Page 54 of City of Snakes
I motioned for him to read, skeptical of his altruistic-seeming intent. He pointed for me to sit down on the chaise. I obliged, crossing my ankles and resting my clasped hands in my lap. On the opposite side of the narrow room, he crouched and slid to rest on the ground against a bookshelf.
That somber, deep voice read the text for hours. Occasionally, he’d slip into Brennac instead of translating, and I’d have to ask him to stop and re-read. He glanced at me over the book to ensure I was still engaged.
I was.
But the tomes of legend and lore, full of revelations of my origins, were not what fascinated me. What fascinated me was a man devoted to stopping Death himself, one willing to marry me to keep me here for reasons I didn’t understand.
Chapter 18
Krait
As she entered the courtyard, Sybilla looked tired. Bags had formed under her eyes, and for the past few nights, she’d tossed in her sleep, unable to find comfort. Each night, I would return to my bedchamber to sleep on the cot only after she’d fallen asleep. It felt less intrusive, a way I could offer her some privacy in the evening.
Also, I feared being in the confines of that room awake with her. While Sybilla and I often egged each other on into fury, there was a part of that fury that I found intoxicating—a part that could meld so easily into physical passion. It was evident in the way her breath hitched, the way that even when we argued our bodies seemed to gravitate toward one another.
The weight of Elsedora’s judgment had begun to wear on me. Any time we were alone, she reminded me: “You need to tell Sybilla what the prophecy entails. Tell her how she plays a part.”
I imagined how that would sound. “An old book says we must have a child, and they’ll be the one to end Caym’s reign forgood.” She may throw actual daggers at me or, worse, whatever weapons she could spew from her mind.
I wasn’t ready.
Sybilla greeted me with a raised hand and no words.
“Good morning,” I murmured with sarcasm. My grip tightened on the thick leather bag of records we’d collected from those who wished to reenter Henosis.
We approached the Egress, and she cast a skeptical glance at the opening, her lips in a flat line. I offered her my free hand, which she took before stepping in beside me. “East Tower,” I directed.
The Egress pulled us from the Sahlms, and we descended into the tower that looked over the city of Laome. From my research of the new maps, the city sat in the coastal jungles of the East Corridor of Henosis.
We rounded many stairs to reach an awaiting carriage. Abundant greenery surrounded us, and sticky air filled my lungs. An unappealing nuisance of buzzing bugs circled overhead.
The neck of my formal red tunic already beginning to rub, I’d have done anything to get this over with quickly. I slung the bag containing the reentry requests into the carriage after helping Sybilla up.
This whole system was ridiculous.
Sybilla wore a blue heavy-wool gown with a ribbed corset tied tight—I imagined it was even less comfortable than my outfit. But the way it pushed up her breasts was overtly distracting.
“You should have El take you into the city to get something lighter than that,” I said.
“Mhm.”
She was quiet today. Had she taken a page out of my book with the short responses?
I wondered if apprehension about seeing the North King plagued her mind.
We took the carriage up the switchbacks of the dense jungle hills to reach the palace where King and Queen Nadiar resided. Vines cut up the great stone walls, and a swampy moat surrounded the squared structure. A drawbridge was lowered, and after crossing, we finally reached our destination.
King Landor and Queen Edia Nadiar sat side by side at the head of the dining hall table. Sybilla gave a deep curtsey.
“Thank you for hosting us in your home, King and Queen Nadiar,” she said and swatted at me to bow, which I did with a low growl. She’d briefed me on the rulers. The Nadiars had ruled the East Corridor together for twenty years and still favored formal, stiff courts.
“Welcome.” King Nadiar nodded for us to sit.
King Sheffield entered just after us, and instead of shaking Sybilla’s hand, he pulled her in for an embrace. “Queen Sybilla, looking as radiant as always. What’s this?” he asked, his thumb hovering over her healing cheek.
Sybilla answered too quickly, “Unfortunate archery incident—all is well. Here to tell the tale.” Sheffield was a seemingly good-natured, portly man with round cheeks and a grayed mustache that twisted up at the sides.
Sheffield’s gaze rested on the Luz-blue ribbon wrapped around her neck, but he nodded. Sybilla had told me that Sheffield, the South Corridor King, was her easiest alliance. Apparently, they’d bonded over their love of fine port and their hatred for her late father.
