Serpent's Crown (Snakesblood Saga Book 5) Read online

  Kytenia turned toward the seated magelings. “Your class must be rescheduled,” she called. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but this cannot wait.”

  Before she'd finished the last word, the magelings rose and gathered their things in a hurry.

  The aggrieved Master sighed, but bowed toward Vahn and Kytenia, then shuffled toward the main aisle.

  “Oh!” Kytenia hurried after him and pulled the rolled paper from her pocket. “Please see that this is delivered to the head of your admissions office, as well.”

  The man's shoulders sagged more, but he took the paper and muttered an agreement.

  Vahn raised a brow when she returned to his side. “What was that for?” he asked in a whisper.

  She did her best to look cheerful. “So he doesn't come back.”

  A soft, humorless laugh escaped him.

  Unsettled by the sound, Kytenia turned toward the doorway and waited, heavy thoughts of free magic on her mind.

  4

  Secrets to keep

  Arrick Ortath, Archmage and Headmaster of the Grand College of Lore, smoothed his white sleeves as he hurried into the auditorium.

  The Grand College was a school, first and foremost, and while his private offices were acceptable for hosting honored guests, there were no parlors in which said guests could wait. He'd considered commissioning the addition of parlors more than once, but the college's coffers were not as deep as they once had been. He tried not to let it bother him. The first time he'd received visitors from Elenhiise, he'd met them in the auditorium as well. If nothing else, at least it was consistent.

  “Welcome,” Arrick called in greeting. He slowed to catch his breath, hoping his accent wasn't too thick. The alliance with Kirban Temple had required most of the college's Masters—himself included—to learn a new language. Likewise, Kirban's Masters and monarchs had agreed to learn the trade tongue commonly spoken in the Triad, but it would have been presumptuous to greet visitors in his own language. Especially when one of them was a king.

  “You look well, Archmage Arrick.” Kytenia Silaron was Archmage of Kirban, though with her eyes still hazel and her hair only just beginning to turn white at the temples, Arrick thought her too young for the part. He wasn't foolish enough to say it out loud, though.

  Arrick inclined his head in a gracious response before he dipped in a bow to King Vahnil. “As do both of you, Archmage, Majesty, given the circumstances. My steward told me little about the purpose of your visit, but it was enough to divine it isn't for pleasure.”

  “Would that it were.” Vahn, too, appeared too young to be king—at least, to Arrick's eyes. The Eldani aged slowly compared to the humans, and the old blood was rich on Elenhiise. The king had matured since their first meeting, but his face was still boyish and his figure slim. His blue eyes—natural blue, not the sharp blue of mages—normally had a snapping, mischievous light in them, but today they were somber. It made him seem older, somehow.

  “We have need of mages,” Kytenia said, her gaze traveling around the auditorium. Her posture was stiff and wary, and she kept her voice low, as if she feared being overheard by the wrong person.

  Arrick frowned. The number of mages residing in the Grand College had dwindled until the place no longer justified its pretentious name. His ranks paled in comparison to the number of students in Kirban. Why would they come to him instead of relying on Kytenia's own mages at the temple?

  “Not your mages,” Vahn added, guessing his thoughts. “The Aldaanan mages. Can you help us contact them?”

  The Aldaanan? Arrick's frown deepened and he gave his head a twitch. “Why would you need the mages of Aldaan?”

  “They have power we do not,” Kytenia didn't even try to soften her words. “We face an emergency in Elenhiise that will require such power.”

  Surely she wasn't suggesting that they were fighting a free mage. If that were the case, it was no wonder they hadn't tried to count on Kirban. Arrick had seen what free mages could do, though not firsthand. The college's ranks had been decimated by a single free mage during the civil war some six pents before. Until now, he'd thought it a relief that the civil war had also been the last time the Aldaanan were seen.

  “Walk with me,” Arrick said softly.

  They fell in step alongside him, one on either side. He hadn't realized until that moment that the king brought no entourage. That he felt so safe in the Grand College should have made Arrick swell with pride. Instead, it made his stomach turn.

  “What you ask may well be impossible,” Arrick began, keeping his voice low. “After Tolmarni's War, we spent a great deal of time and energy trying to make amends with the Aldaanan mages. Despite our efforts, it's never come to fruition.”

  “They won't have peace?” Vahn asked.

  “We can't find them,” Arrick replied. “They vanished after the war. We found traces of their travels. Villages where people had seen them pass through. Places where works of great magic had been done. But it became something like chasing ghosts.”

  “I don't understand,” Kytenia said. “Where would they have gone?”

  “I couldn't say. As you may know, during Tolmarni's War, the Royal City sent an army led by Captain Garam Kaith to strike against the college mages. According to Kaith, the Aldaanan never intended to abandon their capital city. They sought refuge for their families and intended to return to Aldaeon after things settled. But they never did.”

  Vahn made a small sound of displeasure. “Do you think they're in hiding?”

  Arrick shrugged. “If they are, it's nowhere the Grand College or its allies have sway.”

  None of them said any more until they reached their destination. The office he'd chosen was not where he regularly held audiences. It was reserved for his private study. A small room, too cramped and informal for receiving guests of such stature, but the slow, mindful way they both spoke made it clear they'd be more comfortable in private. Arrick only hoped they would be more forthcoming, as well.

  As he expected, Kytenia lifted a hand and spun a ward against eavesdropping the moment the door was closed.

  “If my mages are able to assist you, I am happy to offer them.” Arrick moved a pile of books from the low couch against the wall and gestured for them to seat themselves.

  “Your mages and mine are both at a disadvantage in the situation we face.” Kytenia sat primly on the edge of the couch. Vahn remained standing.

  “My daughter was taken this morning.” The king's eyes hardened until they glinted like cut gems. “Stolen from her quarters by a mage outside the bonds of affinity. Her nursemaid—a mage herself, mind you—was overpowered and killed.”

  “Brant's roots,” Arrick murmured, dropping into a chair. Papers crunched beneath him, forgotten. “You don't think the Aldaanan are—”

  “I am sure they are not involved,” Kytenia said before he could finish. “But you see how without their assistance, we won't be able to do anything. A single free mage on our side, however, will give us the strength we need to face our opponent and bring Princess Lumia home.”

  That hardly made sense. A single free mage wouldn't be enough to overpower another unless one was inexperienced. No, he told himself, rubbing his chin to hide his frown. A free mage needs only serve as an access point. If Kytenia's mages were skilled and powerful enough, they could link and draw endless power through a free mage to augment their own strength. A single mage tapping a free mage's Gift would burn themselves to cinders, but a group of mages with their power tied together could handle the load. If the group were large enough, it could mimic the force of the finest Aldaanan mages.

  “Surely you know of someone who can help us.” A strange note of suggestion tinged Vahn's tone.

  Arrick's skin prickled and suddenly, he understood. There was someone, and both he and the young king knew who. “Perhaps,” the Archmage said slowly. “There is one...”

  Confused, Kytenia glanced between them. “I thought you said the Aldaanan mages were gone?”


  “They are,” Arrick said. “But there is a mage, one in servitude to King Vicamros, who may—”

  “Then see he is summoned.” Vahn drew an envelope from his pocket, a dark square sealed with blue wax. He pressed it into Arrick's hand, his already hard eyes growing steely. “Present that to the king and I am sure you will have no trouble.”

  Arrick's mouth worked a while before he formed words. “Yes, Majesty. I will see it delivered at once.”

  Vahn nodded and turned toward the door. He motioned for Kytenia to follow. “Thank you, Archmage. We shall leave this matter in your capable hands.”

  Turning the envelope in his hand as the pair vanished through the doorway, Arrick stared after them with a growing sense of dread.

  He did not need to read the letter to know it held the beginning of the greatest turmoil since Tolmarni's War.

  Had they been anywhere but the Grand College, Kytenia might have worried about walking alone. Vahn's insistence that they go without a guard escort unsettled her, but she knew she was in no position to argue with the king. She had no doubt he would have gone without her if she'd objected.

  She watched him from the corner of her eye as they walked. Part of her had assumed he would be calmer after this meeting was over. He wasn't; instead, he moved with a long stride, his face stony. His booted steps echoed in the empty hall, crisp and commanding, a sign of the inner turmoil he had to be facing. His cold exterior made her heart sink. When she'd given him up to help her best friend, she’d never imagined he would someday fit his role as king.

  She sensed other mages around them, but they skirted the hallway and kept out of sight. The Grand College kept odd rules, like expecting magelings to stay out of the way. No doubt they were intimidated by the feeling of her power. She wasn't as strong as Nondar had been, and nowhere near as powerful as the first Archmage of Kirban Temple, but she held enough might to deserve the title of Archmage.

  “What was in that letter?” she asked, her eyes trained on the end of the hallway. The hall spilled out into the auditorium the college mages used for Gating, still empty after their disruption of the morning's lesson. Part of her felt bad for having interrupted a lecture, but their choice to use the lecture hall for Gates was not her fault.

  “A message for their king.” Even his voice was cold.

  Kytenia raised a brow. She'd assumed that much when he'd ordered the Archmage to deliver it. “You expected Arrick wouldn't be able to help us?”

  “I was uncertain, but I feared as much. Firal and I do a great deal of business with the Triad. We hear things now and then.” He frowned. “I had two letters prepared. Just in case the rumors we'd heard about the Aldaanan mages were wrong.”

  She eyed him again, fighting a rising wave of concern. She didn't expect him to spill secrets, even if she was Kirban's Archmage, second in power after the crown. But knowing the Aldaanan were gone, knowing there was another option, being prepared to seek both—it showed the complicated workings of politics, a shadowed world of half-truths she never thought Vahn would be comfortable in. She'd always thought him honest.

  “How did you know there was someone else?” She struggled to keep it from sounding accusatory, but he still grimaced.

  “As I said,” he murmured, “I've heard things. I am not positive this will get us anywhere, but it's better than nothing. The island is vital to the Triad now. If the mage I've heard about really exists, Vicamros won't refuse to aid us. Judging by Arrick's response, he does.”

  Kytenia nodded. Striking up an alliance with the Triad was one of the greatest decisions Firal could have made at the beginning of her rule. The connection between the Grand College and the temple allowed the installation of permanent Gates, which created an advantage no one else had. Instead of a waypoint for small trade and resupply between the northern and southern continents, Elenhiise became the sole gateway to trade. Ships need sail only half as far, and traverse just the southern seas to offload at the island for goods to be transported by Gate to and from the north. The extra cost of the taxes levied was easily outweighed by the value of time saved, meaning there was more trade than ever, and all of it trickled money into Ilmenhith's coffers. The island had never been richer, and now the Triad controlled nearly all trade in the north.

  All the more reason for someone to seek a way to dig into their wealth.

  “How do we know she won't demand ransom, Vahn?” Kytenia asked quietly as they passed into the auditorium. It was empty, save a single Master, who jumped to her feet and hurried to fetch the others needed for a Gate.

  Vahn watched the Master vanish around a corner and sighed. “She once had the opportunity to be queen. She threw it away to pursue her cause. There won't be a ransom.”

  “Then why take a child?”

  Vahn snorted. “You're the Archmage, Kytenia. You should know more about what she wants than I do.”

  She shivered. She knew more about the former Archmage's ambitions than she wanted, and she did see one connection. Lumia's Gift was special, something never recorded in the history of the temple. A natural-born free mage, an asset like no other. But she was only a child. Her Gift had not yet come to fruition, unusable and undetectable, save through the way it slowed her aging. Unless Envesi knew how to set it free. Another chill rolled through her and Kytenia rubbed her arms.

  “Vahn,” she murmured. “Will one mage be enough?”

  The Master returned with a cluster of mages at her heels. They formed a practiced semicircle and the air hummed with energy as they began to open a Gate.

  Vahn gave her a searching look, his face grim. “If they send the one I've asked for, one will be plenty.”

  The Gate opened, and he stepped through.

  5

  Home

  No matter how he shifted, Garam couldn't make himself comfortable. In years past, he wouldn't have noticed the carriage rocking and jolting as it lurched up hills and bumped back down them. The seats were padded enough they wouldn't leave bruises, but he'd be sore when the ride was over. One more sign he was getting old.

  He didn't travel often anymore. Everything he needed was in the Royal City. His home, his family, the Spiral Palace where he offered service as part of the king's council. His friends were kind enough to visit his estate instead of expecting he'd come to them. Under normal circumstances, he was content with that. This time, he couldn't afford to wait.

  The ride grew smoother as the carriage turned onto a narrow avenue lined by trees dressed in rich early summer foliage. Sweet fragrances from manicured flower beds drifted on the breeze, accompanied by birdsong. If not for the protests of his aching body, Garam thought the peace might lull him to sleep.

  The carriage slowed to a halt in the circle before the manor house and the driver called soft reassurances to his horses. The footman offered his arm when he opened the door, but Garam waved him away. Instead he took his cane from the floor, eased himself out of the carriage, and pressed a hand to his back as he stood.

  There had been a time when Garam Kaith was powerful, both in appearance and political position. The Captain of the Royal City Guard, tall and broad-shouldered, dark-skinned and stony-faced, with his black hair and beard shorn close and kept perfectly edged. Now he felt a shell of that man. He walked stooped with a cane, his hair and beard white, his muscles soft and the skin of his face slackened with age.

  “Do you need a hand to the door, Lord Kaith?” the footman asked.

  Garam snorted and waved him away. “Leave a man a little pride. You just worry about the horses. There's a stable and yard around back. Park the carriage there, tend the horses and wait for me.”

  The footman nodded and clambered onto the driver's seat for the short ride. Garam paid them no mind. The brass-capped end of his cane clicked against the cobbles of the walkway that led to the front doors, the bright sound a pleasant addition to the cheery birdsong.

  The house was grand, two and a half stories high and hidden away in a garden surrounded by a grove of tr
ees. Most of the land holdings were leased to nearby farmers. Only the wooded part in the middle of the property was fenced and private. It was all they needed, Garam supposed. Two curved steps led him to a pair of ornately carved doors with dark iron fittings, and he shifted his cane to his left hand so he could knock.

  A moment passed before one of the doors creaked open and a round, boyish face peeked out. The youth peered at Garam and blinked. Then he grinned and threw the door wide. “Lord Kaith! You're not who I expected.”

  Garam chuckled and lurched up the last step as the boy motioned him into the house. “Sorry to disappoint you. I take it your brother's not in yet?”

  Rhyllyn flashed him a smile and pushed the door closed behind them. “No, but he should be here soon.”

  The young man was an oddity, though no stranger than the owner of the estate. Twisted by uncontrollable magic, Rhyllyn sported drab olive scales on his arms and legs below the elbow and knee, as well as claws on his four-fingered hands and three-toed, too-reptilian feet. His bright blue eyes were slitted in the center, like those of a cat or a venomous snake, but the rest of him was human enough. He had mousy brown hair and a pleasant smile, which was really all he had in his favor, trapped in the middle of awkward teenage years as he was. Strange to think the boy had grown so little in the thirty years Garam had known him.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?” Rhyllyn started toward the doorway between the grand, sweeping staircases in the foyer. The youth didn't live there all the time. Instead, he bounced between the estate and the chapter house of mages stationed in Roberian's capital. If he was at the estate, his mentor likely was, too.

  “No, thank you. Is Alira present?” Garam took a step toward the parlor. The clack of his cane echoed loudly around them and he paused, glancing down at the fine parquet flooring and the brass tip on his cane. He put it down more carefully with the next stride.