Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

She waited a moment, gathering her thoughts, still more than a little unsettled by the

appearance of not one but two gods. Then she went down the stairwell to Aziel, to whom she

said she had changed her mind, and that she would, after all, marry this man, Maximilian

Persimius.

She did not tell Aziel of her meeting with the Great Serpent, nor of her encounter with the

compassionate and hitherto unknown frog god.

In the morning Aziel met with Ishbel again. He would not have been surprised to learn

she had changed her mind yet again, but to his relief, and his pride, she remained resolute.

“I will marry this Maximilian,” she said. “I will do what is needed. After all, has not the

Great Serpent said that I will return to Serpent”s Nest eventually? This shall be a trial for me,

yes, but marriage cannot be too high a price to pay for saving Serpent”s Nest and the Outlands

from the ravages of both Skraelings and ancient evils.”

That was a pretty speech, Aziel thought, and well prepared, and he wondered if it was

less for him than for Ishbel herself.

Perhaps Ishbel believed that if she repeated it enough times, over and over, the words

would take on the power of prophecy.

“When the Great Serpent sent me to fetch you from Margalit,” Aziel said, “he told me

that you would eventually need to leave—perhaps even then he foresaw this disaster. And it is

true enough he said you would eventually return.” He smiled. “I hope you will not stay too long

away, Ishbel.”

“I also hope I shall not stay away long,” she said, and Aziel laughed a little at the depth

of emotion behind those words.

“Besides,” Ishbel continued, “perhaps Maximilian of Escator will not accept me.” She

paused. “There would be few men willing to wed an archpriestess of the Coil, surely.”

“Ah,” said Aziel, “but I do not think we shall be offering him the archpriestess, eh? You

are a rich noblewoman in your own right, and I think it is as the Lady Ishbel Brunelle that you

should meet your new husband. We shall call you…let me see…ah yes, we shall call you a ward

of the Coil. That should do nicely.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Royal Palace, Ruen, Escator

Maximilian Persimius, King of Escator, Warden of Ruen, Lord of the Ports and Suzerain

of the Plains, preferred to keep as many of his royal duties as informal as possible. He met with

the full Council of Nobles thrice a year, and the smaller Privy Council of Preferred Nobles once

a month. Maximilian respected, listened to, and acted upon the advice he received from both

those learned councils, but the council he leaned on most was that which he referred to as his

Council of Friends—a small group of men that, indeed, made up Maximilian”s closest circle of

friends, but were also the men he trusted above any else, for all of them had been involved to

some extent in his rescue from the gloam mines eight years earlier.

These men knew Maximilian”s past, knew where he came from, had seen him at his

worst, and they still loved him despite his occasional darker moments.

Today the king was in a lighthearted mood, and none expected any of his dark

introspections on this fine morning. Maximilian sat in his chair, one long leg casually draped

over one of its arms, his fine face with its striking aquiline nose and deep blue eyes creased in a

mischievous grin, his dark hair—always worn a little too long—flopping over his brow. He was

laughing at Egalion, captain of the king”s Emerald Guard, who had hurried late into the chamber.

Egalion was now making flustered excuses as he dragged a chair up to the semicircle seated

about the fire that had been lit in the hearth.

“You must be getting old, my friend,” Maximilian said, “to so oversleep.”

“Out late, perhaps, with a lady friend?” said Vorstus, Abbot of the Order of Persimius. In

his late middle age, Vorstus was a thin, dark man with sharp brown eyes and the distinctive

tattoo of a faded quill on his right index finger. The Order of Persimius was a group of brothers

devoted to the protection and furtherance of the Persimius family. Maximilian owed Vorstus a

massive debt for aiding the effort to free him from the Veins, and sometimes, when Vorstus

looked at Maximilian with his dark unreadable eyes, that debt sat heavily on Maximilian”s

shoulders. When first Maximilian had emerged from the Veins he had trusted Vorstus

completely. Now he was not so sure of him, for he felt Vorstus watched him a little too carefully.

Maximilian ignored Vorstus” comment. “Perhaps you need the services of Garth,

Egalion. A potion, perhaps, from the famous Baxtor recipes, to soothe you into an early sleep at

night so that we may not be deprived of your company at morning council?”

That was as close to a reprimand as Maximilian was ever likely to deliver to any of these

three men.

“I apologize, Maximilian,” Egalion said. He was a tall, strong, fair-haired man who had

served the Persimius throne for over thirty years, but now he reddened like a youth. “I have no

acceptable excuse save that I did, indeed, oversleep, and no excuse for that—no woman or

wine”—he shot a sharp-eyed glance at Vorstus—“save a need to compensate for a late night

spent at the bedside of one of the Emerald Guard.”

“And that late bedside vigil spent in my company,” said Garth Baxtor, court physician

and the fourth member of the group sitting about the fire. “One of the men developed a fever late

yesterday afternoon, Maximilian, and Egalion and I spent many hours in his company until we

were satisfied he was not in any danger to his life.”

“Then I am the one to apologize,” said Maximilian, all humor fading from his face.

“You were not to know,” said Egalion. “The man, Thomas, asked that you not be

disturbed.”

“Nonetheless,” said Maximilian, “I should have known.”

“Thomas is well this morning,” said Garth, “and after a day”s bed rest should be able to

recommence light duties tomorrow. I think his fever nothing more than a passing autumnal

illness.”

“But one that kept you and Egalion for hours at his bedside,” said Maximilian. He studied

Garth a moment, wondering at his luck that eight years ago the then seventeen-year-old should

have believed in Maximilian so much that Garth had managed to persuade a diverse and

powerful group of people to support his endeavor to free the kin g from the Veins.

Garth Baxtor was now a full-fledged physician, second only to his father in the use of the

Touch, a semimagical ability to understand the precise nature of an illness and to help soothe

away its horrors. He lived permanently at Maximilian”s court, but, apart from treating

Maximilian himself as well as other members of the court, Emerald Guard, and royal militia, he

also spent two days a week treating the poor of Ruen for free. Garth, still only in his

mid-twenties, was Maximilian”s closest friend.

Garth grinned at Maximilian, his open, attractive face appearing even more boyish than it

normally did. “It is too early in the day to succumb to guilt, Maxel. You didn”t need to be there.”

Garth and Vorstus were among the very few who used the familiar “Maxel” in

conversation with the king. Egalion, who had permission to do so, only rarely managed to take

such a huge leap into familiarity.

“Well, at least let me be cross,” Maximilian said, “that you don”t have any shadows under

your eyes, Garth. Ah, the resilience of youth.”

Garth laughed. “You are hardly old yourself, Maxel!”

“Almost forty,” Maximilian said, his eyes once more gleaming with humor. “About to tip

over the edge.”

Now everyone laughed.

“Well, now,” said Maximilian, “since we”re all finally here, is there any business to

discuss or can we give up governing as a bad idea this fine day and go visit the palace hawk

house and admire my newest acquisition instead?”

Garth and Egalion brightened, but Vorstus glanced at a small satchel that lay beside his

chair, and Maximilian did not miss it.

“My friend,” the king said in a soft voice, “why do I fear that that satchel at your side

contains dire news?”

Vorstus gave an embarrassed half laugh. “Well, hardly „dire” news, Maxel.” He paused,

glancing at the satchel yet one more time. “A document pouch arrived late yesterday afternoon,

from your ambassador to the Outlands.”

“Another request for a swift return to civilization?” Maximilian said. The Outlands were

not renowned for their creature comforts and Maximilian”s ambassador to the region, Baron

Lixel, had sent plaintive requests to return home at regular intervals over the past year.

Maximilian knew he should allow him home soon, but there were so few men better equipped

with such a smooth diplomatic tongue for dealing with the notoriously touchy Outlanders that