Time was a peculiar thing, Culach thought.
Once it had held meaning. A day, a week, a year. These were real and measurable. But since the coming of the ice, it seemed to have ground to a halt. He slept and woke, and made love to Mina, and ate when he felt hungry, but he couldn’t say how long it had been since that day in the stables when Victor found Eirik’s diamond.
Mina kept him apprised of what was going on in the keep, which turned out to be not much. She barely saw Galen anymore. Apparently, he was Victor’s mole, digging a tunnel to the outside. Victor himself had withdrawn to Eirik’s study. The other Dessarians played dice and took turns guarding the mortal women from Delphi, but they were getting restless.
Earlier, Culach had gone to the stables to visit with Ragnhildur. She emitted a doleful cry when she saw him. He’d inspected her claws with his fingers and offered her a potato, which she wouldn’t deign to touch. But he knew she must be starving. The mounts needed meat. They needed to hunt.
After Mina, Ragnhildur was the one creature Culach would trade his life for. Eirik had given him the abbadax on his thirteenth birthday—one of the few acts of generosity towards his son—and they’d been together since, through hunts and battles and long, glorious flights over the sea. They didn’t need words to understand each other, though he often spoke to her anyway.
“I wish I could give you Victor Dessarian,” he whispered. “He’d tide you over for a while.”
Ragnhildur expelled a hot breath and leaned against him.
He’d heard Galen and the other Danai chopping away at the ice down at the far end of the stables. Every few seconds, there would be two dull cracking sounds, almost overlapping, as they worked in rhythm with each other. He’d wondered how they managed not to go mad.
Now Culach lay in bed, listening to Mina’s soft breathing next to him.
Time. They had so much of it now, oceans of time, but once that tunnel was finished, it would run out abruptly.
So perhaps it was a gift, he thought drowsily. A last precious gift.
His eyes closed and he slid seamlessly into the dream.
Into the Viper.
A small mudbrick dwelling in the desert. The sun was setting behind the dunes and he could feel the first hints of evening in the cool breeze lifting his hair. He hadn’t been to see Julia in months. Not because he didn’t want to. He thought of her often. But he’d been putting it off. Part of him still resisted what had to be done.
She must have seen him coming through the narrow window, for now she stood framed in the doorway, auburn hair brushing her shoulders. A hesitant smile lit her elfin features.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, stepping back.
Farrumohr ducked his head beneath the low lintel and followed her inside. It was little more than a hovel, but Julia had swept the floors and placed a vase with golden suncups on the table. Lumen crystals were neatly stacked to one side, next to bowls of sand and water. The tools of her trade.
“Sit down,” she urged. “I’ll find you something to eat.”
He watched her slender back as she bustled around, digging through the meager larder for fruit and bread.
“I watch the new city rise every day,” she said, setting plates on the table. “It will be wondrous when it’s completed. King Felix says there will be a place for all.” She took a bite of bread.
“Felix is an old fool,” he said quietly.
She frowned. “Why do you dislike him? He’s a good leader.”
“He’s weak. He overpays the Danai—”
“Not that again.” She pushed her plate back. “The past is dead, Farrumohr.”
Silence lay heavy between them.
“And how is Gaius?” she asked, obviously hoping to change the subject.
“He won a seat in the Senate.”
“So I heard.” She tilted her head. “I always expected it to be you, Farrumohr. You understand the currents of power better than most of them.”
His mouth twisted. “They don’t like me. Never have.”
She sighed. “And so you put your ambitions in him.”
Julia was clever. It was one of the things he respected about her.
“I offer him advice, yes.”
She laughed. “More than that, I think. Gaius may be well-liked, but he’s hardly the sharpest tool in the bin. Even when you were little boys, you let him believe he was the leader of your games, when in fact he was doing precisely what you wished.” She studied him. “So what is it your puppet will do now, Farrumohr? What is the game this time?”
Her tone was light, but he sensed seriousness beneath it.
Farrumohr shrugged, though his heart beat faster. “Gaius will make a far better king someday. He’ll unite all the clans under one ruler. It is our birthright, Julia. Fire is a higher power. The only element that cannot be polluted.”
Her face hardened. “You know I don’t like that kind of talk. The others help us. The new city—”
“Why should we pay them anything for their shoddy work?” Farrumohr knew his voice was rising, but he couldn’t stop himself. “They’re liars and thieves, all of them.”
She took his hand. “Don’t. Please. Can’t we just have a pleasant visit?”
He mastered himself with effort. “I’m sorry.”
And he was. He knew he was an awkward man. Only Julia had ever cared for him. And Gaius, of course, but Farrumohr had worked very hard to cement their friendship. What he lacked in charm he made up for in an innate understanding of others’ character flaws, their innermost desires. And for all his handsome looks and easy laughter, Gaius was vain. He craved flattery and approval.
Farrumohr swallowed a lump in his throat. Yes, only Julia treated him with kindness, despite everything. She was the only person he’d ever truly loved.
They talked for a while and she showed him some of her work. Julia made talismans, simple lumen crystals and the like, which she traded for food. The items were serviceable, but she’d never understood the subtleties of the art the way Farrumohr did.
The shadows lengthened as night fell. Finally, he stood.
“I should go.”
Julia smiled and rose. “I’ll see you at the Feast of Artemis, but I hope you come again sooner. It gets a bit lonely sometimes.”
Farrumohr knew the others avoided her because of him. The answering smile on his face felt stiff, though she didn’t seem to notice. His stomach churned. “Of course I will. It’s a long time away still.” He held out his arms and she stepped forward, embracing his tall, thin form. He smelled her hair, familiar and comforting.
Has to be. No other way.
All for the greater good.
The narrow blade hidden in his sleeve slid into her back, piercing her heart. She stiffened and he twisted the blade before she could seize fire. He’d learned this by practicing on animals first, mostly stray cats. One had to twist the blade or the dying took too long.
Farrumohr held her close, tears streaming down his face. To his great relief, she passed without speaking.
He took Julia out to the desert, to a solitary place far from the house. He lay with her there for a time, stroking her cold flesh. Then he buried her deep in the sands and returned to her workshop.
In its most basic form, a talisman was simply an object imbued with power to perform a specific function. Their forging required flame, so only the Vatras had the talent. But the most powerful talismans were bound up with the creator’s emotions, unique to that particular Adept. The chimera, for example.
But what he had in mind required an even greater sacrifice.
Farrumohr sat down at Julia’s table and channeled his grief into the making of Gaius’s serpent crown, even as King Felix continued work on the great capital whose completion he would never live to see. His dark act provided the seed, but the talisman still needed to be refined. Guided to its singular purpose. The crown needed hatred and fear and pain, wanted it, and Farrumohr held this goal in mind as he brought the lash down again and again, sweat and blood streaming from his back, whispering the names of his enemies.
And the crown took shape, its gold glowing more richly with each stinging crack of the whip.
Danai. Marakai. Valkirin.
Liars and thieves.
When it was done, he returned to Julia’s grave one last time, where he wept a bit and promised her vengeance. He left the bunch of wilted suncups on the spot as they had always been his sister’s favorite flower.
Culach shuddered in his sleep as the rest of the Viper’s short and vicious life unfurled before him. The murder of King Felix. The placement of Gaius on the throne. The feast of Artemis and rejection of Gaius by Caecilia. The destruction of the Great Forest. And finally, the shattering of the heavens and the Vatras’ desperate flight from the capital. Farrumohr’s slow descent into the sands.
And for the first time, even though he felt each moment of agony, Culach welcomed it.
The monster was dead at last.