Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

curled slightly in a smile—as a wife. She”d entertained doubts that Maximilian would even come

this far, but he had, and so now she must leave.

Maximilian was sending a deputation to Margalit to meet with Ishbel and to hash out

more detailed negotiations. The negotiations could still break down—Ishbel could almost smell

the wariness in Maximilian”s initial interest—but they could just as easily progress further, and

Ishbel needed to ready herself to commit to marriage.

Ishbel had indeed largely resigned herself to marriage with Maximilian. She still had no

idea why the Great Serpent thought such a union would help avert the threatening disaster, but

she would do as he (and as this curious frog god) wished. Ishbel had spent the last few weeks

discovering all she could about her potential husband, but that was litt le enough. There had been

more details about his harrowing seventeen years spent as a prisoner in the gloam mines, some

interesting tales about how he”d been released and how he had defeated Cavor in battle, but very

little information about the man himself. Ishbel discovered that Maximilian was respected across

the Central Kingdoms, that he had a good relationship with the kings of Pelemere and Kyros, and

that his small kingdom of Escator was, indeed, crippled by debt. Ishbel had decided that

Maximilian was likely harmless enough, and that his worst fault (apart from some

as-yet-undiscovered socially embarrassing habit) was likely to be a mild dreariness engendered

by his long imprisonment.

He certainly had done nothing to set the world afire since his restoration to the throne of

Escator.

Ishbel had also steeled herself to accept the sexual intimacy of the marriage. She would

endure, if that was what the Great Serpent needed of her.

Additionally, she would endure the necessity of deferring to her husband. She, the

archpriestess of the Coil, who had hitherto bowed only before gods.

What Ishbel feared most was the actual leaving of Serpent”s Nest. It had been her only

home, her entire world, for most of her life. The mountain was her safety and her comfort, and it

shielded her from the horror of the world beyond.

For an instant a memory resurfaced of her mother”s whispering corpse, and Ishbel jerked

a little, fighting to keep it at bay.

She was not looking forward at all to her journey to Margalit. Ishbel would be traveling

only with a company of guardsmen from Margalit itself. No one from the Coil would be

accompanying her. Ishbel understood the necessity for this. She needed to distance herself from

them and become the Lady Ishbel Brunelle rather than the archpriestess of the Coil, and Ishbel

could not do that if any of the Coil or their servants traveled with her.

There came a knock at her door, and Aziel entered. He came over to Ishbel and sat down

beside her on the bed. Wordlessly he picked up her hand, kissed it, then kissed the side of her

forehead.

“You will come back,” he said softly, and Ishbel blinked away her tears, and nodded.

She would return.

Since the night he”d looked at the map, Maximilian had either avoided Vorstus, or had

avoided speaking to him alone. Maximilian simply did not want to give Vorstus the satisfaction

of a reaction.

It irritated Maximilian that Vorstus had not simply come to him and said, “Maxel, an

offer of a bride comes out of the Mountain at the Edge of the World. A woman associated with a

serpent god, no less. What do you think about that, then?”

Instead, Vorstus had decided to play games.

It took Vorstus eight days before he knocked one evening at the door to Maximilian”s

bedchamber as Maximilian was preparing for evening court.

Maximilian waved away the servants, then indicated Vorstus should take a chair. “What

can I do for you, Vorstus? You are normally cloistered in your library at this time of night.”

“What did you think of Serpent”s Nest, Maxel?”

Maximilian tugged at the cuffs of his linen shirt, making sure they sat comfortably under

his heavy velvet overjacket. “I”d wondered why you did not come to me directly, Vorstus,

instead of cloaking this offer in mystery. You know more than you are saying. What?”

“All I know is what I have told you. No one was more shocked than I when I saw that

Serpent”s Nest is what was anciently called the Mountain at the Edge of the World.”

Maximilian shot him a deeply cynical look. As abbot of the Order of Persimius, Vorstus

was privy to almost all of its secrets.

“All I know is what I have told you,” Vorstus repeated quietly.

“How coincidental that the Mountain at the Edge of the World is now dedicated to a

serpent god.”

“Perhaps just a coincidence.”

Maximilian stopped fiddling with his attire and looked at Vorstus directly. “Is Elcho

Falling stirring, Vorstus?”

“I don”t know, Maxel.”

“I am sick of hearing your „I don”t knows”!”

“I—”

“Listen to me, Vorstus. I know that you were instrumental in aiding my escape from the

Veins, and for that you know I am grateful. But I am not going to spend my life mired in debt to

you, nor am I going to put up with you stepping coyly about something that has the power to

destroy this entire world. Gods! Have I not had enough darkness in my life? Or do the gods

demand something else from me besides losing seventeen years, seventeen years, Vorstus, to

those damned, damned gloam mines? Have I not suffered enough?”

“If Elcho Falling is waking, Maximilian Persimius, then you must do what needs to be

done.”

The patronizing idiot, Maximilian thought. “Ah, get out of here, Vorstus.”

Maximilian waited until Vorstus had his hand on the door handle before speaking again.

“One more thing, Vorstus. You know of the Persimius Chamber?”

Vorstus gave a wary nod.

“You know what it contains?”

Another wary nod.

“But you never took Cavor there. You never inducted him into the deeper mysteries of

the Persimius throne.”

Vorstus now gave a very reluctant single shake of his head, and Maximilian could see

that his hand had grown white-knuckled about the door handle.

“I was standing in the Persimius Chamber the other night, Vorstus, and a strange

unsettling thought occurred to me. Here you are, Abbot of the Order of Persimius, and the only

one apart from the king and his heir who knows what truly underpins the Persimius throne. But

for seventeen years, when everyone save Cavor thought me dead, you never once took the

opportunity of inducting Cavor into the mysteries? Should you not have done that? I can perhaps

understand you waiting a year or so, hoping for a miracle, but seventeen?”

“I always had faith that you—”

“You knew, for those entire seventeen years, Vorstus, that I was alive. That is the only

reason you did not induct Cavor into the mysteries. You knew I was coming back.”

“I—”

“Get out, Vorstus. Get out!”

When the door had closed behind him, Maximilian walked to a mirror and stood before

it, seeing not a reflection of himself, but of the bleakness that had consumed him within the

Veins.

“You knew where I was,” Maximilian whispered, “and you left me there for seventeen

years.”

Much later that night, still unsettled and unable to turn his mind away from Elcho Falling,

Maximilian sat in his darkened bedchamber, rested his head against the high back of the chair,

and closed his eyes.

As he had visited the Persimius Chamber on a previous night, so now Maximilian visited

another of the mysteries his father had taught him.

The Twisted Tower.

The crown of Elcho Falling carried with it many responsibilities, many duties, and a great

depth of dark, writhing mystery. Each king of Escator, and his heir, had to learn it all in case they one day had to assume once more the crown of Elcho Falling.

There was an enormous amount of information, of ritual, of windings and wakings, and

of magic so powerful that it took great skill, and an even better memory, to wield it. There was

so much to recall, and to hand down through the generations, that long ago one of the Persimius

kings, perhaps the last of the sitting lords of Elcho Falling, had created a memory palace in

which to store all the knowledge of Elcho Falling.

They called it the Twisted Tower.

Maximilian now entered the Twisted Tower, recalling as he did so the day his father had

first taught him how to open the door.

“Visualize before you,” his father had said, “a great Twisted Tower, coiling into the sky.

It stands ninety levels high, and contains but one door at ground level, and one window just

below the roofline. On each level there is one single chamber. Can you picture it, Maxel?”

Maximilian, even though he was but nine, could do so easily. The strange tower—its

masonry laid so that its courses lifted in corkscrews—rose before him as if he had known it