Page 10 of Embrace the Serpent
Galen frowned. “Course not. It’d be suicide. The only thing protecting the Serpent Kingdom from being conquered is that no one can bloody pass through the wall. Why would the Serpent King ever leave? All the girls dreaming about him—idiots! Why would he come here for a bride? Think there are no women in all the lands he’d have to cross to get here?”
“That’s unlikely,” I say.
He thought for a long moment. “We’ll show them, won’t we, Saphira?”
“Sure, Galen.”
“The gods sent you to me, you know.” He patted my cheek. His hand was sticky and smelled terrible. “We’ll show ’em. We’ll show Vyalis....”
He fell asleep propped up against the wall of his storefront. Grimney hoisted him up and took him upstairs, to bed.
I followed. Galen’s snores soon came from his bedroom. I kept climbing, until I reached the third floor, the attic, which was all mine.
It was true, what I’d said to Rane.
I escaped the Rose Palace when I was eight, and for a time, I lived on the streets. I was by then an advanced student of hiding and wandered the capital city.
Gem Lane attracted me; the wide flagstones stayed warm late into the night, the back alley bins were filled with sweetmeats and pastries that were only a little stale, and most of all, the people that came to the workshops almost always left happy. I got curious about what put the happiness on those faces. The workshops were well guarded, save for the shabbiest one at the end of the lane, where jewelsmiths began their careers, either earning a place on Gem Lane or, if unable to make their name, were sent to the Imperial Army to become one of the unglamorous jewelsmiths who churned out masses of obsidian-studded hilts for swords that would never lose a sharp edge and lodestone-studded shields that would draw arrows and blades away from a soldier’s body.
It was about the same time that Galen’s fortunes had changed. Galen had been a handsome youngish playboy with a choice job as one of the apprentices to Master Vyalis, the Emperor’s favored jewelsmith. But, for a reason I didn’t know, Master Vyalis kicked him out, and Galen had to rent time at the shabbiest workshop at the end of the lane, like a first-year apprentice.
Inside, the workshop had a central forge—shared by apprentices who came to heat bricks and melt metals—and three floors of rooms. Most rooms were all action: apprentice jewelsmiths running in and out, sweeping and tidying, shining tools and separating metalscrapings from wax. It was hard for me to hide in those for long.
But one room was different.
As Galen snored on a bedroll tucked in one corner of the room, I snuck down from the rafters and, on silent feet, went to his workbench. Upon the table was a single jewel, a glinting green one as big as my thumbnail. The jewel was cut, but not yet polished; through the dusty facets I felt a tendril of power. It was unlike my mother’s ring. This was like tearing a leaf in two and breathing in the green of growing things. And as I gazed on it, a pattern rose in my mind, of curling vines and an eight-braided loop.
Unlike the other jewelsmiths, Galen could be counted on to leave his work unattended. I was a silent witness as Galen trapped that green jewel in a horrible cage of gold, so unlike what it wanted. Over the next several weeks, whenever he wasn’t distracted by a woman in his bed, he casually committed the same travesty on three other jewels. It was strange. I hadn’t gotten angry in a long time. But then, I could’ve killed him.
And then, one night, he wept. The sweet-smoky smell of drink clung to his clothes. He tore his hair, he flung his tools. He clasped his hands together and knelt, and he begged.Please. This can’t be it, not for me. Please. Let me become great.
He blubbered like nothing I’d seen. Not like a child—I was a child myself, and I didn’t cry like that. I took pity on him. Once he’d cried himself to sleep, I crept down and left him sketches of what I saw when I gazed upon those jewels.
When he woke and saw them, he cried again. He thanked the gods. He didn’t yet know to thank me.
3
The prim courier bowed, clicked his heels, and announced, “Master Galen. Your presence is humbly requested at the Rose Palace, tonight at sundown. Mirandel of the Rose wishes to commission a piece at once.”
Galen took the offered invitation with breezy calm. “Oh yes, wonderful. I was expecting this.” He dropped a coin in the courier’s hand, who made it vanish with the style of a true high-class servant.
I shut the door. Through the frosted glass, the courier stepped up onto a slim one-person city carriage emblazoned with the crest of the Rose Palace.
Galen whooped. He latched on to my elbows and spun us around. “We’ve done it, Saphira! The Rose Palace! Do you know what this means?”
The showroom whooshed by, and my stomach tried to go with it. “Er.” I thought about it. Lady Incarnadine had access to the treasury, and all great jewels went first to her. “We can work with rarer jewels?”
“Rarer—what?” He stopped spinning. “No. This is it. The crack in Master Vyalis’s dominion. Mirandel isn’t just one of the Chosen—she’s Lady Incarnadine’s favorite. The rest will follow suit in duetime, I’m sure of it. Finally!”
“Um,” I said. “Yay.” Galen’s ambitions were like a vague stench on the breeze; unpleasant but easy enough to ignore if one shut the windows.
Galen paced. “I’ll wear my blue suit—no, no, the violet. Saphira, you’ll wear the livery.”
Until that second, I hadn’t realized I would be going too. “I don’t—I’m not invited.” Unease built in my stomach. The pale pink stone walls of the Rose Palace... the great iron doors... my nose thick with incense smoke, salt water on my lips—
“But you are,” he said. “Right here.” He pointed to a line in sharp script, which read
Do bring an attendant or two, Master Galen. Master Vyalis typically brings his three favorite apprentices.
