Page 22 of Sonnets and Serpents
Beside him, Tulip reared, lifting her head almost to his waist, her gaze also trained on the princess.
Eliza’s face drained of color. Her lips trembled.
Silas felt the press of fangs in his mouth, the desire to lash out at being cornered, to strike with venom. It was a good thing the princess didn’t run. If he didn’t strike her, Tulip would. Silas wasn’t her brood, but the python was poised to defend just thesame. Eliza wouldn’t die if Tulip struck, but she’d be in for a few miserable days and a pair of nasty scars.
No more than she deserved.
Silas tried to keep his boiling emotions under control, tried to exhibit restraint, but there was little of that left to him. Not after being chained like an animal.
His hold slipped, and he transformed in a puff of gray mist.
There was nothing more humiliating than a rage transformation. Others couldn’t understand the complete loss of control. The loss of his hold on everything in life. Onhimself.
Eliza shrieked, a wordless cry of sheer panic. Silas drew a little satisfaction from the way she looked ready to faint, but there wasn’t room for much beyond the shame. As a gray adder, he twisted in angry circles on the ground, waiting for his emotion to simmer down enough for him to reclaim control. The world was immense, seen from the floor with everything looming. Even the princess couldn’t be called a mouse from this vantage point, though she certainly cowered like one.
“Help!” Eliza screamed, forgoing any attempt at library etiquette. Her voice was muffled in his senses, more vibration than clear speech, but she screeched loud enough to vibrate every letter against his scales. “Help!”
For a moment, Silas entertained the idea of lunging at her. He was more than two and a half feet long, half her height, and he had more speed than the average viper. He could have sent her fleeing right across the ocean.
But then he would never know what she’d chained around his wrist.
Several librarians rushed over just as Silas managed enough control to turn human again. He dragged in labored breaths, his chest heavy, and he remained kneeling on the ground, one hand clutching the shelf next to him, simply trying to stay person rather than snake.
While, in his mind, he relived the worst day of his life.
It wasn’t a university library; it was his father’s study. Shelves of books for display, not for use, owned by a man who wanted to appear knowledgeable yet never listened to a voice besides his own.
Lord Bennett was praising the king, praising the court, lifting Loegria up as a perfect paradise. It was one of his favorite recitations, and Silas had heard it a million times. Every other time, he’d gritted his teeth and swallowed his counterarguments.
But that day, he snapped.
Maybe it was having Gill there. Silas had grown numb to hearing his father praise the country and laws that would have killed him for being an Affiliate, but hearing praise for the branding of his best friend was too much. When they were at school and people came after Gill for being a Caster, Silas always stepped in the middle.
Maybe he was finally brave enough to do that at home.
Reasons didn’t matter. What mattered was that he argued with his father, and he lost his temper. He lost his control.
As a snake, the world not only loomed large but also bled its color. Silas’s viper eyes couldn’t perceive warm tones the way his human eyes could, washing the world in melancholy shades of gray, green, and blue. At times, that was enchanting—an entirely new view of the familiar.
But he would always remember the view of his father throughsnake’s eyes. All warmth had drained from his skin, leaving behind a sickly green pallor. The black of his hair was too gray, blending with the streaks creeping across his temples and beard, aging him in a single moment. His dark eyes, narrowed on Silas, had lost their depth. They were flat, emotionless.
The surreal image lingered even as Silas returned to human form.
The most lingering part was realizing that it wasn’t a lack of color draining the warmth from his father’s eyes. It was an inward decision, made in a bare moment without entertaining other options.
Lord Bennett chose to believe all his country’s superstitions about shapeshifters.
He drew his sword.
And when he slashed it toward Silas’s throat, Silas couldn’t say what his father’s vision looked like in terms of warmth and colors, but whatever he saw, it wasn’t his son.
The university library filtered through Silas’s waking nightmare, prompted by Tulip’s approach. The python slithered against his leg, pausing to lift her head and flick her tongue, as if telling him to snap out of it. Silas reached out an unsteady hand, brushing Tulip’s patterned brown scales, and within him, his magic slowly settled.
He pressed his other hand to the long, thin scar below his jaw.
The only reason he was still alive was because Gill had stepped in. His best friend had used magic to stop Silas’s bleeding and to make Lord Bennett forget seeing the transformation. But even without the memory, nothing between Silas and his father had ever been the same.
Since that day, he’d never been his father’s son.
