Page 94 of City of Snakes
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After tossing for hours, I gave up on sleep.
I swiped a bottle of port and a chalice from the desk and padded out of the room. The ache in my hands and feet needed dulling.
I could push through...
The hallway was dark, but sconces lit the tile walls just enough to allow my vision to adjust. Umber House was much quieter at night than the Palace of Luz. Outside of a few guards, most staff here did not live in the residence and returned to the city at night. I wandered, poking my head into the drawing room, the kitchenette, the throne room.
I passed the door to the bell tower quarters. Surely it wouldn’t be easy to unlock.
I backtracked—testing the doorknob. Locked.
Surely Krait would be in here. “In the Shadows we trust.” At my whisper, the deadbolt clicked, and the door creaked open.
“Krait?” I called. No answer.
Curiosity won out, and I slipped inside the room.
There were so many candles.That was the first thing I noticed. I saw a spiral staircase to my right, which I assumed led up to the bell. Then my gaze landed on a platform to my left with hundreds of dancing flames around it. A fire-lit form hovered over me.
I jumped, spilling some wine from the chalice, before realizing the form was made of bronze.
Just a statue. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The craftsmanship captured every detail of her delicate hands, which reached out toward a crescent moon. Her hair was braided back at the crown and the rest hung loose over her shoulders, catching the non-existent wind.
Freya.
I recognized her face from the portrait in Krait’s library—also it so resembled Ryn’s.
A pang of grief settled in my chest. If she’d been anything like her brother, then the lands had lost a ruler worth mourning. A candle beside her foot had blown out, so I set down the bottle and picked up a candle to relight it.
“It’s no wonder you won the heart of such a surly asshole. You’re breathtaking,” I whispered to the woman in brass. There was a footstool that looked meant for kneeling. Groaning, I lowered myself onto it and straightened the cream-colored robe around my knees.
I tipped the chalice of port up toward Freya in silent acknowledgment before taking a drag. The flicker of candles held my attention. What would she have accomplished by now had she not been beheaded?
It was known that the last Princess of Phynx had fallen out of favor with her father just before the attack on their kingdom. Likely for some bullshit reason or another—that was always the way with royal men.
I didn’t know what compelled me to say, “My mother was beheaded too. I was there when they—”
This was the silliest fucking thing I’d ever done—talking to a dead woman as if the spirits cared about our living struggles.
I sighed and continued, “I was fourteen. I’ve never spoken of it. It seemed easier not to mourn her when everyone else was so angry with her. To show sympathy would have just turned their wrath toward me. It was rumored that she had committed adultery.”
I took another gulp of port; the drink meant to be sipped was being thoroughly chugged.
“I knew they were wrong.”
Freya seemed to gaze down on me, egging me on.
“The last words she ever said to me were ‘Don’t have children, Sybilla,’ which I obviously took as an insult. But then she said, ‘The world will only serve them disappointment.’ Funny, isn’t it?”
Even still, part of me longed for a palace full of laughter, full of love. Yet each time I had been presented with a suitable betrothal…I couldn’t go through with it.
“That’s the furthest thing from funny that I’ve ever heard,” a grave voice answered from the darkness behind me. Fucking Shadow traveler. My veins were so warm from the port that my reaction time was lacking—his presence hadn’t even startled me.
I huffed and set the chalice down on the ground before leaning back on my palms. “Why?” I challenged.
