and when he woke, they left together.”
Silas looked at Eliza sharply, as if he expected her to be able to explain that, but all she could do was stare.
Finally, he said, “So she found him washed up on the beach?”
The sister shook her head. “No, she was on the ship. I could not speak to the boy, of course, but he showed no panic around her, the way he did around most of our staff. She seemed trustworthy to him. Familiar, at the very least.”
Silas looked at Eliza again, and this time, she bristled. “What?”
He shrugged, but the movement was far from casual.
Eliza huffed. “I’m here withyou. Why shouldn’t Henry have depended on this girl for help?”
Then she thought about the bracelet on her wrist andeverything she’d hopelessly tangled herself in, and she prayed Henry’s situation wasn’t as complicated as that.
“Do you remember anything about this girl?” Silas asked the Sarazan healer.
The sister gave a brief description—taller than Eliza, dark hair, blue eyes.
“She protected a small white box,” the woman added. “Strange black markings.”
Silas stiffened at that, his jaw tightening. Clearly it meant something to him. All at once, he was out of questions, thanking the tabernacle worker for her time and taking his leave.
