“You mean for once the future is as much a mystery to you as to us mere mortals?” Vere joked.
“I—” Salem and his mate were moving toward us, through the crowd. “Do you care to introduce yourself to the current monarchy?”
The white viper hesitated for just a moment but then shook his head. “Not just yet. Take care of yourself, Hai.” He squeezed my shoulder but was gone from my side before the Diente and his queen reached me.
“Hai, thank you for attending,” Salem said, with what looked like a genuine smile.
The warm regard from the cobra unnerved me. I could only nod. “It seemed appropriate.”
“Have you been introduced to Rosalind?”
“No, we haven’t—” Halfway through offering my hand, I recoiled. For just a moment, I could almost taste the viper’s tears. “I’m sorry. I …”
The dancer-queen, instead of looking insulted, looked relieved not to have to shake my hand.
Salem frowned. “Are you all right?”
Fortunately, before I had to answer, Sive found us in the crowd. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, touching Salem’s wrist. “I was hoping I could get some advice.” The hawk dropped her gaze, her expression more carefully controlled than she usually kept it around serpents.
“It’s fine,” I said, half curtsying, a habit from another world, as I excused myself.
Salem and Rosalind shrugged before turning their attention to Sive. I would always be a falcon to them. They didn’t trouble themselves to worry about me.
I retreated to the hills where Nicias sat, his attention on the celebration.
“Are you all right?” Nicias asked as I sat beside him. “I saw you talking to Salem and Rosalind. You looked upset.”
“Did I?” I asked. I couldn’t remember the last time I had looked upset, even when I had felt it. I glanced back at the celebration now, where Rosalind was dancing with one of her nestmates, and Salem and Sive were having what appeared to be an intense conversation. Salem leaned close to whisper something to her, and she blushed so deeply I could see her cheeks redden from where we were.
At the same moment, Nicias exclaimed, “You’re hurt!”
I tried to hide my hand from him, but he caught my wrist. “It’s nothing; I cut myself.” I could not lie to him, would not, and so I did not want him to ask about it.
“I can tell that.” His voice sounded distant. “It looks like it stopped bleeding a while ago. The lines are almost gone. What happened, Hai?”
“I would rather not answer that,” I said, more curtly than I meant to.
Nicias closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before he answered, “I won’t force you to.” Still, he did not release my hand. I could feel the soft hum of his magic like a summer breeze. It sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the weather.
“Salem,” I began. “It was—stupid,” I said, changing my mind about telling Nicias what had happened in Gren’s house. None of those falcons would harm Salem, knowing what I would do. My gaze returned to the new serpiente king, who was dancing with his mate. Sive seemed to be trying to cajole Prentice into doing the same.
“I see the way you look at him,” Nicias said. “I assumed he was related to your recent distress. I don’t have nearly your control over sakkri, but I can almost see your visions when I reach for you,” he said. “They troubled me enough that I spoke to Salem. I would like to assign extra guards to him, but he is very much a cobra. He is confident in his followers’ loyalty and, like most of his line, believes a show of force will only breed trouble.” He sighed heavily. “And, if I understand sakkri, it is entirely possible that he is correct and will be perfectly safe until we overreact and put him in danger. Unless you have seen any details …”
I shook my head, my eyes still on the crowd. “I have seen his death, but that is all I see, not what leads to it.” Normally I would say that Nicias was right. Many futures that had been nearly impossible happened purely because of meddling that would not have occurred if there had been no prophecy. This, though, felt stronger. Softly, I added, “I’ve never considered myself loyal to the Cobriana, but I am not a traitor to them, either. If I knew how to protect him, I …” All my attention suddenly turned to Sive Shardae, who had just given up on trying to get Prentice to dance and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Hai?”
I turned back to Nicias, intending to reassure him that my moment of distraction had nothing to do with insincerity when a shout pierced the air.
“Then leave me alone!”
Nicias sprang to his feet, searching the crowd for the source, which I had already located. Sive had just shoved Prentice away and was glaring at him. Before I could try to convince Nicias that our presence wasn’t needed at a lovers’ quarrel, he started hurrying toward the argument. I followed, though it quickly became obvious even to Nicias that the cry had been born more of frustration than of fear.
Prentice moved after his pair bond, protesting. “Sive, please, I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what?” Sive demanded. “To insult me, slander me, and my family, and my loved ones, all at the same time?”
Prentice cringed. “I spoke poorly. You know that’s not—”
“Maybe it isn’t what you meant to say, but it is what you meant,” she argued. “Or maybe you would like to give some more specific details about how I’m acting ‘like a dancer’?”
“Can we please discuss this somewhere else?” he begged, stepping toward her and dropping his voice—as if it would matter when everyone around them had gone dead silent. It wasn’t every day that one had a chance to see a hawk in hysterics.
“Somewhere else?” Sive cooed. “Somewhere private? Are you sure it would be seemly for us to be alone together—especially given all the lewd serpiente habits I seem to have picked up? People might talk.”
I had seen criminals in front of the Empress’s mercy, yet in all my life, I had never seen a man’s face turn so gray.
“That … isn’t …”
Salem finally stepped forward. He touched his cousin’s arm, making her jump. “I’m sorry; this is my fault. Sive asked me—”
“Your fault?” Prentice growled, his voice dropping. “I suggest you stay out of this, snake. You’ve had your hands all over her all night, and I’ve had to stand by and listen to people tell me that’s ‘just how serpents behave.’ Maybe it’s—”
“Sive isn’t a child!” Salem shouted. “She is a woman, and she knows what she wants, so maybe—oh, never mind.” He shook his head. “Sive, I’m sorry.”
“Go away, Prentice,” Sive whispered. “Please, just … just go away.”
The raven hesitated, and anyone could see true anguish in his expression. Finally Prentice bowed his head. “As milady wishes.”
He changed form and disappeared into the sky. Sive turned and leaned against Salem for a moment.
“Let’s get you somewhere private,” Salem said softly. Then he turned to the crowd with a fiery glare, daring the nearest fool to look him in the eye. “There’s nothing to see. Go. There’s nothing worth watching here. Leave her alone.” Serpents turned away, not eager to incur the wrath of their new king by harassing the distraught hawk.
Nicias and I did as Salem wished, too, walking away from the chaos. This was a private matter, not one for guards, and clearly not one for me.
“What was that about?” Nicias asked.
“I suspect it was about Sive trying very hard to catch some less-than-brotherly attention from her alistair,” I said, recalling the moment earlier when Sive had reached for Prentice’s hand. “Perhaps following advice she had received from Salem.”
Nicias arched an eyebrow. “Considering the outrageous behavior serpiente consider casual, friendly contact, I’m certain I don’t want to know what advice a serpiente dancer would give a woman regarding how to entice her mate.”
“What advice would you have given her?” I wondered aloud.
r /> Nicias, avian-raised gentleman that he was, blushed. “That’s not the kind of conversation I am likely to have with the heir to the Tuuli Thea.”
“Which is probably why Sive went to a serpent. What avian would have answered her question?”
Nicias jumped, and only then did I realize that I had been reaching for him. “I’m going to try to speak to Salem about security again, if I can get a private moment with him,” he said, obviously trying to change the topic. “You should rest, if you can. I know how tired you are.”
When Nicias said he knew, he meant it. He must have felt my weakness the moment he had touched my hand earlier.
Instead of pulling back, I moved closer, made brazen by his concern and the passion of serpents still celebrating in the marketplace. I brushed my lips over his soft skin. “Come with me?”
Nicias hesitated, then shook his head. “I have—”
“A duty, I know,” I said. “I will still be here when you’ve done it.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, using just enough force to put me back at arm’s length. “If I really thought you wanted companionship, I would give it to you,” he said softly. “If I thought that you felt any form of desire for me, even if that was all, I would consider staying. But I’ve seen the way you go to men like Opal to hide from your pain. I’ve seen the way you treat him, and the way you let him treat you. I won’t be another man you use to help you find oblivion. I’m sorry.”
I crumpled as he turned away, and dropped my head in my hands.
It isn’t like that with you, I argued. It was never like that with you … if only you would listen, if only you would see … But Nicias had blocked me from his mind and did not hear my pleas.
I collapsed on the soft grass of the northern hills and watched him go to the new Diente’s side. Nicias and Salem spoke at length, and then Salem’s Naga pulled Nicias into the crowd, entreating him to dance.
I closed my eyes.
Nicias had a duty. It would be easier to turn the Mercy from the Empress than it would be to turn Nicias from his damned duty.
After Nicias left, I lay on the cool grass and closed my eyes, listening to the celebration from afar. Despite the serpents’ swirled, half-formed magic, my mind remained oddly free of the violent visions that had plagued me for the past forty-eight hours.
Whatever was to be done, I knew, was done. One way or another, the decision that would either accept Salem as king or kill him had been made, and now I could hear the serpiente celebrating. Rosalind and her mate had withdrawn to a secluded den, but the king’s people danced until dawn, when avian merchants began to emerge from their homes, determined not to be chased away by serpent festivities.
Perhaps, I thought, the world had shifted enough that this cobra was once again guarded by Ahnleh’s grace. Maybe my conversation with Nicias, and his with Salem, had been enough to save him. That hope almost made me forget what a fool I’d been with Nicias and the way he had looked walking away from me.
Hope finally brought with it hunger. Ravenous, I descended into the market. There I found Arqueete, who was far too happy to give me breakfast when I admitted to my appetite.
“She looked so pale, though, when she left,” I heard an avian man say as he passed me.
The person he had been speaking to answered, “It just doesn’t seem …”
The conversation drifted out of my hearing range, but the merchant filled me in on their gossip. “Sive stayed for much of the celebration last night,” Arqueete explained. “Apparently she looked upset when she went home.”
I could imagine she had, after the fight with Prentice.
“She is all right, I assume?” I asked, vaguely aware that a couple of avian women were standing near us, listening.
Arqueete shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since last night. She was pale, a little shaky, but she seemed to have calmed down from that argument.”
Pale and shaky, a hawk? The serpent described her condition in an unconcerned tone, but anyone who had spent time with avians knew how much it took for them to become visibly upset. Then again, it took a lot to make one start screaming in the marketplace, too.
Another serpent, the flautist Salokin, approached the stall, drawn by our conversation. “I understand Sive’s being upset. She just about threw herself at Prentice—an action I applaud, though her taste is questionable—and his response was less than enthusiastic. You should have heard what he said to her!” Salokin shook his head. “She’ll be fine, though. A pretty girl like that isn’t going to have any trouble finding someone else.”
“True,” the merchant answered. “Though, as for her taste …” She smirked. “Nah.”
The avian women nearby were discussing the event, too, and I moved slightly toward them to hear better. “I just hope no serpent took liberties with her,” one said. “I mean, she is still young, and very innocent, and even I know that serpiente have very different ideas of what’s appropriate. I just hope no one took advantage of her.”
“I think it would be good for her,” Salokin commented, apparently also having eavesdropped on the women’s conversation. “She’s not ten; she’s sixteen. A little fling never did a pretty girl harm.”
Scandalized, the avian woman returned, “It does plenty of harm, especially when a lady has a very valiant alistair!”
“Valiant? Prentice?” another serpent scoffed. “On the most romantic night of the year, she has the audacity to try to kiss her mate—oh, the scandal!—and he puts her down like a child and tells her she’s acting ‘like a common serpiente whore.’”
“He did not!” one of the avians exclaimed.
“Oh, I’m sure those weren’t his exact words,” Arqueete interjected. “Even if the bird knew words like that, he would sooner die than speak them around a lady. Though that was pretty much the gist of it.”
“You missed their earlier argument about Salem,” Salokin said. “The Diente had just sworn to his mate, and Prentice was standing there telling Sive to stop flirting with her cousin.”
“Only by marriage,” Arqueete added under her breath.
“You have to admit, they do flirt,” one of the avian ladies said softly. “If she was my daughter, I would have called her to task over it.”
“He’s a serpent, and a dancer,” one of the other avians said proudly, with her head held high. “Everyone knows that their form of friendly is simply forward. It doesn’t mean anything.”
As one of the two avian women cried, “Impossible!” I realized we had gathered quite a crowd.
“Stop this, stop it,” another serpent said, breaking into the conversation. “Salem might not mind dancers gossiping about his affairs, but obviously Sive has been discreet on her side of the court.”
Arqueete wasn’t quite ready to change the subject. Speculating, she said, not nearly softly enough, “No wonder the hawk was feeling desperate—Salem’s a mated man now.”
“Drop it,” the third serpent snapped as one of the avian women gasped at the implication. “He has a mate and she has an alistair, and I’m sure neither Rosalind nor Prentice wants to know that Sive and Salem were together last night for some kind of …” He looked up and, realizing his words were reaching more people than he had intended them to, fell silent.
Worried, I looked at the surrounding faces, but even those who looked shocked also appeared slightly amused. There must have been enough serpiente influence on the avians of Wyvern’s Court that they could feel scandalized without calling for blood. How progressive; Oliza would have been thrilled.
Then Salokin seemed to recall how the conversation had begun. “A woman isn’t usually that upset after spending hours with her lover, and if she was involved with Salem, a little insult from a flustered raven like Prentice isn’t likely to ruin her night.”
Salokin’s words caused an instant reaction, especially from the half dozen serpents who had come to Arqueete’s stall now that the afternoon had begun.
“I hope you aren’t implying—?
??
“I’m not implying anything,” Salokin squeaked.
One of the avian women cleared her throat. “I think the discussion is over.”
“I think someone should tell Prentice,” the other avian woman remarked. “He’ll forgive her, naturally.”
“I’m sure he already knows,” the first woman said.
My blood ran cold then, as suddenly I understood.
Nicias! I called out to him with all my magic and felt him respond.
I was immersed in another vision—only this time I knew I was witnessing the present, not some uncertain future.
Prentice was furious. He had seen how pale his pair bond had looked when she’d finally returned home from Salem’s coronation. She had refused to continue their earlier argument and had claimed that her pallor was from fatigue, that she had hardly slept since Oliza had made the announcement and the late-night festivities had been too much for her.
Then, the next morning, he had heard the rumors.
His heart was pounding with rage, but his face was composed as he stepped past the guards who were watching the serpent’s door.
“I need to speak to Salem,” he said.
Prentice sounded calm, and they knew he was Sive’s alistair. They probably assumed he was carrying some message from her. One of them knocked on Salem’s door.
The cobra was still sleeping, probably in the arms of his mate, but Prentice insisted that it was an emergency—that he needed to speak to Salem quickly, before it got later.
“What is going on here?” Nicias demanded, in my real world.
I gasped, trying to move toward him. He had obviously landed just outside the crowd, which had become nastier in the moments I had been away from it.
“Nicias! You’re one of Salem’s guards now; you should deal with this,” a serpiente merchant pleaded. “Sive was upset last night. Everyone knows that Salem has been flirting with her for months. They were alone together for part of last night—and this …” He spat a curse. “This pathetic excuse for a serpent dared suggest your king might have …” He struggled for words. “That she …”