The twice cursed serpent, p.20
The Twice-Cursed Serpent, page 20
Not far behind her, Caes watched out of the corner of her eye while Alair tended to his own horse, his expressionless face shadowed by the hood of his cloak. He wore black leather armor and his sword hung at his side, and with the way he moved—smooth as water and sure-footed—there was no doubt that he could handle himself in combat.
She took a step closer to him, stopped herself, and went back to pet her horse. Nothing good would come from approaching him—Bethrian had to be curious enough why Alair deigned to come along. Through the days, she had to stop herself from even excessively looking at him outright, though she felt his eyes on her back while she rode at Bethrian’s side. While the Soul Carvers were there as her guardians, they weren’t her friends—and Soul Carvers weren’t known for having friends. It was best if Bethrian didn’t suspect anything more.
Besides, Caes had a hard enough time leaving court—she didn’t need to create more trouble for herself now. Caes had followed Alair’s—and later Lord Bethrian’s—advice for managing the emperor, and now they were well on their way away from Seda, after some difficulties. While the emperor was reluctant to let Caes go, he was no fool. He knew his daughter. It seemed that the chance to have Caes remove the curse outweighed the chance to taunt his heir with Caes’s presence. Alair had repeatedly said the same thing when she saw him before they had left, that while Lord Bethrian could not be completely trusted, he would see her back to court. Alive. As for everything else, well, that was what the Soul Carvers were for.
Seda had apparently thrown a fit—reportedly throwing vases—when she heard Caes was leaving near the same time her half-brother was to return. The story ran that Seda claimed she had not tried to kill Caes after all. Like anyone was stupid enough to believe that.
Sabine was harder for Caes to say goodbye to. She was sad for Caes to go, worried for her, but seemed to understand Caes’s reasons, and even helped assemble a suitable wardrobe. But politics aside, after surviving Kristel’s Servant, it didn’t take much to convince the court and the emperor that Caes leaving court was the goddess’s will. So now, instead of dodging Seda, Caes was at Bethrian’s mercy, with Alair—and Cylis—escorting her.
Cylis.
Cylis was an odd choice. Alair’s choice. Caes still didn’t trust that he’d protect her if it came to it—but Alair assured her that Cylis would take his responsibility of watching her seriously. Furthermore, there was another excuse for why Cylis agreed to come along—Cylis had family near Bethrian’s estate, making him agreeable to spending a winter away from court. Still, Caes couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to why Alair wanted Cylis with them out of all of the other Soul Carvers. Kerensa was indignant that she was to be left behind, but when she had mentioned it to Alair, he was insistent that no one but Cylis would do.
“What are you thinking of?” Bethrian said, flashing his perfect smile at Caes.
Caes smiled despite herself. “I am wondering what will happen if the mountain passages do not open in time for me to head back to court in the spring and I miss the date to break the curse.”
“Don’t worry about that—it would be tricky, but we have sleds if we need to rush to get you back.” He gave Caes an encouraging nod. “Try to focus on your little puzzle. If you don’t figure that out, it won’t matter if you fly back to the palace, for all the good being there would do.”
Caes nodded, giving her horse pats while it drank. Her attention was pulled to the treetops by chirping birds fluttering among the branches, fighting over the budding winter berries. It was nice to be in the woods for a change, after spending months encased in the stone of court. Here, she could breathe fresh air scented with leaves freshly fallen from branches, and make faces at the woods without worrying some spy reported on her every move.
“I think you will enjoy my estate, Caes,” Bethrian said, interrupting her daydream.
“You’ve spoken so highly of it,” Caes said, “that I have no doubt. Though, I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to explore the mountains and hunt...”
Bethrian laughed. “You will have as much time as you wish. Unlike the emperor, I do not intend to impress on you to work every day. Besides, it is good for you to get away from your studies and see things in a fresh manner.” He patted his horse twice on the head. “You are my guest—I intend for you to feel that way.”
“That’s true—rest can help with study,” Caes said diplomatically. “You said earlier that all of the works that I need are already in the library?”
“Yes, they had better be. I sent word ahead to have more dug out of storage. I can’t promise what condition those are in, but they’re yours. You, and your lot of Soul Carvers.”
Caes allowed herself a little peek back—Alair and Cylis were still turned away from her. “They must be getting tired of me by now. I’m hardly the most exciting charge.”
“You sell yourself short—two assassination attempts in six months? Why, you’re practically a festival of excitement.”
Caes chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”
Bethrian’s horse raised his head, letting him know it was finished. Bethrian led his horse back to the path, with Caes trailing behind him with her own horse in tow. “Thank you again for offering your home and library. It’s priceless, this gift you are giving me.”
“It is nothing—when you are victorious, that is when I will receive my thanks.” The smile Bethrian gave Caes was warm and reached his eyes, but Caes felt an uneasy prickle work its way down her spine. She dared a glance over at Alair as he guided his horse alongside her. He turned towards her, his face frozen, only the slight narrowing of his eyes hinting that something on this beautiful day was not perfect.
Two weeks after they left the capital, they arrived at Lord Bethrian’s estate. The estate consisted of a forbidding castle on the mountainside, as ancient and imposing as the stone on which it sat. Massive towers jutted out, visible from a great distance, the first indication that this place used to be a crucial military fortress, thousands of years ago. Bethrian’s lands were sparsely populated, and its immense wealth came from the mines hidden within the mountains.
The inside of the estate was far warmer than the outside, each feature designed for comfort—a welcome surprise, in a place so far from civilization. Caes’s multi-room chambers were generous, more suitable for a duchess than a prisoner. A feather bed, silk embroidered covers, windows with a magnificent view of the mountains, and two personal servants were just a few of the luxuries that greeted her. After living so long as a cross between a courtier and a servant—and not wanting extra eyes on her—Caes dismissed the unnecessary curious servant girls, explaining that she’d manage just fine on her own. She would—she’d be damned before she needed help getting out of her simple dresses.
After enjoying a simple dinner sent to her chambers and a much-needed bath, a light knock sounded at the door, stirring Caes from her book, a novel about one of Malithia’s earliest emperors. That’s strange—who would be visiting her at this hour? Caes set the novel on the nightstand and made her way across the receiving room to the door, opening it just a creak.
“Alair,” she said, opening the door while her heart settled, “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow. Is everything all right?”
Alair stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His wet hair—from a bath, hopefully—was plastered against his head and he was dressed in clean clothes, black breeches and a tunic. “Yes. Everything is well.” Alair’s attention focused on a painting of a dancing child. “Though my rooms are a bit more...simple than this.”
Caes frowned. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No.” Alair flicked his hand. “I meant only to comment on Bethrian’s generosity. I have no complaints—our rooms are more than comfortable.”
“I thought you were close by?”
“We are,” Alair said, his face lit with amusement. “It doesn’t mean all the rooms in this area are equally nice.”
“True enough. Come.” Caes led him to her sitting area, which was lit by two oil lamps. Alair followed but did not move to take a seat. “What is it?” she asked, searching his face.
Alair paused. Fear prickled the hair on Caes’s arms. What was so horrible that even Alair was reluctant to speak?
“When were you going to tell me that you’re not really trying to free Hanith?”
Stunned, Caes scrambled for a reply. How did he find out? Would he tell anyone?
“What do you mean?” she asked. “I’ve been—”
“Searching for a way to free yourself. Not the god.”
Caes took two deep breaths. There was no point in lying. Not now. “How did you know?”
Alair blinked. “The first and only time I went into your mind was after the poisoning. I tried not to pry—I didn’t—but that was the main thing on your thoughts.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not a mind reader unless the person is mentally shouting. You were shouting. But even then, the image wasn’t clear. So, the next few times we were together in the library I started to pay attention to your research. You read the myths, yes, but something still seemed off. Then I noticed you were reading quite a bit about Malithian cleansings, Ardinani cleansings—far beyond what you’d need for breaking a curse like the one on the Stone God.” He took a deep breath. “It’s my fault.”
Caes’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“That first day I was in the library with you and we were talking about curses—I should have been clearer about their nature. I said—truthfully—that the methods you were looking into would likely not work because the curse was imposed by a god, not man.”
“And?”
“The same applies to your tie to it too.” A weight dropped in Caes’s stomach, her hopes shattering like crystal on the floor. Alair stepped towards her, his face heavy with compassion, with real, human emotion. “I’m sorry. You are mortal—but as far as the curse is concerned, you may as well be the god himself. There’s no way around it.”
Then…it was hopeless.
“How do you know this?” Caes asked, her voice breaking.
“Anyone could have told you if you had asked. Curses don’t bend that way, altering how they affect different beings. Curses are immutable, unchangeable, and therein lies their true danger.”
She could no longer hold back the hot tears that welled in her eye as despair took over her. She was so stupid. All that work. All that research, for nothing.
She would have to betray her father, or die.
She was going to die.
She had only six months left…
Her legs gave out and she stumbled over to one of the chairs, forcing herself to take deep breaths.
Alair helped her sit and crouched down in front of her and gently took her hand. Heat rose to her skin at each place he touched.
He couldn’t save her. Not from this.
“I don’t know what to do.” Caes’s voice turned more to a sob at each word. “I wasn’t looking for the right things and—do you know how much I missed? Shirla created a Soul Carver too. That was something I should’ve looked into more at the palace. I ignored so much, and now I don’t have the time—”
“You do have time,” Alair said, his voice low. “You didn’t waste it, not yet.” After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Did she really create a Soul Carver?”
Caes nodded. “At least one, if that document was right. Cylis was with me that day.”
“And somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut.” Alair’s eyes wandered around the room. “At least we left the palace. If the temple found out about that—”
“Would they have cared?” Caes wiped her eye with her free hand, not wanting to take back the one Alair held. “The document may be wrong. And Cylis pointed out the Soul Carver is long dead.”
“Probably—you’d be surprised what the temple cares about. Regardless, it’s best you are far away from Glynnith now. For many reasons. Things are always tense in the palace when Althain is in the city, and I imagine it’s no better now.” Alair focused his dark eyes on Caes. “Try not to panic. I know it’s hard, but it won’t help. And we will help you. There’s probably nothing in the palace that Bethrian doesn’t have here.”
Caes was not convinced. “I don’t know—”
“I do.”
“You have far more hope than me.”
Alair examined her expression. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
What did she have to lose by telling the truth? All of it. “My father,” Caes began slowly, determined not to cry again, “was killed because of the goddesses. Why would I want to help them? Either of them.”
“Ah.” Alair did not insult her. He did not question. He took her answer as simply as the truth it was.
“I don’t know what to do,” Caes said. “I don’t want to free Hanith. I didn’t try to find another option because I wasn’t sure I could figure out the curse.” Caes’s voice turned to quiet anger. “I didn’t want to free the god and help that...being.” It was the harshest thing she dared to say about Karima in a Soul Carver’s presence. Even Alair. “And besides, we still don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Though Caes couldn’t search openly, she found nothing explaining what had caused her eye to change.
“I know.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Caes wiped her eyes again. “I admitted I was trying to trick your goddess.”
Alair shrugged. “You’re hardly the first mortal to try, and not without reason. At least you weren’t trying to kill Hanith.”
Caes blinked.
“Others have tried to do that over the years,” Alair explained. “Mortals can’t kill gods. At least, not without the right weapons. And we happen to be a bit short on those.”
Caes nodded. Her father had one of those weapons—but who knew where it was now. His sword was the only one she knew for sure existed—and it was gone. Now, why didn’t she think of killing the god? That would have been…it didn’t matter. It was far too late now.
“What do I do, Alair? You’re a Soul Carver—and it’s insane that after everything I am telling you this, and there is nothing—” Caes rambled on about her predicament until Alair interrupted her.
“My advice?” he asked softly.
“Anything.”
“Don’t worry about whether to free Hanith, until you know you can free Hanith.”
Alair had a point. She had a lot to do before she had the luxury of deciding whether or not to free the god. As things stood, the curse would kill her on this mountain in several months, far away from the silver statue lurking in the temple courtyard.
But was it really so simple? No. It never was.
“You’re right.” Caes took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell Alair any more about the dread in her heart. “I’ve been, so consumed, so...”
“It’s been a lot,” Alair said, slowly taking back his hand, leaving a void. “While you are here, hopefully you can focus on your task, without other complications.”
“Like Seda.”
“Like Seda.”
Who was Caes to be baring her heart to a Soul Carver, talking about freeing a god? And why she was starting to trust that Soul Carver more than she had trusted anyone in a long time? The Soul Carver who was inches from her. She found herself focusing far too much on his steady breaths, how close he still crouched next to her. On his Soul Carver eyes, which caught the candlelight. They were beautiful, like glinting ice in the moonlight. Tension rose between them as they looked at each other, giving Caes a heady feeling of spinning out of control. And she didn’t want it to stop. What was he thinking, gazing at her like that? Did he want—
“I should go,” Alair said, shaking his head as he stood.
The moment shattered.
“Yes,” Caes smoothed out her skirts, rising to escort Alair to the door.
“No, no need,” Alair said, giving Caes a rare smile. “We’re not at court.”
“No. We are not.” Caes grinned.
“I will see you tomorrow, Caes.”
Without another word, Alair left Caes’s chambers, leaving her alone with fears and daydreams, swirling in her mind like a summer storm.
A Soul Carver…how could she be feeling this for a Soul Carver?
Too bad it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t have time to figure it out. She had to complete the task that had been set before her—but was she too late?
Chapter twenty-one
“What exactly do you think you’re going to do with this?” Cylis asked, holding up yet another crumbling, dusty, and faded piece of paper. Cylis focused his eyes back on the page and then strutted around the little room, which was only large enough to hold a desk, a couple chairs—and wooded crates. So many crates. “This is barely legible, and” —he narrowed his eyes at it— “it looks like an inventory.”
“You should transcribe it, then, for posterity’s sake,” Caes said.
Cylis scowled. “You should be glad I don’t throw you out the window.”
“Do it. Anything for a moment’s peace.”
Cylis huffed, his bluff called.
It was their first day in Bethrian’s library, and it was Cylis’s day to watch over Caes. But they hadn’t even spent ten minutes together before Caes wanted to chuck her book at him—and they were now on their third hour. Caes let him tease her, not wanting him to guess why she was re-reading the basic tales of the goddess. If only she had not wasted so much time trying to do the impossible and break her connection to the curse.
If only…
When Cylis’s pacing increased to the fervor of a military patrol—not the easiest thing to do in the small room—Caes sighed, ignored him, and sat at the polished wooden desk next to the fireplace. The two of them were placed in what was little more than a small room in the great library, which lacked no comfort. Near the fire were two plush velvet-covered chairs and end tables bearing steaming mugs of hot tea and small bowls of cookies. Along the wall were two large windows letting in light and giving Caes a prime view of the valley and the estate. After the months Caes had spent in the palace library, the windows made her feel exposed. The feeling passed quickly once Caes took in the beauty of the expansive wintery mountain range.
