Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

“That’s all?” Arvin asked.

Karrell met his eye. “That is all. I do not intend harm to the ambassador.”

“I see.” Arvin wanted to believe Karrell, but everything pointed to her being a rogue, out to steal something of Dmetrio’s. A rogue armed with clerical magic, as well as natural beauty—but even so, she needed someone to help her earn Dmetrio’s trust, to get her inside. Arvin sighed, wondering if he would ever be free of rogues and their schemes.

“You’re going to charm Dmetrio,” he said. It was an easy enough guess—that was the tactic Arvin had planned to use. “And get him to give you… whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Karrell’s silence was answer enough.

Arvin pictured her luring the ambassador into her bed—once there, any man would gladly give her whatever it was she wanted. The image of the ambassador’s scaly body coiled around hers repulsed Arvin.

“How about this,” he offered. “I’ll be meeting with the ambassador in his residence. Just tell me what it is you’re looking for, and I’ll try to find out where it is. I’m… pretty good at spotting things.”

Karrell tilted her head. “You are asking me to trust you.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What is it you are looking for? Or rather… who?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Karrell stared at him, waiting.

Arvin sighed. “Point taken.”

Karrell shifted her gaze to the captain. “I am helping you to reach Ormpetarr—and to avoid the woman you so fear. Without my assistance….”

“Fine,” Arvin sputtered. “I’ll introduce you to the ambassador. But not until after my business in Ormpetarr is concluded.”

He was hedging, of course. The last thing he needed was a member of House Extaminos’s royal family linking him with a theft. One yuan-ti wanting him dead was trouble enough. But Karrell seemed to accept his offer; after giving him a long, measuring look, she nodded.

“In the meantime, no more charm spells,” Arvin insisted. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She touched a hand to her heart and looked sincere, but Arvin vowed to be careful, even so.

The rest of the journey passed too swiftly—and too slowly—for Arvin’s liking. Too swiftly, because once they reached Ormpetarr, he would probably never see Karrell again. Too slowly, because, despite his best efforts to pass the time in conversation, he kept saying things that irritated her—that made him wish the journey were already over. When the riverboat stopped for the night at Halfway Station, a hamlet even smaller than Riverboat Landing, he’d struck up a conversation about Hlondeth over dinner, telling her how pleased he was to be away from the city of serpents. He cautioned her that the yuan-ti were a devious and cruel race that cared little for humans. It was merely intended as a warning that the members of House Extaminos were dangerous folk to anger, but she seemed to take this to imply that she couldn’t take care of herself. After the meal, she curtly declined Arvin’s offer of a mug of mulled wine and his invitation to linger at their table beside the fire, and turned in to bed.

The next day, when their journey resumed, she spoke little. She stared over the rail, watching Vic riverbank slide by. Arvin tried once more to engage her in conversation, asking if it ever snowed in the Chultan Peninsula, but though she smiled at him as they chatted, the smile never quite reached her eyes. After a while, he gave up on conversation and instead stared at the passing scenery, watching as the riverboat left the river behind and slid out onto a broad, o pen lake.

It was well after sunset before they caught sight of their destination. Like the other cities of the Vilhon Reich, Ormpetarr had been built centuries ago and had long since outgrown its walls. A scattering of buildings spread for some distance up and down the lake. Most appeared to be connected with the fishing industry; the small amount of moonlight that penetrated the clouds gave Arvin a view of racks used for drying fish, and a number of boats that had been drawn out of the water for the winter. The buildings themselves were little more than blocks of darkness from which squares of light shone—windows, Arvin realized after a moment, square, rather than round.

As the riverboat drew closer to the city proper, these squares of light became numerous and clustered closer together.

At last Ormpetarr’s harbor came into view. The city was walled even on the side that fronted the lake; the stout stonework was punctuated by a series of heavy wooden gates, each lined up with a pier that ran out into the river. More than a dozen riverboats were tied up there. Most were empty, their sails furled, but a few were disembarking passengers and unloading freight.

The city seemed dark to Arvin, who was used to the constant glow of Hlondeth’s magically quarried stone, but somehow he found that comforting. In Ormpetarr there would be plenty of shadows, plenty of places to hide from Zelia. And what light there was—the glow of street lanterns and the light that shone out of the windows—was warm and yellow and welcoming, rather than an eerie green.

The riverboat drew up to one of the piers. Once the sailors had tied the boat fast, Arvin gathered up his pack and climbed down onto the pier. Karrell immediately followed. The planks underfoot were treacherous with half-melted ice; at one point she slipped, and he caught her arm. She smiled her thanks to him and continued to cling to his arm as they walked up the pier.

“Which inn are you staying at?” she asked.

Arvin gave her a wry look. Was she going to suggest they share a room? “I won’t be staying at an inn,” he told her. “I have accommodation elsewhere.”

“At the ambassador’s home?” Karrell guessed. “Or perhaps at the palace?”

They reached the small group of people who were passing through the gate at the end of the pier. On either side of the gate was a watchful soldier. Each wore a brightly polished steel breastplate, embossed with the eye of Helm, over a padded leather coat that hung to his knees. Unlike the clerics in Mimph, these soldiers carried visible weapons—maces with knobbed heads. Their open-faced helms were decorated with purple plumes.

Each person passing through the gate was asked his or her business in Ormpetarr. Arvin and d Karrell repeated the stories they’d told each other earlier: he saying he was a rope merchant’s agent; she claiming to be an artist.

When they were through the gate, Arvin plucked Karrell’s hand from his arm. “Well, goodnight,” he told her.

Karrell raised an eyebrow. “Surely you do not think to be rid of me so easily?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Arvin told her. “When my business here is done, I’ll send for you. I’ll introduce you to the ambassador then.”

Karrell snorted. “You have not even asked what inn I am staying at.”

“I was just about to.”

“No you were not.”

Arvin sighed in exasperation. “Goodnight,” he said firmly. He strode up the street. The shops on either side were closing for the night, their merchants busy shuttering windows and locking doors. The roads ran in straight lines and were hundreds of paces long—a far cry from the mazelike streets of Hlondeth—and were illuminated along their length by lanterns. It would be more difficult to hide here—or to lose someone who was following you—than he’d expected.

He glanced over his shoulder. Karrell was a few paces behind him, following like a shadow.

Arvin picked up his pace, sidestepping around the other people on the street.

Karrell did the same.

After several blocks, Arvin realized the futility of trying to leave her behind. He could hardly run through the streets. She’d only chase after him—and gods only knew what the local folk would think of that. At the middle of a wide square dominated by one of the silver gauntlet statues, he rounded on her. “Look,” he said, irritated. “You’ll just have to trust me, and wait until I send for you. Unless you back off, I’m going to warn the ambassador about you—tell him not to meet with you.”