Lisa Smedman - Viper's Kiss

“I’m from Hlondeth, myself.”

That got her attention. She studied him a moment. “You are not a yuan-ti.”

“No. My name’s Vin,” he said, using an abbreviation that was as common as cobblestones in Hlondeth. “And yours is… ?”

She paused, as if deciding whether to answer. “Karrell.”

“You’re going to Ormpetarr?” It was an unnecessary question, since the only reason anyone would be taking this wagon would be to reach the riverboats that plied the Lower Nagaflow.

She nodded.

“Me too,” Arvin continued. He plunged into the carefully rehearsed story that would explain his presence in Sespech. “I’m an agent for Mariners’ Mercantile. I hope to encourage Baron Foesmasher to buy from our rope factories. Those new ships he’s building are going to require good strong hemp for their rigging.” He patted the backpack on the seat beside him. “I’ve brought samples of our finest lines to show him.”

Karrell raised an eyebrow. “You are meeting with the baron?” She glanced at his cloak—woven from coarse brown wool—and the worn boots that protruded from the blanket draped over his legs.

Behind her, the driver chuckled into his beard and flicked his reins.

“These are my traveling clothes,” Arvin explained. She obviously thought he was a braggart, trying to impress her. He drew himself up straighter. “I’ll change into something more suitable once I arrive in Ormpetarr, before going to the palace. Ambassador Extaminos has graciously agreed to introduce me to—”

“Dmetrio Extaminos?”

Arvin blinked. “You know him?”

“I know his work. He has a great love of architecture. He restored the Serpent Arch, the first Hall of Extaminos, and the Coiled Tower.” She paused to stare at Arvin, as if expecting a reaction.

He shrugged. “Old buildings don’t interest me.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Karrell tossed her head. “They interest me ,” she said. “That is why I came north: to study architecture. The yuan-ti have a particularly graceful style, with their arches, spirals, and towers.”

Arvin realized there might be more to the woman than just a pretty face. “Are you an architect?” He glanced at the bag at her feet. Like him, she was traveling light.

“Architecture interests me,” she said. “I make sketches of buildings.” She tilted her head. “Old buildings.”

Arvin scrambled to salvage the conversation. He dredged up what little he knew about the subject, casting his mind back to the “lessons” the priests had given at the orphanage—lessons that were delivered to the backs of the children’s heads while they worked. The lessons helped the priests convince themselves they were educating and instructing the children, not just profiting from their labors.

“The Coiled Tower was built in….” Damn, the date had eluded him. Was it 641 or 614? He could never remember. “In the year of the city’s independence,” he continued, reciting what he remembered of his lessons. “The Extaminos Family erected it to honor the snakes that saved Hlondeth from the kobolds. The ones Lord Shevron summoned with his prayers. The snakes, that is—not the kobolds.”

Karrell’s lips twitched. A smile?

“The year was 614,” she said. “Eighty-five years after your people and mine first made contact.”

“Your people?” Arvin prompted.

“My father’s tribe.” Karrell made a dismissive gesture. “You will not know their name.”

“I might,” Arvin said. “Where did you say you were from?”

“The south.”

She was right. He knew little of the people to the south and probably wouldn’t have recognized the name of her tribe. But he wasn’t completely ignorant of geography. “By your accent, I’d say you were from the Chultan Peninsula,” he commented. “That’s where the flying snakes come from, isn’t it?”

She gave him a sharp look.

She obviously didn’t like snakes—they had that much in common, at least. Arvin quickly changed the subject. “You must have been traveling a long time,” he continued. “What places have you visited?”

“I was most recently in Hlondeth, sketching the buildings that Dmetrio Extaminos was restoring. I had hoped to meet him and talk to him about his project but learned he had returned to Sespech to take up the ambassador’s post.”

“Is that why you came to Sespech?” Arvin asked.

Karrell shook her head. “No. I came to sketch the palace at Ormpetarr. But I am glad to have met you.” She leaned forward and rested a hand on Arvin’s knee. “Will you introduce me to Dmetrio Extaminos?”

Arvin hesitated. Karrell’s answers to his questions had been short and evasive. What if she was a spy, or even an assassin? Even if she was exactly what she claimed to be, he could think of a dozen reasons to say no. Dmetrio didn’t know about Arvin’s mission—to him, Arvin would be nothing more than a “rope merchant’s agent” that he was to introduce to Baron Foesmasher. This would give Arvin an excuse to chat informally with Dmetrio, to find out—with a little prompting, in the form of a psionic manifestation—if Dmetrio knew anything about Glisena’s disappearance. Dmetrio had been courting Glisena for several months; there was a chance that her disappearance was part of an illicit elopement. If it was, the alliance between Sespech and Hlondeth would unravel as quickly as a frayed rope.

Arvin didn’t need a stranger hanging about while he asked Dmetrio delicate questions. Nor did he want her tagging along behind him in Ormpetarr. The next thing he knew, she’d be asking for an introduction to Baron Foesmasher and a tour of the palace.

On the other hand, Karrell was the most beautiful woman Arvin had ever met. And the touch of her hand on his knee—even through the thick wool blanket—was sending a welcome flush of warmth through him.

Karrell raised her free hand to her chest, making a brief, imploring gesture that reminded Arvin of the silent speech. She leaned closer still, whispering a plea in her own language, and Arvin caught a whiff of the scented oil she must have combed into her hair to make it shine so. She smelled of the exotic flowers of the south, of orchids underlaid with a hint of musk. A snowflake landed at the corner of her upper lip, and Arvin was filled with an urge to kiss it away.

“Please,” she breathed. “It would mean so much to me to meet Ambassador Extaminos, to share my sketches with someone who appreciates the subject as much as I do.”

Arvin swallowed. “I’d like to see your sketches, too.”

Karrell’s dark eyes shone. “So you’ll introduce me?”

Arvin tugged at the neck of his cloak, loosening it. The snow was still falling thick and fast, and the air had chilled as the sun went down, but he was suddenly very warm. “I….”

The wagon jerked to a halt. “We’re here,” the dwarf grunted—the first words he’d spoken since their journey began. “Riverboat Landing. The Eelgrass Inn.” Bells tinkled as the horses shook their heads, taking advantage of the slack reins.

Arvin glanced around. The wagon had pulled up beside the largest of the half dozen inns that lined the bank of the Lower Nagaflow. Several piers splayed out into the river like fingers. Tied up to them were the riverboats—wide-hulled sailboats with tall masts, canvas sails furled tight against their yards. Snow had blown into drifts on the decks of most, but one had been swept clean. Aboard it, two men were fitting a repeating crossbow to the port rail amidships. A second repeating crossbow was already mounted on the starboard rail.

Arvin caught the eye of the dwarf, who had climbed down to tie the reins of the horses to a hitching post. “Why the crossbows?” he asked. “Are they expecting trouble?”