Serpent's Touch (Serpent's Touch 1)

KYLLEN

Amira didn’t show up all day. She didn’t sleep next to his crate that night, either. He stayed up for hours, straining his hearing for the sound of her light footfalls but heard nothing.

He fisted his hands, as if he could hold on to that one chance of returning home that was slipping away between his fingers.

He’d pushed Amira. He’d told her what he needed from her, and he’d scared her. Impatience had urged him to nudge, but now he feared he might’ve been too forward. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

As the hours of the following day ticked by with no sign of Amira, he began to worry for other reasons.

Amira served a corrupt goddess who had no honor and no morals. What if the poor girl had been discovered helping him and had paid for her kindness? What if she was hurt? Or…dead?

He shouldn’t have given her that hair clip. He’d made it for her, wishing to place a smile on her face, even if he couldn’t see her smile. But he might’ve put her in danger by that.

Anyone from Nerifir who saw the dragonfly barrette would know it was made by a gorgonian. They’d know Amira would’ve gotten it from him. They’d know she broke their stupid rules.

What would they do to her then?

Rage against Ghata flared higher, burning his insides with a thirst for revenge. Guilt wrecked him. He’d get out of this cursed box and sweep through this entire place, turning them all to stone. The whole rotten lot of them—the bracks, Ghata…

But what if Amira was still alive? He’d risk accidentally harming her, too. The idea of hurting her in any way made his stomach churn.

As the night approached, the light above the opening in the top of the crate dimmed. Lost in the storm of his worries and rage, he didn’t hear anyone approaching until the familiar sound of a person clearing their throat reached him through the walls of the crate.

Amira!

Relief rushed over him like a blissful deluge of rain in the forest.

“I missed you.” He blurted out the first thing that leaped into his mind.

It was childish, spontaneous, and…absolutely true. He’d missed her—the sound of her voice, the light scurrying of her footfalls. He missed that soft, hesitant noise she made before speaking, like she made right now, clearing her throat again.

“You…what?” she asked, sounding utterly confused. His sentiment obviously came as unexpectedly to her as it did to him.

It was his turn to clear his throat as he scrambled for a reply. “I…um, was worried. Is everything all right? You’ve been away.” And now he sounded desperate. It was simply pathetic how much her absence had wrecked him.

“I’ve come to warn you,” she said somberly. “After the fair is over, in just over a week, Madame is moving us to England—”

“Where?”

“To another continent,” she explained. “Dez, one of her bracks, will be coming by sometime tomorrow to check if you’re still alive.”

He smirked. “How so very thoughtful of him.”

She didn’t smile at his sarcasm, her voice remained serious. “You can’t speak to him. If you do, he’ll know you’ve been getting water all this time.”

“Right.” If it wasn’t for Amira, he’d be lying here, unable to move, not to mention speak in any coherent way.

“But you’ll need to make some sound to confirm you’re alive,” she continued. “Otherwise, they may leave you behind.”

That couldn’t happen. He had to be with Amira until they were ready to leave this cursed world for good.

“I’ll make sure to grunt or groan,” he conceded begrudgingly, not looking forward to an interaction with one of Ghata’s monks, no matter how short that might be. “Don’t worry, I’m good at performing. The brack will be satisfied.”

“Good,” she said. He heard her shuffle her feet, but she wouldn’t come any closer.

“Amira—”

“You must be thirsty,” she blurted out quickly, as if afraid of what he might say. “I brought some water. Just give me a minute.” The noise of her moving around the crate came, then a clear tube descended from between the bars.

He was thirsty—he always was in this wretched world. Incredibly, the thirst had not been his main concern while she was gone.

“What happened, Amira? Why didn’t you come last night?”

A long pause followed his question. Her silence was nerve-racking.

“Did someone hurt you?” he growled, really growled in a most barbaric fashion. The mere thought of Amira getting hurt made him see red.

“No,” she said, then hurriedly switched the subject. “I…I brought you an orange.”

“An orange?” he repeated, dumbfounded. Her change of topic came quick as a whiplash.

“Yes. I know you don’t eat much, but you liked the cucumber. So, I thought you might like an orange, too.”

Was it a peace offering on her part? For leaving him alone for a night and a day? He might be not the only one feeling guilty during their time apart.

“Sure. I’ll take the orange.” When water was scarce, he preferred drinking to eating. Even the juiciest fruits and vegetables had fiber that required precious water to digest. But he’d take anything she’d give him if that would keep her by his crate a little longer.

“Do you have oranges in Lorsan?” she asked. His heart fluttered excitedly at the tendril of the usual curiosity in her voice. “You have cucumbers, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do. We have oranges, too, blue-bell oranges. They’d be way too big to fit through these bars, though.”

“Blue-bell?” She hummed in wonder. “Well, mine is a mandarin orange. It’ll fit. I’ll peel it first.”

A strong citrusy smell drifted through the bars as she peeled the fruit. It smelled very much like the blue-bell oranges from Lorsan. They grew inside giant flowers so big, they could be used as umbrellas if their petals weren’t so delicate and fragile.

“What color is your orange?” he asked.

“Color? Well…” Was there a smile in her voice? What wouldn’t he give to see that smile. He hoped so much to hear her laugh one day, too. “It’s…orange color.”

He chuckled. How uninventive. In this language, the word for both the fruit and the color was the same.

Amira must be thinking about the language, too. “Kyllen, does everyone in Nerifir speak English?”