The Fanged Crown Read online

  “Queen Anais,” she said promptly.

  “What does Queen Anais want with ancient magic?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Speculate,” Boult ordered brusquely.

  “The Torque is very powerful,” Liel said. “The queen wants the Torque.”

  “What Torque?” Harp asked.

  Liel’s coppery skin grew pale. “Torque?”

  “You didn’t mention that last night,” Harp said.

  “Didn’t I?”

  “What did Cardew say about a torque?” Harp asked.

  Boult piped up before Liel answered. “Liel, Harp got a nasty sting from some bastard flower. Do you think you could heal him?”

  “It’s nothing,” Harp said, annoyed that Boult had distracted Liel from answering his question.

  “When we go to the ruins, we should be as strong as possible. What do you think, Liel?”

  “I think he’ll heal on his own,” Liel murmured, looking at the ground.

  “So, what about the cups?” Boult asked.

  “What cups?”

  “And the food on the plates?” Boult continued.

  “Stop asking me questions,” Liel said in a low, tense voice. For the first time in the conversation, there was an unmasked warning in her tone. But that didn’t stop Boult. From the smirk on the dwarf’s face, Harp knew that getting a rise out of her was what Boult had wanted all along.

  “Have you even been in the dining hall? Cardew left almost a tenday ago. I’d think you might have cleared out the rotting meat before the maggots moved in. Except you’re the maggot, aren’t you?”

  “Boult!” Harp said.

  “And no one used the portal spell, Liel. I found it in the house.”

  “Give it to me,” she ordered, glaring at the dwarf.

  “Why don’t you use some magic and take it from me?” Boult taunted. He would have expected Harp to snap at that, but instead Harp seemed to taking a closer look at the slender elf sitting next to him, her body rigid with tension and her hands clenched into fists as they rested on her knees.

  “Harp, she isn’t the Liel that you knew,” Boult said.

  “And you’re going to listen to him, Amhar, the Killer of Children?” she said, turning her head sideways to address Harp. As her gaze drilled into him, he felt a chill go up his spine. She’d spoken in such a placid tone that it took a moment for the implication of her words to hit him. When it did, Harp leaped to his feet and backed away from her as if she’d spoken with the hiss of a forked tongue. Boult’s face darkened, and he looked at the elf with pure hatred.

  “He’s been deceiving you all those years, Harp,” Liel continued in that flat voice. “If he’s innocent, why didn’t he tell you who he was? He’s in league with Queen Anais. They killed all those children to secure her power. There is no one to challenge her anymore. And once she gets her hands on the Torque, there will be no one to stop her.”

  “I don’t even need to ask the question, but reassure me,” Boult asked. “Did you tell her about my past, Harp?”

  “I did not,” Harp said quietly. He had felt beaten when he woke up that morning, but suddenly it felt like his body was being crushed under a heavy weight.

  “Why the head games, Liel?” Boult demanded. “Why torture Harp with guilt?”

  “You’ve kept your freedom so far, Amhar. But you’ll die a miserable death at the Vankila Slab, the way you already should have died.”

  “If you know Vankila, then you knew where I was all along,” Harp said taking a ragged breath. “Did you know what they did to me at Vankila at the request of your husband? Did you know?”

  Liel started to run, but Boult launched himself at her. He tackled her, knocking her off the log and onto the ground. He tried to pin her down with his body, but she slammed the palm of her hand into his face. He managed to turn his head just in time to avoid a broken nose, but when his weight shifted, she twisted out from under him. She tried to scramble to her feet, but Boult lunged at her again, pinning her down. Liel struggled ferociously, but the dwarf outweighed her, and he managed to catch her arms and hold them.

  “Harp!” Boult said, straining with the effort of keeping Liel’s long limbs in check. “Grab her!”

  Awoken by the sound of shouting, Kitto and Verran appeared on the porch, looking sleepy and confused. The boys stared wide-eyed when they saw Boult tussling with the elf while Harp looked on passively, as if he didn’t care about the scene that was playing out in front of him.

  “Don’t leave the trees!” Boult yelled to the boys.

  Before anyone could respond, there was a harsh, guttural noise from outside the compound and movement above the wall. Harp saw a silhouette framed against the blue sky as something leaped over the barrier and landed on the ground in front of the gate. The creature had a humanoid body covered in green and brown scales and the elongated head of a snake. Leather armor covered its muscled chest, and it held a jeweled sword in its clawed hand. A twist of gold shimmered around each of its ankles.

  The yuan-ti—serpentfolk of Chult. A forked tongue flicked in and out of its wide mouth. The creature crouched down and swayed back and forth as it scoped the inside of the compound. With its red eyes focused on the cluster of people in front of the hut, it bared its long fangs and hissed loudly in an unfamiliar language. Liel and Boult were still wrestling on the ground, but Harp felt too exhausted by Liel’s treachery to move. It was as if he had grown roots, and even the imminent threat of an enemy attack couldn’t incite him to action.

  “Help me,” Boult demanded angrily. Verran hurried down from the porch while Kitto dashed inside the hut to retrieve the sword that Harp had taken from the armory. Before Verran reached Boult, the compound’s gate began rattling as if it were being battered by a strong gale. The hinges creaked, and horizontal cracks branched across the door like lightning flashing across a stormy sky. The wood groaned. The planks snapped in half and fell to the mud.

  When the dust cleared, more yuan-ti wearing leather armor and golden bands around their ankles stood in the wreckage. Behind them, three massive warriors crossed through the remains of the gate and entered the courtyard. Although they had human arms, these warriors were more snake than human and three times the size of a man. The warriors slithered on long, serpentine bodies around the wooden fragments of the door. Their dark scales glistened in the light, and their cloudy blue eyes protruded from their diamond-shaped skulls. Two carried long swords and wore plates of banded mail on their chests. The third gripped a jeweled metal staff and wore a row of glass vials and metal spikes looped across his chest.

  “Take your sword!” Kitto urged, pushing the hilt into Harp’s hand. Harp took it, but he let it hang loosely in his hand, the tip dragging in the dirt.

  “Why aren’t they attacking?” Verran cried. He tried to help Boult pin Liel’s arms, but she struggled with renewed energy. The yuan-ti stopped when they reached the edge of the grove, prowling just outside the trees and talking in a mixture of hissing and clicking sounds.

  “Someone cast a ward of protection,” Boult said, shoving his knee into Liel’s stomach just below her rib cage. She coughed at the impact and stopped fighting as she gasped for breath. “Look at the marks on the trees.”

  “Who did it?” Verran asked.

  “It’s Dwarven. That’s all I know. But as long as we stay inside the circle of protection, they can’t come into the grove.”

  “We’re just going to sit and wait?” Verran cried. “I don’t like that plan.”

  “We sit here until Harp gets his head together,” Boult said. “Get your head together, Harp. Now!”

  “Please, let me go,” Liel cried. She was shaking from exertion. “You don’t know what they’ll do.”

  “They’re your friends,” Boult growled, pressing his knee harder into her chest until Liel gasped in pain. “You told them we were here.”

  “No!” Liel protested, pushing ineffectually against the dwarf’s leg. Boult lifted the pressure s
lightly so she could talk. “I hate the yuan-ti. They’re monsters.”

  “Who’s your patron?” Boult demanded. “And stop blaming the poor queen.”

  The yuan-ti left the edge of the grove and turned their attention to the common building. One of the smaller creatures jumped onto the roof and tried to light the straw with his flint and steel. But the straw was wet from the rainstorm the night before, and the sparks didn’t catch right away. Another creature leaped up onto the house and dumped oil from a waterskin onto the roof.

  “They’re going to burn us out,” Verran said. “Will that work?”

  “How should I know?” Boult said crossly, yanking Liel to her feet. A small flame flickered on one side of the roof, but with the oil soaking into the straw, the entire roof would burn soon. While Boult was distracted by the yuan-ti, Liel jerked away from him. Harp saw her slip a dagger from a sheath under her arm and thrust it at Boult. Knowing the dwarf might kill Liel for such an assault, Harp tried stop her, but the dagger sliced into his forearm. The blade split his skin just below the wrist, and Harp felt the warm blood soak down the sleeve of his shirt to his elbow.

  When he saw the dagger clutched in the elf’s hand and blood running down Harp’s arm, Boult lunged for Liel. Harp stepped between them and blocked the dwarf with his shoulder. The impact of the dwarf’s weight sent Harp sprawling backward into Liel, and the two of them tumbled down the embankment into the main grounds of the compound.

  When Harp and Liel rolled past the line of trees at the edge of the grove, Boult spun to check the trunk of the goldenfruit tree. Just as he feared, the runes were disappearing. The scorch marks faded from black to gray and then vanished, leaving no trace on the trunk. The ring of protection was broken.

  At the bottom of the embankment, Liel landed on top of Harp, straddling him with her hands pressed against his bloody shirt. He stared up at her, waiting to see what she would do. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the yuan-ti had left the smoldering common building and were closing on them quickly.

  “Who are you?” he asked staring up into her sea green eyes.

  “Not who you want me to be,” she whispered. She climbed off him and ran through the broken gate. Barely glancing at the elf as she disappeared into the jungle, the largest serpent warrior put his sword against Harp’s throat. Harp remained prone on the ground, not bothering to lift his hands to defend himself. The warrior pressed his sword closer and hissed some garbled syllables at the crewmates standing at the top of the embankment. His meaning was clear even if his words were not: Drop your weapons, or your friend gets gutted.

  “We’ll make it,” Kitto murmured to Boult and Verran as they threw down their swords.

  “Really?” Boult said, as the yuan-ti dragged Harp to his feet and tied his hands. “Because if I had to imagine what ‘the end’ would look like, it might look a lot like our situation.”

  As they were being tied and gagged, the three crewmates watched their captain for a signal. But Harp did nothing. He’d found Liel and lost her in less than a day. It didn’t matter where they took him. He just didn’t care anymore.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  2 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

  (1479 DR)

  Kinnard Keep, Tethyr

  The path to Evonne’s grave was well tended. The gravel was freshly raked and the grass along the edges neatly trimmed and leveled. As requested, the gardener had planted stands of red and gold flowers—Evonne’s favorite colors—along the path. It was a steep climb to the wooded grove at the top of the hill, and Tresco paused halfway up to rest. From that height, he could see the crashing waves of the ocean in the distance.

  “Where is Cardew?” Ysabel asked, as she waited beside Tresco. It was windy, and Ysabel’s hair was escaping from the sky blue cloth that she had used to tie back her hair.

  “He rode into town on business,” Tresco replied. “He’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  “Thank you for taking me,” Ysabel said as they continued up the hill. “It’s been too long since I’ve visited my mother’s grave.”

  “Of course,” Tresco said. When Ysabel became his ward after the massacre, Tresco ordered the guards not to let the child go anywhere unattended. There were many would-be assassins and many who would pay good coin for the head of the daughter of Evonne Linden. Technically, Evonne’s grave was on Tresco’s estate, but it bordered land owned by House Lahame, a viciously royalist family. Because of their proximity, Tresco refused to let Ysabel travel to the gravesite without him. While Tresco always made it a point to visit Evonne’s memorial on his rare visits to the estate, he didn’t usually bring Ysabel with him. He liked to be alone with Evonne, after all.

  “How was the sanatorium?” Ysabel asked. “Did you have any interesting patients?”

  “Not my past visit,” Tresco said regretfully as they crested the hill and crossed under the wooden arch that marked the entrance of the memorial garden. “I think the usefulness of that arrangement is coming to an end.”

  A year after Evonne’s death, Tresco suggested that Ysabel design her mother’s memorial. When she came to him with the plans, he was taken aback at the scope of the little girl’s vision. But Evonne had left the girl a substantial amount of coin, which Tresco was happy to spend. Ysabel requested a life-size marble statue of Evonne, her hair loose on her shoulders and wearing a flowing gown like a goddess. The statue stood on top of a marble ossuary where Evonne’s bones were entombed. A hexagon-shaped reflecting pool lay at the foot of the tomb. A master stonemason crafted a red and indigo mosaic of a leviathan curled in a spiral on the bottom of the pool. When the wind rippled the waves, it looked as if the leviathan was swimming in circles along the floor.

  “You seem distracted, Uncle,” Ysabel said. “Is something wrong?”

  Tresco sighed. Ysabel was a bright girl, but for her safety, he’d kept her innocent about the complexities of not only court politics, but the natural hierarchy of power in and out of Tethyr. Given she was of age to marry, he wondered if he had done her a disfavor by sheltering her from the world.

  “Do you know of Avalor, Treespeaker of the Wealdath?” Tresco asked.

  “The filthy elf who sits at Anais’s knee and laps up her scraps?” Ysabel asked.

  “Yes,” Tresco said. “I’ve had word that he hired a mercenary to investigate the colony in Chult.”

  “Why would he do that?” Ysabel asked.

  “Because he doesn’t know his place,” Tresco said darkly. “Evonne would have done something about it, if only she’d had the chance.”

  “What about my mother’s supporters?” Liel asked. “Why aren’t they doing something?”

  “You’ve heard of the battle of Ebenspy Keep, of course. Many of your parent’s closest followers died in that assault. But the Branch of Linden still grows. You may yet see the Tethyr that your mother worked so hard to achieve.” A silence fell over them as they stood beside the grave.

  “May I ask you a question, Uncle?” Ysabel asked.

  “You may,” Tresco replied.

  “Why were you annoyed with Cardew last night at dinner?”

  “You’re very observant. I was annoyed with him. He failed me in a business venture.”

  “A business venture with the colony?”

  “Of course not,” Tresco said testily. “That was Anais’s enterprise. It was another matter entirely. But I am a forgiving man, and I’ll give him another chance to prove himself.”

  “That is kind of you,” Ysabel agreed.

  “Despite Cardew’s shortcomings, he would make an adequate husband for you.”

  “It’s not too soon since his wife died?” Ysabel asked.

  “No, it’s been almost a year. He’s free to marry. And the sooner the better I say.”

  “You know best, Uncle. I know my mother would have trusted your instincts.”

  “Your mother was a brilliant woman,” Tresco said, warming up to the conversation. Ysabel had heard him say those thin
gs before, but he liked talking about Evonne. “Before I met her, I never put much stock in the intelligence of women. So easily distracted. But Evonne was unique.”

  “How so?”

  “She had a keen eye for politics. And for people. She surrounded herself with only the finest men. She had natural talent, as well.”

  “In magic?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t thinking about magic, but yes, she dabbled in spells now and then. She was always at her books, and I think she learned a great deal simply by force of will.”

  “Men underestimate both force and will,” Ysabel said quietly.

  Tresco peered down at her, “No child. I meant that she worked hard to achieve what she had. After your father died, she was all alone. Most women would have crawled into a bed and wept. But not your mother. She took up his mantle.”

  “You admired that? I wouldn’t think you would approve.”

  “I didn’t at first. Eventually, I saw the necessity of her political involvement. It was her other interests that troubled me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tresco sighed. “There was a dark side to your mother.”

  “A dark side?”

  “She was fascinated by macabre things. Had she lived, I would have made sure to direct her interests elsewhere. I’ve tried very hard to keep you away from such things.”

  “How horrible. I didn’t know that about her.”

  “It wasn’t dire. Ironically, it was her interests that made me what I am today.”

  “How so?”

  “A few months after she died,” he said, “I found one of her manuscripts in my study. I’d never seen it before. She must have left it during one of our visits. A bound manuscript filled with maps and theories the likes of which I’d never seen. They were very complex and involved ancient magic from the sarrukh in Chult. To my knowledge, Evonne never traveled to Chult.”

  “Chult? Where the colony is?”

  “Actually, yes. There are things hidden in the ruins you couldn’t fathom.”

  “Oh, do you have more stories of the jungle! Tell me, Uncle. Have you found something incredible?”