Sara Douglass – The Serpent Bride – DarkGlass Mountain Book 1

of the riverboat and once again was enveloped by the sights and scents of Isembaard.

It felt almost as if she was coming back to a long-forgotten home.

It felt right.

“My lady,” she heard Axis say, and she blinked.

He was standing before her, a gentle smile on his face at the expression on hers. He had

his hand out, and she took it, and allowed him to lead her to where Zeboath waited among a

group of chairs and low tables at the very prow of the boat.

With the authority of Isaiah, which he commanded, Axis had been able to requisition for

them the most luxurious riverboat available.

Zeboath smiled and gave a slight bow as Ishbel and Axis approached, then sat down once

Ishbel had made herself comfortable.

They chatted for an hour or more, often lapsing into comfortable silence as dusk settled

about them. Servants came with lamps, and with food and drinks, and they busied themselves

with their meal.

As the meal drew to a close, Zeboath patted at his mouth with his napkin, and addressed

Ishbel.

“You look very content, my lady, for someone who has been kidnapped away from her

home.”

Ishbel gave a small smile, and decided to speak the truth. “Sometimes I feel as if

Maximilian did the kidnapping, and you two the rescuing.” She paused. “I have never felt so

relaxed with anyone, save for Aziel, archpriest of the Coil and a dear friend, as I do here, in this

company.”

She looked over the railing at the twilight vista before her. “And this land—it is

so…intriguing. Listen to the frogs! Are they not beautiful? And the scent on the wind…”

Axis and Zeboath exchanged amused glances.

“Maximilian has some work to do, I think,” said Axis, “if he is to win you back to his

side.”

“If he can,” Ishbel said, still looking out at the view.

Then she turned her eyes back to her two companions. “Sometimes

space—distance—can give you such perspective.”

“And sometimes it can be very distorting,” Axis said. “You and Maximilian met and

married under pressure, and the start to your married life was not easy.”

“Certainly not when he kept asking me to pretend to be something I was not,” Ishbel said.

“You can understand his reasons, surely,” Axis said.

“Neither you nor Zeboath have condemned me for who I am,” said Ishbel, “nor any of the

men who accompany us. Why did Maximilian?”

“Don”t talk yourself out of this marriage,” Axis said. “Not yet.”

She gave a small shrug.

Axis frowned, leaning forward as if to say something more, but just then Ishbel gasped,

and put her hand on her belly.

“The baby moved!” she said. “I am sure of it.”

She looked at Zeboath. “Can you feel? Am I right? Oh, it moved again!”

Zeboath moved his chair closer to her, resting his hand on her belly. He felt in one place,

then another, then grinned at her. “Yes, Ishbel, the baby is moving.”

“Oh,” Ishbel said on a long breath, “it is not dead, after all. I”d been so worried after the

poisons Ba”al”uz gave me.”

“Well,” said Zeboath, sitting back in his chair, “I think that baby is making up for lost

time now.”

Ishbel sat for a moment, her face a welter of different emotions. Then she leaned over to

Axis, took one of his hands, and put it on her belly.

“Axis? Feel?”

He said nothing, and Ishbel looked into his face and saw there, for the first time since

she”d met him, the unmistakable darkness of desire.

It was a complete revelation, and Ishbel sat back slowly as Axis” hand slid away from her

body, and allowed the world to open up about her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Widowmaker Sea, to the West of Escator

The captain of the fishing boat had set course for Narbon.

No one argued with him over the matter.

Fishing had become impossible the night previous as the storm had gathered and the sea

arose in huge, rolling waves that made work impossible.

Even the crew began to feel queasy as the deck undulated back and forth, back and forth,

rolling ever closer to the black, glassy surface of the sea.

Ba”al”uz suffered as he had never thought possible. He lay in the cabin, twisted among

sweat-stained sheets, his head resting on the wooden sides of the bed, the deck beneath slippery

with the thin fluid he vomited forth every few minutes.

No one came near him. Everyone had too much respect for their own life to risk his foul

temper.

StarDrifter was unaffected, his stomach tranquil.

He sat on the deck, his back pressed against the timbers of the tiny bridge, knees drawn

up, trying to make himself as small as possible so he would not trip any of the crew who

ventured forth, the Weeper tucked in securely at his side, watching the rolling seas with distant

eyes. He could not merely see the storm building—the dark, heavy clouds milling close to the

sea then piling higher and higher until they completely obscured the sun—but feel it. The air was

heavy, almost thick, uncomfortably humid.

Oppressive.

It was not just the storm. StarDrifter thought he could feel a sense of expectation slowly

accumulating as the cloud mass thickened and darkened. A sense of power. Magic.

Something was happening.

Something was building.

StarDrifter did not know whether to anticipate or to fear.

So he sat through the morning and the early afternoon, his eyes fixed on some distant

unknowable point far out to sea, watching the storm gather in strength and in power.

By midafternoon the wind had strengthened to almost gale force. It was not yet raining,

but the sheer force of the wind blew spray over the ship”s deck, slicking its timbers, and soaking

StarDrifter. The captain, Prata, made his way out of the sheltered tiny bridge, grabbing

handholds as he came, cursing once as he slipped to his knees and grabbed at StarDrifter”s

shoulder—as much for support as to get the man”s attention.

“My friend, get belowdecks! This storm will hit us within the hour, and no one is going

to survive out here then!”

StarDrifter looked up at Prata”s concerned face, an amused glint in his eyes. “Then

perhaps we should persuade Ba”al”uz that some open air would be good for him.”

The captain chuckled. “StarDrifter, get below. Please. I can”t be wasting energy worrying

about you out here while trying to save the boat.”

“Leave me be, Prata. I will go below soon. Do not worry about me.”

Prata looked at him searchingly. “Then make sure it is soon, StarDrifter. Please.”

StarDrifter nodded, and Prata struggled back along the deck into the slightly safer

confines of the bridge.

StarDrifter returned his eyes to the sea, wrapping his cloak about him a little more tightly

in a futile effort to keep some of the spray from his flesh.

He was fascinated by what was happening. Something, something other than the storm,

was about to happen. Stars, the power gathering out to sea was sending electricity thrumming

along his skin and making the hair on his head rise slightly.

Something was coming, and StarDrifter knew he would go insane if he were trapped

belowdecks.

Even the Weeper felt different. It was growing colder, much like it had the day before

when StarDrifter had felt the sudden explosion of power from the deity. But its current coldness

could just as easily have been due to the increasing amounts of spray that soaked it, or to the fact

that it may be expending small amounts of power merely in anticipation of the storm…

StarDrifter didn”t really know. He knew he should heed Prata”s warning to go

belowdecks, but the storm looked a little way off yet, and surely he could sit here for a few more

minutes.

Maximilian, Serge, and Doyle rode for Narbon. They were some two or three hours

distant from the port city, and they wanted to get there as fast as they could.

To the west a massive storm was building over the Widowmaker Sea.

The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, their horses skittish, too ready to shy at every

gust of wind and every leaf blown across the road.

The road itself was deserted. Everyone had taken themselves inside and shut and bolted

the doors, and Maximilian thought that he, too, should get himself and the two Emerald

Guardsmen behind shelter.

Above them, treetops whipped to and fro, and leaves burst from shrubs in small, violent

explosions.

How had the storm become this violent, so fast?

Maximilian pulled his horse to a halt, signaling the other two to stop as well.

The horses milled about on the road, unnerved by the violence carried on the wind, their

heads tossing, their haunches bunched close to the ground, ready to bolt.

“We can”t stay out in this,” Maximilian said, having to almost shout to make himself

audible above the howling wind. His hair whipped about his face, but it wasn”t worth taking a