pustules of passion which prickled such hearts as Straton’s, as Randal’s. as
those of the prince/governor and his flounder-faced consort, Shupansea (fool
enough to keep snakes herself, thinking that Beysib snakes might be immune to
Nisibisi snake magic), and even as Niko’s own consuming compassion for a pair of
children he wet-nursed like some useless Rankan matron.
And the water in her bowl took chop as the salt hit it, then began to cloud and
then to bubble as if salt had turned to acid in hearts all around the town. The
color of the water grew grayer, more opaque, and outside her skin-covered
window, snow began to fall in giant flakes.
“Go, snakes,” she crooned, “go meet your brothers in the palace of the prince.
Meet and eat them, then defeat the peace between the Beysib and her Rankan host.
And find those children, both, and bite them with the poison of your fangs, so
that death beats down on midnight wings and Niko will be forced to come to me…
to me to save them.” Almost, she didn’t get those last words out, because a
chuckle rose to block the speech’s end-especially the word “save.”
For as she’d looked into the bowl she’d seen a vision, then another. First she’d
seen riders, and a boat with a lion rampant on its prow: one rider was her
ancient enemy, Tempus, called the Sleepless One, avatar of godly mischief;
another was Jihan, a more potent enemy. Froth Daughter, princess of the endless
sea, a copper-colored nymph of matchless passion, a sprite with all the strength
of moon and tides between her knees; another was Critias, Strat’s partner and