Stone Rose
Jan. 2nd, 2007 06:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrReposting the prologue along with chapters one and two. This story is rather short compared to the rest, at only 68,000 words. It would, I know, be so easy to make each of these 100,000 words at least -- but back when I first started this project, I wanted a fantasy series that a) didn't involve Killing the Horrible Evil Gods and 12) didn't go on for one million and three pages.
Anyway. Forgot to actually tell Tygs to send me corrections, so until I get home today it is mostly unbeta'ed. Apologies ^^;;
The tavern was overcrowded with people, choking him with the stench of sweating flesh, cheap perfume, and cheaper alcohol. He sipped his ale in distaste and watched as more people crowded inside, making an already intolerable place sheer torture.
Someone stepped close to his table, looming over him with an air of purpose. He didn’t look up immediately, instead took his time finishing his watered-down drink. When he finally decided to pay attention to the figure patiently standing beside him, he faltered, caught himself gawking like a country boy visiting the city for the first time – and he’d not been that for more years than he liked to count. “You’re Cortez?”
“Is that a problem?”
He finally recovered, shaking himself and administering a stern, silent reprimand. Still…this did not match what he’d been told. “Not what I was expecting.”
“You’re a fool for having expectations of a stranger,” Cortez said coolly. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
Nodding, the man threw some coins down and they made their way out of the tavern and into the crisp autumn night. He pulled a thin cigarette from a battered tin case and lit it carefully in the torch by the front door before they slunk off down the street.
High above a fat moon shone down with unusual brilliance; bright enough the harvesters could see to finish working their field. Here in the city, however, the light was broken by buildings and lamps, lending an eerie feeling to the atmosphere.
Cortez finally stopped behind an abandoned store – the sign hanging over the door said it had once been a hat shop. “So what can I do for you?”
“You’ll do anything?”
“I’m no assassin. Nor do I torture. Nothing of that sort. But otherwise? Depends on the price,” Cortez responded, voice still cool.
The man chuckled softly. Sour smoke from his cheap cigarette filled the space between them, tasting especially foul against the chill autumn air. Winter was not far off. Above them the moonlight was suddenly devoured by clouds, throwing everything into darkness. Everything was still, relatively silent – just late enough for everyone to be in the taverns but not yet stumbling home. “Oh, you’ll like the price,” the man said, and whispered a number.
Cortez gave no reaction. “What’s the job?”
Still keeping his voice whisper-soft, the words only just audible to Cortez, the man explained the job he wanted done, the glowing end of his cigarette moving rapidly in the dark as his hands moved with his words.
“That explains the price,” Cortez said dryly when he finished. “Tell me what I need to know.”
The man finished his cigarette and stamped it out in the dirt. He reached into his coat and pulled out a leather pouch. It clinked as he handed it over. He withdrew another, smaller, pouch. “Fifteen percent for the down payment. All the information we were able to gather. Where to meet us.”
“Why not do the job yourselves?” Cortez asked, voice somewhere between contempt and amusement.
“We’re paying you to do it,” the man hissed. “That’s all you need to know. Lastly – you’ve got two months, understand? If you screw up…”
“I won’t,” Cortez said sharply, and tucked the pouches away. “Pleasure doing business. See you in two months – with the rest of my money.”
The man chuckled again, as if he were having a grand joke at everyone else’s expense. “In two months, aye.” Turning on his heel, the man vanished back the way they’d come.
Sighing softly, Cortez followed after him but back on the street turned the opposite way. “Fidel is going to kill me.”
First fell the Storm Dragons, betrayed by one they trusted, their power broken, Sealed away.
In the opportunity created by the raging storms, the people of Pozhar overthrew Zhar Ptitka and vowed that never again would they need a god.
Across the chaotic seas the people of Piedre trembled in fear, huddled together in their homes while the world shook beneath them and storms raged above them, certain that their god had finally let loose the full fury of his terrible powers but unable to understand why.
Many days passed, the people growing more fearful and panicked as it seemed the destruction would continue on forever.
Then, one day, it simply stopped. The skies cleared, the oceans calmed, the land stilled.
Creeping from their shelters, the people ventured out into the world that was at once both familiar and strange. The landscape had changed – where there had been green was only stone, and where had been water was only earth, what once had been barren rock was now fertile land.
Gradually the people of Piedre realized that their god was nowhere to be found. Priests said his presence had vanished…that it seemed their god was dead.
Why, the people wondered, would their god rain destruction down upon them only to die himself?
For many days they searched in vain for some clue as to their god’s demise. On the verge of giving up, they at last lighted upon a secluded temple, one they had never seen before, hidden high and deep in the mountains. There, to their horror, the people did indeed find the body of their god – still and unmoving, unchanged, as though he were carved from stone…
His deadly eyes uncovered, a shattered mirror beside him, the people soon realized their fearsome Basilisk had killed himself.
The priests, upon seeing this, declared their god was not the cause of the destruction – indeed, it was clear he had sacrificed himself to save them. Still others said the Basilisk was indeed the enemy, and that someone else must have tricked him into gazing upon his own terrible reflection.
For days the arguments continued unabated, but at last the priests insisted that good or bad – a god was a god and should so be honored. If he had saved them, then of course he should be honored. If he had turned against them, then perhaps the honor would soothe the remnants of his anger.
To this, all agreed, and so they made preparations to bury their fallen god with full honor, filling the temple with all manner of tribute, placing him carefully in the center of the room upon an altar.
Placed into his hands was the only other object found in the empty room, lying between the dead Basilisk and the shattered mirror – a single, perfect rose, carved from some strange stone. It brought tears to the eyes of those who gazed upon on it, and all agreed it was the most beautiful thing to ever exist. With great reluctance they left it with the Basilisk, fearful of what might happen should they take it.
Their god buried, the people departed to rebuild their homes and lives. Over time the temple was forgotten, its location lost, its existence turned to legend…
Many generations later, a child was born into the royal family. He had pale grey hair, alabaster skin, and eyes that seemed to stop a person in their tracks. The one day, not long after the child’s fourteenth birthday, he looked into a servant’s eyes and the man immediately fell dead to the floor. Two more men died before anyone realized what was happening and had the young boy’s eyes bound.
Every few generations a Basilisk Prince is born into the royal family, mortal reincarnations of the Basilisk of Piedre, awaiting the day when he might once more reclaim his power as the god of stone, the god of death and destruction.
They blamed the death on him.
It didn’t matter that his grandmother had been seventy-eight, frail and worn from a hard-lived court life. Nor did it count for anything that she’d wanted to die, was tired of coughing into her delicate lace handkerchiefs, was tired of not being able to even eat her favorite foods.
No. All that mattered was that Culebra was the last to see her alive. He was the one she had chosen to spend her last moments with, therefore he must be the reason she was dead. If not for him she would still be alive, cackling and speaking loudly of all her own, old scandals. If not for him, she would have lived to seventy-nine. To a hundred.
There were no whispers, not yet. Even the most obnoxious in the assembled would not whisper while the priest read the funeral rites. Culebra could feel the stares, though. Cold, curious gazes crawled across his skin like poisonous insects.
His fault they would whisper later. Just like his parents. Just like Granito and the others.
In the air, the smell of roses was sharp. He vaguely remembered them from when he was a little boy, his eyes still uncovered. They were a deep, rich red. Like fresh-spilled blood, Granito had once said. The sort that came from a deep wound, not a shallow flesh wound that only spilled bright, garish blood.
He hated the smell.
Music began to play, a sad and solemn tune his grandmother would have hated, as the priest finished speaking. Now the whispers started. Culebra could picture the way their mouths would move behind gloved hands and black-lace fans.
Incense mingled sharply with the scent of roses, bitter and acrid – funeral incense. Beneath it all he could smell the death.
The corpse of his grandmother, despite the way the body had been dressed. He could smell those decomposing in the Great Cemetery behind the Cathedral. He could smell it looming on someone several rows back, a little to the left. A woman, he thought. It was also on the priest, distant and faint, like just catching a whiff of what the cooks were baking in the wind.
Last night he had smelled it on his grandmother, stronger than ever. Like soured milk. She’d been the only one he’d ever told about the ability to smell death…the only one who had not once held his curse against him. Isabella the Bold had loved her grandson as much as her daughter. She asked him if he could smell it on her, and had smiled when he’d said yes.
He had known she would die, but he hadn’t killed her no matter what the whispers said.
Culebra wrinkled his nose as a lesser priest walked by with the incense. Too much. The sharp, bitter smell stung his nose, and would have burned his eyes were they not so tightly bound in bandages and silk. Black silk, to match his robes. He remembered vaguely what he looked like, pale skin and gray hair. Black probably made him look even more frightening, and so unlike his countrymen it would be depressing if he was not already so used to it.
A hand touched his, gently, cautiously. Culebra pulled his hand away, shaking his head. The hand withdrew.
Corinos, asking if he was all right. He wasn’t, but he would manage anyway.
He wanted the funeral to be over. Isabella – she had never allowed her grandsons to call her ‘grandmother’ – hadn’t wanted this sort of service. She detested the pomp and circumstance, the ostentatiousness. Flat boring. Never once did I spend a single moment of my life doing boring. I won’t spend a single moment of my death doing it either. Blasted priests, they’ll shove me in a box and make me. Culebra, my pet, you see to it I have some fun. Hear me? Isabella the Bold will not become Isabella the Boring Corpse.
Thinking of her words almost brought a smile to his face, but if he smiled now the whispers would turn into exclamations. Culebra forced himself to remain politely expressionless. He would visit Isabella later, in the night, and send her off properly.
No roses. No incense. No boring rites. No obnoxious chants.
A sudden scream split the air, shattering the chatting of the priests, the quiet of the temple.
“It almost bit me!” A woman shrieked hysterically. “I almost died!”
Culebra stiffened in his seat as he realized what was going on. It would seem that one of his beauties had wandered…
He stood up slowly, and could feel as all eyes turned toward him. Slowly, carefully, he made his way down the row in which he sat and into the center aisle. Who had shrieked? He knew that tone. Ah. Lady Elisabeth. The twit. “Lady, one moment and I will see to the matter.”
“Corinos,” Culebra continued softly, and allowed his bodyguard to lead him down the center aisle to the row where Lady Elisabeth and several others had been sitting before they scrambled out in a near-panic. He ignored the scents of perfume, sweat, and fear that washed over him. He hated crowds. There were simply too many things that could go wrong.
Halfway down the pew, he stopped and knelt, hands reaching out to touch the body that brushed against his ankles. Gingerly he lifted up the surprisingly heavy snake, stroking its scales, letting it wrap around him. It brushed against his ear, his hair, before finally settling around him like an exotic wrap. It was a heavy but not unwelcome weight. Now Culebra did smile, petting the smooth, slick scales.
This snake he didn’t know. A new one, how exciting He wondered what kind.
Slowly he turned and made his way once more to the center aisle. “I apologize for the disturbance,” he said in a low voice to the head priest. “I will take him away. Please continue the service without me.” Bowing his head, he heard the swish of fabric, the rustle of movement, as people bowed to him. Turning away, he began walking in the direction of the main entrance.
He tensed as he felt a hand land gently at the small of his back. “I no longer require your assistance,” Culebra said levelly, only just keeping frost from his voice.
He felt Corinos shrug in the way the hand on his back shifted slightly. “I beg pardon, Highness, but it began to rain during the service and I would not have you stumbling through mud and puddles.”
Culebra grit his teeth and gave a stiff nod. He swore he could feel Corinos’s quiet satisfaction, as the hand on his back settled more firmly. Culebra could feel the heat of it even through the layers and layers of his heavy black robes.
“Describe my new beauty?” he said to change the subject, distract himself from the warm touch.
Corinos chuckled softly, and Culebra told himself sternly not to admire it, not to be warmed by it. He missed that sound so…
“She is quite beautiful, Highness. Dark green and yellow scales.”
“Green and yellow? That is not native to Piedre…” Culebra frowned in thought, fingers going to stroke and pet his new snake, which seemed almost to nuzzle into his touch. He barely noticed as Corinos gently guided him along the central courtyard and into the palace. “It could have come in on a ship. Do you think?”
“It would not be the first time,” Corinos said, and Culebra could hear the smile in his voice.
Always patient. Always kind. Corinos knew him better than anyone. Understood him. Knew why he acted the way he did. Culebra wanted nothing more than to accept all that Corinos had more than once offered him. Only once had he come close to giving in.
He couldn’t give in. He was cursed. Granito had died because of him. That Corinos did not hold it against him only made Culebra love him more. Made it that much harder to say no.
He knew from the smell – clear, bright, free of the foul smells that permeated the rest of the palace – that they had arrived at his sanctuary. He jerked away from the hand still resting at the small of his back. “Thank you, Corinos.”
“You are welcome, Highness. I will wait for you.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can call for you. Return to the service.” Culebra turned and slowly pushed open the door into his sanctuary.
Inside he was greeted by the smell of fresh water, plants, and sun-warmed rock. He had never seen it, but he knew from touch that the entire sanctuary was made of glass. In the warm months, the sun shone through and kept everything as warm as his darlings preferred. The multitude of plants, water, and rocks gave them both warm and cool places to recline.
So quiet. Nothing but the splash of water and the rustle of plants met his ears, though if he listened close he could tell when his snakes moved.
He knelt and let his newest companion slither down his arm, then stood and walked toward what he knew to be almost exactly the center of the vast sanctuary. Exactly how many snakes he had, he wasn’t certain. Hundreds. Nearly all of them venomous. Not a single one had ever tried to bite him. Nor would they.
More than once they had been quite willing to bite for him. A great many nobles and visiting dignitaries had no idea how very close they had come to death for daring to upset the Basilisk Prince.
His people might fear, even hate, him, but he would always have his beauties.
As he reached the center of the sanctuary, Culebra slowly bent down and slid onto a large boulder. It was old, worn down by water and time, moved to the palace decades ago by the last Basilisk Prince, curved perfectly to make a place for him to lay.
He stood back up, briefly, to shuck off all but his thin, linen under robe. He heard one of his shoes splash faintly into the water of a nearby pool, and moved to retrieve it, laying it atop his discarded clothing before finally stretching out on his stone bed.
In mere seconds snakes gathered, all lengths and sizes. Some curled up on his legs, others along his side. Two wrapped up together on his belly, three more wound around his neck and shoulders. Still others twined about his arms.
More than once a servant had dared to open the door, only to shriek in panic to see him covered in snakes. Over time, the panic had faded away to resignation. The fear never did – no one, not even Corinos, ventured into the sanctuary.
It was the one place where he was not feared or hated. Here, he was loved and could love freely. His snakes had nothing to fear from him. They knew him, knew from whom he was descended and loved him for it.
Culebra reached up to pet the one which rested with its head on his right cheek, his left pressed against the sun-warmed stone. He had intended to stay only a moment, to see that the new one was well-situated…but it was so warm and quiet…
He woke much later, when he could feel that moonlight rather than sunlight shown down upon him. The snakes shifted, moved way, as he slowly stood up. “Sorry, my beauties. I must go. I’ll return to you again soon.”
Not bothering to even try to redress himself, Culebra bundled up his clothes and hastily crossed to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped through – and caught too late the scent, crashing right into the hard, muscled chest of his bodyguard. “I told you not to wait,” he said. He tried to sound firm, annoyed, but all he felt was contrite – he’d known Corinos would ignore him and wait.
“You should not be walking about so, Highness. It is far too cool out.”
“I’m fine,” Culebra said, but he could hear and feel the way Corinos moved, the swish of fabric as Corinos stripped out of his own robe and draped it over Culebra’s shoulders. “I have my own robes right here, Corinos.”
“They are soaking wet, Highness. You should not leave them on the ground, your pets ruin them every time.”
Culebra did not protest as a hand settled at the small of his back and began to guide him away from the sanctuary. “They are simply eager to see me.”
A soft chuckle. “Tell them their affection is best shown by not ruining your clothes.”
“At least I don’t go completely naked,” Culebra said without thinking. He winced as his own words struck him, the hand at his back tensing, the fingers digging a moment. “I should not have said that.”
Corinos sounded sad as he replied. “You should not say no, Highness. That is the only thing which falls from your mouth that displeases me.” His voice was like dark sugar, the thick, soft stuff that was sugar mixed with molasses. His favorite breakfast was buns covered with melted dark sugar, not least of all because they had always made him think of the man beside him.
Now he couldn’t stand them. They tasted bitter, sour. Something that had once been sweet but was now past its prime. “No is what I said, no is what I meant.”
“You will not kill me, Cul.”
Culebra abruptly halted, turned, and shoved hard – and it only angered him more that he was only able to shove Corinos away because Corinos permitted it. “Do not say such things to me, bodyguard. You cross your bounds. I will find my own way to my rooms. You are dismissed for the evening.”
Furious, more furious at the trembling in his hands, Culebra turned and stormed away, counting steps from pure habit, turning as necessary, hands landing upon his bedroom door right before his anger drove him to keep moving and crash right into it. He slid inside, and locked the door behind him.
It wouldn’t keep Corinos out, if he felt like entering – his bodyguard knew more than a few little tricks – but it would make it clear that Culebra was angry.
He was nearly to the closet when he heard the familiar sound of Corinos picking the lock. Never mind the bastard had a set of keys to every room of the palace in which Culebra spent time…he just picked them to prove Culebra could not and would not stop him.
If he didn’t love the man so much, Culebra would sic a snake on him. As it stood, he was still awfully tempted. He turned and folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
“Highness,” Corinos greeted calmly. His feet were almost soundless as he padded across the room. He smelled of leather and steel, a faint, lingering hint of funeral incense that on him, did not smell bad at all.
Culebra recoiled as he drew too close for comfort. “I believe I told you, bodyguard, that you were dismissed.”
“I thought you would like to go see your grandmother, Highness, now that the rest of the palace is asleep and will not upset you.”
Scales and teeth, he hated that this man knew him so well. “I can go myself.”
“It is raining quite heavily, Highness.”
Which meant he’d be disoriented, and that meant he would need Corinos’s help. “Very well,” he said ungraciously.
He felt and heard Corinos move, and then he was being undressed. Corinos’s hands were assured but gentle.
Culebra shivered as he stood nude in the middle of his room, hugging himself as he heard Corinos moved to the wardrobe. Then he was back, and helping Culebra slide into soft, warm linen and fine wool.
“Fall has been temperate,” Corinos said idly, “which means winter will be harsh.”
Nodding, Culebra slid into the shoes that were held for him, one hand resting on Corinos’s shoulder for balance. “Perhaps there will be snow for my birthday.”
“Undoubtedly, Highness.”
The thought of snow tricked a smile from his face. He loved snow – cold but so soft. The way it caught in his hair, melted on his cheeks.
So very different from the water it began as…Culebra shifted his thoughts before they could turn down a dark path.
The water in his sanctuary was one thing. Even rivers did not bother him. Never again, though, would he venture upon the sea…
Snow. He clung to that thought as Corinos draped a rain cloak over his shoulders.
Given that his greatest moment of weakness had been in the snow, he should hate it. As hard as tried, however, he could not. He cut the thought off. “Come,” he said sharply, and strode toward the door and out of his room.
Corinos caught up a second later, that cursed hand immediately moving to the small of Culebra’s back. Arguing was a waste of effort. Culebra let his bodyguard have his way for the time being.
Eventually the man would give up. Realize he was wasting this time. That he should, in fact, hate the man who was responsible for the death of his adored older brother.
If not for Culebra, Granito would still be alive. He would still be wreaking havoc in the palace, flirting with servants and ladies alike, flouting rules cheerfully alongside the Dowager Queen while the King, Culebra’s older brother, bellowed for his royal guard and grandmother to behave.
Granito had died protecting him from raging, ravenous mermaids.
Culebra hated himself. Why didn’t Corinos?
“Here we are, Highness,” Corinos said softly.
He could smell it – death was a scent that would never elude him. Crypts always smelled the same, no matter how often they were cleaned, how well they were maintained. Nothing mattered. They always smelled of age and rot, of dust and mold. Of lost, forgotten things.
“What does it look like?” he asked softly, reaching out to race the letters carved into the marble pedestal upon which his grandmother’s coffin rest. Her name was carved, and the dates of birth and death. A poem, a pretty, flowery stanza that she would have loathed.
He could see her mouth twist in disgust, a sneer shape her lips – then she would suddenly burst into laughter and recite a poem of her own, something hideously inappropriate that would make all the young girls blush, the young boys look nervously at the young girls, and even a few of the jaded adults would flush with guilt – or pleasure.
The Dowager Queen had ruled well and firmly, until she handed it over to her own son and then to her grandson, when the King and Queen had died in their sleep from the strange illness that had swept the country that year. In all those years, even through the sadness, she knew how to dredge up smiles and cries of outrage and loved every minute of it.
Culebra had always been envious of her ability to live so loudly, so colorfully.
“It’s rather more simple than I would have expected his Majesty to choose,” Corinos said thoughtfully. He moved closer, briefly blocking the heat of the torch he’d set in a sconce upon their entrance to the royal tomb, then knelt beside Culebra. “White marble, the letters are simply carved, not gilded as he threatened.” A soft chuckle. “The coffin is dark rosewood, very simple.”
“I bet she arranged it all right under his nose,” Culebra said, unable to resist a soft laugh of his own. “That’s why the ceremony was so pretentious – Pruebas was having his revenge.”
“Undoubtedly,” Corinos agreed.
Culebra let his fingers slide away from the cold marble, and they brushed briefly against Corinos. He ignored it, and brought his hand together, bowing his head to pray silently. Be warm while you rest, Grandmother. Isabella. When you wake, the sun will be shining. More formal prayer complete, Culebra allowed his thoughts to slide to the more personal. I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything. I wish I could fulfill your last promise, Isabella. I cannot. I knew my parents would die. I knew Granito would die. I told you that shortly you would die. All around me I sense death. I am leaving, grandmother. I am sorry.”
“I am ready,” he said. “We can go.” Briefly he thought to protest the way Corinos helped him – he was more than capable of standing up on his own, but telling it to his grandmother made everything real, clear. All too soon, he would never feel Corinos’s touch again. Would never smell him, or sense when he was smirking.
He was leaving. Arranging it had taken months, and even now far too many things could go wrong. Whatever happened, however, no one was stopping him. – he was tired of it. Of everything.
Knowing people were going to die, and sometimes even knowing precisely how long they had to live. How did his ancestors bear it? Nor could he take the hateful whispers, that everything was his fault. That everyone he touched or grew close to was doomed to die before their time. More than once he had heard them say it was a miracle that his brother was still alive.
Culebra hated them all. Did they think he enjoyed this existence? That he liked knowing that all he had to do to kill everyone and everything in sight was rip off the silk and cotton bound tightly around his eyes?
He was only human, for all that he was cursed with a terrible power.
Only a month or so more, and all should fall into place. He would finally be free of this place once and for all. He would not have to see wait as people died around him. Would not have to await the day when he finally killed himself or let someone kill him.
He would not have to wake up one day and realize that the scent of death clung to Corinos.
So lost in thought was he, that they were back in his room before he realized it. He ordered Corinos away, but as usual was ignored, as Corinos went about dressing him for bed. “Sleep, Highness,” Corinos said gently, and all but shoved him into bed, tugging the blankets up high.
More drained from the funeral than he liked to admit, Culebra curled up in his blankets and pillows, chuckling softly at the ponderous weight that shifted and moved beside him on the massive bed.
Ruisenor was the only snake who bore a name. Culebra had never known another like her. She was enormous – at least fifteen feet long, as wide as his hand span. He had met her when he was only a child, back when he did not have to cover his eyes…mere months before his gaze started to freeze people in their tracks, leave them with splitting headaches.
She was black – true black, the kind that almost looked blue in certain light. Sinuous, elegant, beautiful and deadly. He seldom saw her during the day, only in the early morning and late at night, but if he needed her, Ruisenor was there.
He felt himself drifting off, even his darkest thoughts not able to win against the cozy fire, warm bed, the snake beside him…and Corinos, whom he could hear sit down beside him, back to the bed, head just lying against the mattress.
The stupid man would stay there all night just because he knew Culebra was still upset about Isabella. Bastard bodyguard, couldn’t he see he’d be better off without having to baby-sit a blind prince? He’d do better, be happier, if he’d just go somewhere else!
That’s why Culebra was leaving. He was tired of sensing death, of the whispers…but really it was Corinos. He wanted Corinos to be well and truly happy. He did not want to see the man he loved begin to hate him as everyone else did.
Except Corinos was stupid and stubborn and wouldn’t go away like Culebra ordered him. Well, he’d finally figured out how to fix the problem. In a month, Culebra would vanish and Corinos would finally be free.
Corinos waited until Culebra’s breath evened out, then stood and moved to sit down beside him on the bed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, foolish prince.
Corinos was going to throttle him. Then beat him senseless. Then he was going to tie him down and show him in explicit detail just how much Corinos was never going to stop loving him.
Or let him go. Did Culebra really think he didn’t know what the prince was up to? He’d be insulted if he wasn’t so livid.
The missives had come only that morning, and Corinos had all but bolted for the sanctuary, where Culebra always spent his mornings, to wring his neck then and there.
He raked a hand through his hair and stifled a sigh.
All day he’d debated whether or not to tell Culebra he was aware of his scheme to run away. In the end, with the funeral and the rumors that of course started flying, Corinos had decided to keep his knowledge a secret.
Let the month pass. Let nothing happen. Then he’d either beat Culebra senseless or actually go through with that whole tying down thing…
Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, Corinos forced his thoughts to behave and looked down at the sleeping prince. Against his will, his hand strayed up to stroke the fine lines of Culebra’s cheek bones, brush soft strands of gray hair from the dark silk that covered his eyes.
That he’d slept straight through the remainder of the service and the farewell dinner…Culebra was usually good about tending his duties. Not of late, but that was probably because his depression was running deeper than usual…and there was also his plans of running away.
He wondered how long Culebra would refuse to speak to him, when he realized that his bodyguard had been aware of his plans almost the entire time. Hopefully not more than week – that had been torturous.
It was times like this Corinos missed his brother more than ever. Granito could make anyone smile, could ease any sorrow. No one could remain depressed around his older brother. Granito didn’t know the meaning of the word depressed.
For years it had made him jealous. That had ended in the Dowager Queen’s apple orchard – him with a broken nose, his brother a black eye, and all misunderstandings resolved. They’d told Culebra they’d gotten into it with some thieves. Every since he’d been trying to convince Culebra that the prince was being stupid.
So far, he’d gotten one kiss and a great deal of frustration for his efforts.
Granito had said he had more patience than even a god. However, even gods eventually ran out of patience – and Corinos was nearly at the limit if his. There had to be a faster way to convince a stubborn, depressed prince that giving in to the bodyguard that loved him mind, body, and soul would solve a lot of both their problems.
Every minute of every day Corinos rather thought that the Basilisk Prince was a poor title – Stupid, Stubborn Prince was far more fitting.
Stupid, stubborn, beautiful, wonderful, and so weighed down with his own thoughts that Corinos wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life soothing that pain away. If only Culebra would let him…
He shook his head. Sleep was what he needed, but he didn’t trust Culebra not to wake and go wandering at some point in the night. Which just wouldn’t do, and thinking that returned him to that which mattered most.
Keeping Culebra safe.
More than a few groups would like to have the Basilisk Prince at their disposal. Reports had been flying in lately of increased activity from groups that had too long been dormant.
The Brotherhood of the Black Rose had been seen within the royal city, asking questions they shouldn’t be asking, stirring up trouble with them.
Everyone had thought the Brotherhood of the White Rose dead – yet more than a few reports had been sent in, dispelling that belief quite firmly, at least in Corinos’s mind.
So far he had managed to keep the reports to a precious few, not wanting to alarm the King or Prince until he and the King’s men were certain the two organizations were truly going to become a threat. The Roses rose and fell, but seldom did they rise to dangerous levels.
Except that a Black Rose had somehow convinced Culebra that he could spirit him away to the mountains. Corinos had gone cold reading those reports. Then he’d wanted to kill a certain prince.
Now he had to worry about the Black Rose. They seldom turned into real trouble, but when they did – history was painted with the blood they’d spilled.
The Brotherhoods dated back to the days when, according to legend – and who could call it false with Culebra walking around – the people had buried the dead Basilisk, and placed in his hands a single rose that had been lying beside the body.
The people had argued. Some had said the god was responsible for the destruction. Others said he had saved his people. From those who believed the Basilisk had turned on his own children arose the Brotherhood of the Black Rose. Whenever a Basilisk Prince was born, they were never far away. Often they did what amounted to nothing, but not always. Three Basilisk Princes had died at their hands.
The Brotherhood of the White Rose originated from those who stood in defense of the fallen Basilisk. They fought against the Black Rose. At one point in time they had been a legitimate faith – but time, feuding, and the far more bloodthirsty Black Rose had destroyed them. Or so had been believed until recently.
He’d sent out a few trusted soldiers to investigate the matter more thoroughly. They should be reporting back at the end of the week. Corinos hoped it was nothing more than rumors, ruffians using the Roses simply for the reputation.
If the Black Rose was fully active…
His thoughts broke off as Culebra shifted restlessly beside him, breaking the silence with tortured half-sobs. A nightmare. Culebra had them frequently, ever since a return journey from Pozhar more than three years ago.
Scales and teeth, Corinos didn’t know how the prince endured it. He felt sick thinking about it. Until three years ago mermaids had only been part of ancient Kundouin myth. Then sailors and travelers had started relating chilling rumors, terrifying stories…
Corinos glowered in the dark, as thoughts of the mermaids invariably made him think of the nobles who had all but attacked Culebra upon his return. No survivors, no other witnesses. Only their blind, cursed prince to say that an entire ship full of people had been killed by mermaids – everyone except the prince.
No one else could be found to say the story was true, of course – they had bee killed. However, Culebra said that Prince Nankyokukai of Kundou had saved him, taken him to Pozhar, where Piedre had sent a new ship to see him home.
Except that only months after its arrival in Pozhar, Prince Nankyokukai’s ship had been lost at sea. It had vanished completely. Some said it had to do with the days-long storm that had seemed to cover the entire world. Many had declared it a sign of the return of the Three Storm Dragons of Kundou.
Only a year and a half ago, Pozhar too had suddenly changed its opinion on the divine, and declared their Sacred Firebird was not, after all, going to destroy them. Queen Sonya declared he was returned to them, and that the rest of the True Sacred Prophecy would some day come to pass.
All that meant to Corinos was that there was no one to tell the suspicious fools of Piedre that their prince had indeed been attacked by mermaids. He needed no such witnesses, but he would enjoy shoving it in the faces of those obnoxious fools.
Beside him, the prince’s cries suddenly worsened, and the thrashed on the bed, arms flying out, as if he was lost and trying to find his way. Corinos caught the arms and pressed them gently down, leaning his weight over Culebra until he stilled. He bent his head to speak softly in the prince’s ear. “Culebra, it’s all right. I promise.”
Making a faint, whimpering sound, the sleeping prince turned toward his voice, breath soft, smelling of sweet wine, as it washed over him. Corinos sat up before he could do something stupid and painful. In all the years he’d loved the prince, only once had Culebra let slip any sign he felt the same.
Stupid, stubborn princes who thought they were doing the right thing.
Still, he did have one kiss. Corinos was more than willing to consider that progress. After he told the prince his little scheme had been found out, he would start to work harder at settling what lie between them.
Reluctantly Corinos let his hands slide away from Culebra’s arm, enjoying the soft skin beneath his rough hands. Culebra would always stand out in Piedre. His skin was perfectly, flawlessly white, gray hair as fine as silk. It was a startling thing to see in a country where everyone had olive skin, dark hair and eyes. He wondered, sometimes, what color Culebra’s eyes were beneath the bindings. Would they be dark amber like his brothers? Brown like his father’s? Or would they be the same gray as his hair?
Not that it mattered. Culebra’s eyes had been covered for as long as he’d known the prince. Though he wondered about the eyes beneath the binding, it was more natural curiosity than any real desire to know.
Something brushed by his hand, drawing him from his wandering thoughts, and in the light of the fire, Corinos could just make out the long coil of black that was separate from the surrounding darkness.
Ruisenor. If Culebra had a favorite among his hundreds of snakes, it was the great beast that slept with him every night. Being appointed to the position of bodyguard to the Basilisk Prince of Piedre had forced him to become something of an expert on snakes. He could tell in a moment which ones were venomous, which ones merely squeezed their victims to death, to which country each snake was native. He had not realized there could be so many snakes in the world. If there was a species unaccounted for, then it was only a matter of time. Just this night, yet another one had appeared in the church while it had sought out the prince.
Culebra had told him once that he could sort of read how the snakes felt. That they seemed to know, too, when he was happy or upset, and who was the source of either. It chilled Corinos when Culebra let it slip one night that he had only to ask and the snakes would employ their deadly skills to remove all those who upset him. More than a few people in the palace were more terrified of the Prince’s pets than they were of his eyesight.
Thankfully, precious few knew about Ruisenor. The snake vanished during the day – Corinos did not want to know where it went – so the servants never saw her. He was the only one who tended and cared for the prince.
He had no idea where the gigantic originated. All his research told him was that no one had ever heard a blue-black snake of such length and size. There were not even accounts of old myths or legends. The snake, as near as he could tell, did not exist.
So long as it did not turn on the prince – something he had to concede was highly unlikely – Corinos did not particularly care. He would also admit that should he fail to keep intruders away, there was no doubt that Ruisenor would take care of matters. A snake of that size…he did not like to think too hard on what sorts of things it could eat if it felt like it.
Though there were days he could cheerfully compose a list and hand it to her with an apology if the food wound up tasting awful.
First on that list would be the Roses. Then all the nobles who needed to learn to keep their disrespectful, foolish mouths shut. Some days he was sorely tempted to tack on Pruebas’s name. He was a good King, but a poor brother.
His thoughts were once more broken off as Culebra began to shift again in his sleep, moving restlessly from side to side. Corinos reached out and let his hand rest lightly on Culebra’s hip, tugging him a bit closer, wishing he could hold him properly. The prince immediately stilled, a telling sign, and Corinos took what joy from it that he could. He smiled faintly at the dark head that moved closer to rest alongside Culebra’s. “We take care of him, don’t we, dark beauty? Perhaps between us, someday we will make him see reason.”
The snake shifted again, and it was probably the late hour that made it seem as though the snake nodded. Corinos smiled faintly and reached up to gently stroke her head – it had taken him months to work up the bravery to touch the gigantic snake. She had, in the end, seemed to say ‘about time’ but again he thought it must only be in his head. On the other hand, Culebra was quite confident in expressing to him how the various snakes felt…so perhaps she was nodding.
He let his hand slide away to once more rest lightly on Culebra’s hip, feeling the warmth of the prince, silently promising to them both that one day he would be able to comfort Culebra properly, finally rid of the wall that the prince insisted stay between them.
Several minutes later, Culebra stilled, settled, and Corinos knew there would be no more dreams that night. Stroking the prince’s cheek one last time, he slid back off the bed and settled on the floor, crossing his arms over his chest, sword across his lap.
“Corinos, I have told you a thousand times not to sleep on the floor like that,” Culebra said in his ear.
If the prince wanted revenge, then speaking to him in that low, sleep-hazed voice was certainly the way to go about it. Just barely touching him as he sat up was also a clever idea. Stifling a sigh, Corinos stood up and stretched. He scrubbed at his hair and face, longing for a bath, a shave. “Sleep well, Highness?”
“Better than idiots who insist on sleeping on cold floors,” Culebra retorted, reaching out to pet Ruisenor as the snake slithered off the bed and away to wherever it went during the daylight hours – which was still an hour away. Culebra was not one to sleep for long, usually going to bed late and rising at least an hour or two before dawn. The nap he’d taken yesterday was testament to just how badly the Dowager Queen’s death had upset him.
“I slept very well, thank you, Highness.”
Saying nothing, Culebra strode across his room and pulled on the long rope in the corner of his room – calling for breakfast, a bath. He would assist Culebra, and once he was eating, set guards while he went to prepare himself for the day.
Dressing Culebra was pure torture – but one he would not give up for the world. In every way Culebra was different from his countrymen. Pale where Piedrens were dark, slender and fine-boned where most Piedrens were of larger, stockier build. No matter how many hours Culebra spent in the sun, he would always be as pale as marble, and no amount of exercise would ever build his muscles beyond a wiry strength that only emphasized his slighter frame.
Yet it was that very strangeness that made him the closest to Piedre and the god they had once worshipped.
Still, it wasn’t his near-divinity of which Corinos thought when he looked upon Culebra. Unlike so many others, he saw only a young man who spiraled down into despondence a little more each day…a young man he wished would realize that Corinos was all he needed to drive away most of that anguish.
Shaking off his thoughts, Corinos crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a pale, blue-gray robe. Moving to Culebra, he carefully stripped the prince of his sleeping clothes and slid the robe over his shoulders, letting his hands caress lightly as he pulled the cord belt tight and cinched it.
“Corinos,” Culebra said sharply.
Corinos ignored the reprimand. “What are your plans for the day, Highness?
Only a few years ago, Culebra had been the exotic face of Piedre to the world – a blind, pretty prince with a sharp mind, he had traveled the world, representing his country in Kundou, Pozhar, and Verde.
Then had come the mermaids – an ancient Kundouin myth come to life in the most awful way. Culebra had held together remarkably well, all through his second journey back across the sea – and that after having first to return to Pozhar. He had kept calm throughout the interviews with his brother and the ministers, through the whispers at dinner…and had broken down entirely in his room when finally he was left in peace.
He had refused to go near the ocean since. The decision had only deepened the rift between Culebra and his brother – not that either one of them seemed to mind. There was very little love lost between them; Culebra too proud and resigned to being disliked by everyone, Pruebas too strict and unbending – and sometimes Corinos suspected envious – to be more understanding and gentle with his little brother.
Granito had always tried to reconcile the differences between the royal brothers, but Pruebas had disliked Granito for his colorful, almost flamboyant ways – traits, he thought, that did not belong in a bodyguard.
Except flamboyant had been exactly what Culebra needed. He needed people who laughed and flouted those rules which could be flouted. People who did not care what others thought. Pruebas’s greatest flaw was that he cared too much what people thought, and always that led back to what they thought of his notorious brother.
He broke off his wandering thoughts with a shake of his head, realizing Culebra had never answered him. “Highness, have you plans for the day?”
“My beauties, of course,” Culebra answered. “After that, I am having lunch with my brother. Then perhaps we might go into town? I wanted to offer prayers for Isabella at her church.”
Isabella had been fond of a small, old church tucked away in a corner of the crowded city. She had often – loudly – said it was far more sincere than the pomposity that had built the cathedral in which yesterday’s service had been held. She had been quiet close with the father who maintained it – his brother had often speculated how close, usually where Isabella could hear and chortle secretively. Occasionally, Culebra had gone with her.
“As you wish, Highness,” Corinos replied. “Have you any engagements this evening?”
“None. The council is in session, and I’ve no desire to attend balls and dinner parties.” He could see the way Culebra repressed a shudder. They were something he managed in the days when he had traveled, but he had never liked them. Being blind made it difficult to navigate such things, and more than a little overwhelming. “If I am fortunate, I can enjoy a quiet evening.”
Corinos forced himself not to think about what they could – should – be doing on such a rare free night. If he succumbed to such thoughts, he’d had a long, frustrating day in front of him.
His thoughts broke off as servants rapped at the door, and he opened it to admit them, watching carefully as they brought in the bathtub, followed by bucket after bucket of steaming water. “Your bath is ready, Highness,” he said as the servants finished and closed the door behind them.
“I noticed,” Culebra said, but without heat, the faintest twist of a smile to his lips. He set down the stone he’d been playing with – there were several stones, and other miscellaneous objects – in a heavy porcelain bowl beside the fireplace, kept there for their interesting textures and shapes. Culebra loved to touch them, play with them, memorize every last contour.
Corinos helped him out of his robe and into the bath, keeping his mind carefully blank as he watched Culebra slide into the steaming water.
“You may go,” Culebra said, his head bent down as he felt out his washing cloth and soap. “I am in no hurry this morning.”
“Nor am I, Highness,” Corinos said, and looked away from the sight of Culebra slowly and carefully washing himself. That, however, only made his hearing more acute, and that proved far more torturous.
Sternly reminding himself of all the reasons giving in to temptation was a bad idea, Corinos strode toward the window on the opposite side of the massive chamber and looked into the courtyard.
The royal palace was three stories high, shaped in like a rectangle, the last side made up only of the palace gates. Within the palace was a maze of long halls, interconnected chambers, hidden chambers, never mind the stairwells and smaller hallways. Corinos could never quite tell if whomever had designed it had kept safety of the royal family in mind, or not considered it all. A lifetime could be spent memorizing the layout of the palace, and still several rooms would remain undetected.
No one but a few poor servants were about. Lamps were still lit, spilling intermittent light across the pale cobblestones, dispelling the dark of the early morning hour. Not enough of it, for Corinos’s tastes. He could see far too many places where an intruder might lurk.
Granito would have seen even more. His brother had always been the better bodyguard. That Corinos could not find his equal was the sole reason Culebra had only one bodyguard. Hundreds had been interviewed, but for one reason or another Corinos found them lacking. He had been more than willing to trust Culebra to Granito, but no one else. The two of them had been sworn as his lifelong protectors. He would not replace his brother lightly.
If he were honest, which he must always be for lies could cost lives, he was also becoming less and less willing to share. Culebra was his. To protect. To love.
Even if Culebra was being stubborn and stupid about it.
Anyway. Forgot to actually tell Tygs to send me corrections, so until I get home today it is mostly unbeta'ed. Apologies ^^;;
Stone Rose
Hair the color of slate, skin like marble, deadly eyes hidden from sight, the beautiful and terrible Basilisk.
~The Book of the Dead
Hair the color of slate, skin like marble, deadly eyes hidden from sight, the beautiful and terrible Basilisk.
~The Book of the Dead
Prologue
The tavern was overcrowded with people, choking him with the stench of sweating flesh, cheap perfume, and cheaper alcohol. He sipped his ale in distaste and watched as more people crowded inside, making an already intolerable place sheer torture.
Someone stepped close to his table, looming over him with an air of purpose. He didn’t look up immediately, instead took his time finishing his watered-down drink. When he finally decided to pay attention to the figure patiently standing beside him, he faltered, caught himself gawking like a country boy visiting the city for the first time – and he’d not been that for more years than he liked to count. “You’re Cortez?”
“Is that a problem?”
He finally recovered, shaking himself and administering a stern, silent reprimand. Still…this did not match what he’d been told. “Not what I was expecting.”
“You’re a fool for having expectations of a stranger,” Cortez said coolly. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
Nodding, the man threw some coins down and they made their way out of the tavern and into the crisp autumn night. He pulled a thin cigarette from a battered tin case and lit it carefully in the torch by the front door before they slunk off down the street.
High above a fat moon shone down with unusual brilliance; bright enough the harvesters could see to finish working their field. Here in the city, however, the light was broken by buildings and lamps, lending an eerie feeling to the atmosphere.
Cortez finally stopped behind an abandoned store – the sign hanging over the door said it had once been a hat shop. “So what can I do for you?”
“You’ll do anything?”
“I’m no assassin. Nor do I torture. Nothing of that sort. But otherwise? Depends on the price,” Cortez responded, voice still cool.
The man chuckled softly. Sour smoke from his cheap cigarette filled the space between them, tasting especially foul against the chill autumn air. Winter was not far off. Above them the moonlight was suddenly devoured by clouds, throwing everything into darkness. Everything was still, relatively silent – just late enough for everyone to be in the taverns but not yet stumbling home. “Oh, you’ll like the price,” the man said, and whispered a number.
Cortez gave no reaction. “What’s the job?”
Still keeping his voice whisper-soft, the words only just audible to Cortez, the man explained the job he wanted done, the glowing end of his cigarette moving rapidly in the dark as his hands moved with his words.
“That explains the price,” Cortez said dryly when he finished. “Tell me what I need to know.”
The man finished his cigarette and stamped it out in the dirt. He reached into his coat and pulled out a leather pouch. It clinked as he handed it over. He withdrew another, smaller, pouch. “Fifteen percent for the down payment. All the information we were able to gather. Where to meet us.”
“Why not do the job yourselves?” Cortez asked, voice somewhere between contempt and amusement.
“We’re paying you to do it,” the man hissed. “That’s all you need to know. Lastly – you’ve got two months, understand? If you screw up…”
“I won’t,” Cortez said sharply, and tucked the pouches away. “Pleasure doing business. See you in two months – with the rest of my money.”
The man chuckled again, as if he were having a grand joke at everyone else’s expense. “In two months, aye.” Turning on his heel, the man vanished back the way they’d come.
Sighing softly, Cortez followed after him but back on the street turned the opposite way. “Fidel is going to kill me.”
First fell the Storm Dragons, betrayed by one they trusted, their power broken, Sealed away.
In the opportunity created by the raging storms, the people of Pozhar overthrew Zhar Ptitka and vowed that never again would they need a god.
Across the chaotic seas the people of Piedre trembled in fear, huddled together in their homes while the world shook beneath them and storms raged above them, certain that their god had finally let loose the full fury of his terrible powers but unable to understand why.
Many days passed, the people growing more fearful and panicked as it seemed the destruction would continue on forever.
Then, one day, it simply stopped. The skies cleared, the oceans calmed, the land stilled.
Creeping from their shelters, the people ventured out into the world that was at once both familiar and strange. The landscape had changed – where there had been green was only stone, and where had been water was only earth, what once had been barren rock was now fertile land.
Gradually the people of Piedre realized that their god was nowhere to be found. Priests said his presence had vanished…that it seemed their god was dead.
Why, the people wondered, would their god rain destruction down upon them only to die himself?
For many days they searched in vain for some clue as to their god’s demise. On the verge of giving up, they at last lighted upon a secluded temple, one they had never seen before, hidden high and deep in the mountains. There, to their horror, the people did indeed find the body of their god – still and unmoving, unchanged, as though he were carved from stone…
His deadly eyes uncovered, a shattered mirror beside him, the people soon realized their fearsome Basilisk had killed himself.
The priests, upon seeing this, declared their god was not the cause of the destruction – indeed, it was clear he had sacrificed himself to save them. Still others said the Basilisk was indeed the enemy, and that someone else must have tricked him into gazing upon his own terrible reflection.
For days the arguments continued unabated, but at last the priests insisted that good or bad – a god was a god and should so be honored. If he had saved them, then of course he should be honored. If he had turned against them, then perhaps the honor would soothe the remnants of his anger.
To this, all agreed, and so they made preparations to bury their fallen god with full honor, filling the temple with all manner of tribute, placing him carefully in the center of the room upon an altar.
Placed into his hands was the only other object found in the empty room, lying between the dead Basilisk and the shattered mirror – a single, perfect rose, carved from some strange stone. It brought tears to the eyes of those who gazed upon on it, and all agreed it was the most beautiful thing to ever exist. With great reluctance they left it with the Basilisk, fearful of what might happen should they take it.
Their god buried, the people departed to rebuild their homes and lives. Over time the temple was forgotten, its location lost, its existence turned to legend…
Many generations later, a child was born into the royal family. He had pale grey hair, alabaster skin, and eyes that seemed to stop a person in their tracks. The one day, not long after the child’s fourteenth birthday, he looked into a servant’s eyes and the man immediately fell dead to the floor. Two more men died before anyone realized what was happening and had the young boy’s eyes bound.
Every few generations a Basilisk Prince is born into the royal family, mortal reincarnations of the Basilisk of Piedre, awaiting the day when he might once more reclaim his power as the god of stone, the god of death and destruction.
Part One
Death is a period of rest, not an end.
~The Basilisk
Chapter One
Death is a period of rest, not an end.
~The Basilisk
Chapter One
They blamed the death on him.
It didn’t matter that his grandmother had been seventy-eight, frail and worn from a hard-lived court life. Nor did it count for anything that she’d wanted to die, was tired of coughing into her delicate lace handkerchiefs, was tired of not being able to even eat her favorite foods.
No. All that mattered was that Culebra was the last to see her alive. He was the one she had chosen to spend her last moments with, therefore he must be the reason she was dead. If not for him she would still be alive, cackling and speaking loudly of all her own, old scandals. If not for him, she would have lived to seventy-nine. To a hundred.
There were no whispers, not yet. Even the most obnoxious in the assembled would not whisper while the priest read the funeral rites. Culebra could feel the stares, though. Cold, curious gazes crawled across his skin like poisonous insects.
His fault they would whisper later. Just like his parents. Just like Granito and the others.
In the air, the smell of roses was sharp. He vaguely remembered them from when he was a little boy, his eyes still uncovered. They were a deep, rich red. Like fresh-spilled blood, Granito had once said. The sort that came from a deep wound, not a shallow flesh wound that only spilled bright, garish blood.
He hated the smell.
Music began to play, a sad and solemn tune his grandmother would have hated, as the priest finished speaking. Now the whispers started. Culebra could picture the way their mouths would move behind gloved hands and black-lace fans.
Incense mingled sharply with the scent of roses, bitter and acrid – funeral incense. Beneath it all he could smell the death.
The corpse of his grandmother, despite the way the body had been dressed. He could smell those decomposing in the Great Cemetery behind the Cathedral. He could smell it looming on someone several rows back, a little to the left. A woman, he thought. It was also on the priest, distant and faint, like just catching a whiff of what the cooks were baking in the wind.
Last night he had smelled it on his grandmother, stronger than ever. Like soured milk. She’d been the only one he’d ever told about the ability to smell death…the only one who had not once held his curse against him. Isabella the Bold had loved her grandson as much as her daughter. She asked him if he could smell it on her, and had smiled when he’d said yes.
He had known she would die, but he hadn’t killed her no matter what the whispers said.
Culebra wrinkled his nose as a lesser priest walked by with the incense. Too much. The sharp, bitter smell stung his nose, and would have burned his eyes were they not so tightly bound in bandages and silk. Black silk, to match his robes. He remembered vaguely what he looked like, pale skin and gray hair. Black probably made him look even more frightening, and so unlike his countrymen it would be depressing if he was not already so used to it.
A hand touched his, gently, cautiously. Culebra pulled his hand away, shaking his head. The hand withdrew.
Corinos, asking if he was all right. He wasn’t, but he would manage anyway.
He wanted the funeral to be over. Isabella – she had never allowed her grandsons to call her ‘grandmother’ – hadn’t wanted this sort of service. She detested the pomp and circumstance, the ostentatiousness. Flat boring. Never once did I spend a single moment of my life doing boring. I won’t spend a single moment of my death doing it either. Blasted priests, they’ll shove me in a box and make me. Culebra, my pet, you see to it I have some fun. Hear me? Isabella the Bold will not become Isabella the Boring Corpse.
Thinking of her words almost brought a smile to his face, but if he smiled now the whispers would turn into exclamations. Culebra forced himself to remain politely expressionless. He would visit Isabella later, in the night, and send her off properly.
No roses. No incense. No boring rites. No obnoxious chants.
A sudden scream split the air, shattering the chatting of the priests, the quiet of the temple.
“It almost bit me!” A woman shrieked hysterically. “I almost died!”
Culebra stiffened in his seat as he realized what was going on. It would seem that one of his beauties had wandered…
He stood up slowly, and could feel as all eyes turned toward him. Slowly, carefully, he made his way down the row in which he sat and into the center aisle. Who had shrieked? He knew that tone. Ah. Lady Elisabeth. The twit. “Lady, one moment and I will see to the matter.”
“Corinos,” Culebra continued softly, and allowed his bodyguard to lead him down the center aisle to the row where Lady Elisabeth and several others had been sitting before they scrambled out in a near-panic. He ignored the scents of perfume, sweat, and fear that washed over him. He hated crowds. There were simply too many things that could go wrong.
Halfway down the pew, he stopped and knelt, hands reaching out to touch the body that brushed against his ankles. Gingerly he lifted up the surprisingly heavy snake, stroking its scales, letting it wrap around him. It brushed against his ear, his hair, before finally settling around him like an exotic wrap. It was a heavy but not unwelcome weight. Now Culebra did smile, petting the smooth, slick scales.
This snake he didn’t know. A new one, how exciting He wondered what kind.
Slowly he turned and made his way once more to the center aisle. “I apologize for the disturbance,” he said in a low voice to the head priest. “I will take him away. Please continue the service without me.” Bowing his head, he heard the swish of fabric, the rustle of movement, as people bowed to him. Turning away, he began walking in the direction of the main entrance.
He tensed as he felt a hand land gently at the small of his back. “I no longer require your assistance,” Culebra said levelly, only just keeping frost from his voice.
He felt Corinos shrug in the way the hand on his back shifted slightly. “I beg pardon, Highness, but it began to rain during the service and I would not have you stumbling through mud and puddles.”
Culebra grit his teeth and gave a stiff nod. He swore he could feel Corinos’s quiet satisfaction, as the hand on his back settled more firmly. Culebra could feel the heat of it even through the layers and layers of his heavy black robes.
“Describe my new beauty?” he said to change the subject, distract himself from the warm touch.
Corinos chuckled softly, and Culebra told himself sternly not to admire it, not to be warmed by it. He missed that sound so…
“She is quite beautiful, Highness. Dark green and yellow scales.”
“Green and yellow? That is not native to Piedre…” Culebra frowned in thought, fingers going to stroke and pet his new snake, which seemed almost to nuzzle into his touch. He barely noticed as Corinos gently guided him along the central courtyard and into the palace. “It could have come in on a ship. Do you think?”
“It would not be the first time,” Corinos said, and Culebra could hear the smile in his voice.
Always patient. Always kind. Corinos knew him better than anyone. Understood him. Knew why he acted the way he did. Culebra wanted nothing more than to accept all that Corinos had more than once offered him. Only once had he come close to giving in.
He couldn’t give in. He was cursed. Granito had died because of him. That Corinos did not hold it against him only made Culebra love him more. Made it that much harder to say no.
He knew from the smell – clear, bright, free of the foul smells that permeated the rest of the palace – that they had arrived at his sanctuary. He jerked away from the hand still resting at the small of his back. “Thank you, Corinos.”
“You are welcome, Highness. I will wait for you.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can call for you. Return to the service.” Culebra turned and slowly pushed open the door into his sanctuary.
Inside he was greeted by the smell of fresh water, plants, and sun-warmed rock. He had never seen it, but he knew from touch that the entire sanctuary was made of glass. In the warm months, the sun shone through and kept everything as warm as his darlings preferred. The multitude of plants, water, and rocks gave them both warm and cool places to recline.
So quiet. Nothing but the splash of water and the rustle of plants met his ears, though if he listened close he could tell when his snakes moved.
He knelt and let his newest companion slither down his arm, then stood and walked toward what he knew to be almost exactly the center of the vast sanctuary. Exactly how many snakes he had, he wasn’t certain. Hundreds. Nearly all of them venomous. Not a single one had ever tried to bite him. Nor would they.
More than once they had been quite willing to bite for him. A great many nobles and visiting dignitaries had no idea how very close they had come to death for daring to upset the Basilisk Prince.
His people might fear, even hate, him, but he would always have his beauties.
As he reached the center of the sanctuary, Culebra slowly bent down and slid onto a large boulder. It was old, worn down by water and time, moved to the palace decades ago by the last Basilisk Prince, curved perfectly to make a place for him to lay.
He stood back up, briefly, to shuck off all but his thin, linen under robe. He heard one of his shoes splash faintly into the water of a nearby pool, and moved to retrieve it, laying it atop his discarded clothing before finally stretching out on his stone bed.
In mere seconds snakes gathered, all lengths and sizes. Some curled up on his legs, others along his side. Two wrapped up together on his belly, three more wound around his neck and shoulders. Still others twined about his arms.
More than once a servant had dared to open the door, only to shriek in panic to see him covered in snakes. Over time, the panic had faded away to resignation. The fear never did – no one, not even Corinos, ventured into the sanctuary.
It was the one place where he was not feared or hated. Here, he was loved and could love freely. His snakes had nothing to fear from him. They knew him, knew from whom he was descended and loved him for it.
Culebra reached up to pet the one which rested with its head on his right cheek, his left pressed against the sun-warmed stone. He had intended to stay only a moment, to see that the new one was well-situated…but it was so warm and quiet…
He woke much later, when he could feel that moonlight rather than sunlight shown down upon him. The snakes shifted, moved way, as he slowly stood up. “Sorry, my beauties. I must go. I’ll return to you again soon.”
Not bothering to even try to redress himself, Culebra bundled up his clothes and hastily crossed to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped through – and caught too late the scent, crashing right into the hard, muscled chest of his bodyguard. “I told you not to wait,” he said. He tried to sound firm, annoyed, but all he felt was contrite – he’d known Corinos would ignore him and wait.
“You should not be walking about so, Highness. It is far too cool out.”
“I’m fine,” Culebra said, but he could hear and feel the way Corinos moved, the swish of fabric as Corinos stripped out of his own robe and draped it over Culebra’s shoulders. “I have my own robes right here, Corinos.”
“They are soaking wet, Highness. You should not leave them on the ground, your pets ruin them every time.”
Culebra did not protest as a hand settled at the small of his back and began to guide him away from the sanctuary. “They are simply eager to see me.”
A soft chuckle. “Tell them their affection is best shown by not ruining your clothes.”
“At least I don’t go completely naked,” Culebra said without thinking. He winced as his own words struck him, the hand at his back tensing, the fingers digging a moment. “I should not have said that.”
Corinos sounded sad as he replied. “You should not say no, Highness. That is the only thing which falls from your mouth that displeases me.” His voice was like dark sugar, the thick, soft stuff that was sugar mixed with molasses. His favorite breakfast was buns covered with melted dark sugar, not least of all because they had always made him think of the man beside him.
Now he couldn’t stand them. They tasted bitter, sour. Something that had once been sweet but was now past its prime. “No is what I said, no is what I meant.”
“You will not kill me, Cul.”
Culebra abruptly halted, turned, and shoved hard – and it only angered him more that he was only able to shove Corinos away because Corinos permitted it. “Do not say such things to me, bodyguard. You cross your bounds. I will find my own way to my rooms. You are dismissed for the evening.”
Furious, more furious at the trembling in his hands, Culebra turned and stormed away, counting steps from pure habit, turning as necessary, hands landing upon his bedroom door right before his anger drove him to keep moving and crash right into it. He slid inside, and locked the door behind him.
It wouldn’t keep Corinos out, if he felt like entering – his bodyguard knew more than a few little tricks – but it would make it clear that Culebra was angry.
He was nearly to the closet when he heard the familiar sound of Corinos picking the lock. Never mind the bastard had a set of keys to every room of the palace in which Culebra spent time…he just picked them to prove Culebra could not and would not stop him.
If he didn’t love the man so much, Culebra would sic a snake on him. As it stood, he was still awfully tempted. He turned and folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
“Highness,” Corinos greeted calmly. His feet were almost soundless as he padded across the room. He smelled of leather and steel, a faint, lingering hint of funeral incense that on him, did not smell bad at all.
Culebra recoiled as he drew too close for comfort. “I believe I told you, bodyguard, that you were dismissed.”
“I thought you would like to go see your grandmother, Highness, now that the rest of the palace is asleep and will not upset you.”
Scales and teeth, he hated that this man knew him so well. “I can go myself.”
“It is raining quite heavily, Highness.”
Which meant he’d be disoriented, and that meant he would need Corinos’s help. “Very well,” he said ungraciously.
He felt and heard Corinos move, and then he was being undressed. Corinos’s hands were assured but gentle.
Culebra shivered as he stood nude in the middle of his room, hugging himself as he heard Corinos moved to the wardrobe. Then he was back, and helping Culebra slide into soft, warm linen and fine wool.
“Fall has been temperate,” Corinos said idly, “which means winter will be harsh.”
Nodding, Culebra slid into the shoes that were held for him, one hand resting on Corinos’s shoulder for balance. “Perhaps there will be snow for my birthday.”
“Undoubtedly, Highness.”
The thought of snow tricked a smile from his face. He loved snow – cold but so soft. The way it caught in his hair, melted on his cheeks.
So very different from the water it began as…Culebra shifted his thoughts before they could turn down a dark path.
The water in his sanctuary was one thing. Even rivers did not bother him. Never again, though, would he venture upon the sea…
Snow. He clung to that thought as Corinos draped a rain cloak over his shoulders.
Given that his greatest moment of weakness had been in the snow, he should hate it. As hard as tried, however, he could not. He cut the thought off. “Come,” he said sharply, and strode toward the door and out of his room.
Corinos caught up a second later, that cursed hand immediately moving to the small of Culebra’s back. Arguing was a waste of effort. Culebra let his bodyguard have his way for the time being.
Eventually the man would give up. Realize he was wasting this time. That he should, in fact, hate the man who was responsible for the death of his adored older brother.
If not for Culebra, Granito would still be alive. He would still be wreaking havoc in the palace, flirting with servants and ladies alike, flouting rules cheerfully alongside the Dowager Queen while the King, Culebra’s older brother, bellowed for his royal guard and grandmother to behave.
Granito had died protecting him from raging, ravenous mermaids.
Culebra hated himself. Why didn’t Corinos?
“Here we are, Highness,” Corinos said softly.
He could smell it – death was a scent that would never elude him. Crypts always smelled the same, no matter how often they were cleaned, how well they were maintained. Nothing mattered. They always smelled of age and rot, of dust and mold. Of lost, forgotten things.
“What does it look like?” he asked softly, reaching out to race the letters carved into the marble pedestal upon which his grandmother’s coffin rest. Her name was carved, and the dates of birth and death. A poem, a pretty, flowery stanza that she would have loathed.
He could see her mouth twist in disgust, a sneer shape her lips – then she would suddenly burst into laughter and recite a poem of her own, something hideously inappropriate that would make all the young girls blush, the young boys look nervously at the young girls, and even a few of the jaded adults would flush with guilt – or pleasure.
The Dowager Queen had ruled well and firmly, until she handed it over to her own son and then to her grandson, when the King and Queen had died in their sleep from the strange illness that had swept the country that year. In all those years, even through the sadness, she knew how to dredge up smiles and cries of outrage and loved every minute of it.
Culebra had always been envious of her ability to live so loudly, so colorfully.
“It’s rather more simple than I would have expected his Majesty to choose,” Corinos said thoughtfully. He moved closer, briefly blocking the heat of the torch he’d set in a sconce upon their entrance to the royal tomb, then knelt beside Culebra. “White marble, the letters are simply carved, not gilded as he threatened.” A soft chuckle. “The coffin is dark rosewood, very simple.”
“I bet she arranged it all right under his nose,” Culebra said, unable to resist a soft laugh of his own. “That’s why the ceremony was so pretentious – Pruebas was having his revenge.”
“Undoubtedly,” Corinos agreed.
Culebra let his fingers slide away from the cold marble, and they brushed briefly against Corinos. He ignored it, and brought his hand together, bowing his head to pray silently. Be warm while you rest, Grandmother. Isabella. When you wake, the sun will be shining. More formal prayer complete, Culebra allowed his thoughts to slide to the more personal. I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything. I wish I could fulfill your last promise, Isabella. I cannot. I knew my parents would die. I knew Granito would die. I told you that shortly you would die. All around me I sense death. I am leaving, grandmother. I am sorry.”
“I am ready,” he said. “We can go.” Briefly he thought to protest the way Corinos helped him – he was more than capable of standing up on his own, but telling it to his grandmother made everything real, clear. All too soon, he would never feel Corinos’s touch again. Would never smell him, or sense when he was smirking.
He was leaving. Arranging it had taken months, and even now far too many things could go wrong. Whatever happened, however, no one was stopping him. – he was tired of it. Of everything.
Knowing people were going to die, and sometimes even knowing precisely how long they had to live. How did his ancestors bear it? Nor could he take the hateful whispers, that everything was his fault. That everyone he touched or grew close to was doomed to die before their time. More than once he had heard them say it was a miracle that his brother was still alive.
Culebra hated them all. Did they think he enjoyed this existence? That he liked knowing that all he had to do to kill everyone and everything in sight was rip off the silk and cotton bound tightly around his eyes?
He was only human, for all that he was cursed with a terrible power.
Only a month or so more, and all should fall into place. He would finally be free of this place once and for all. He would not have to see wait as people died around him. Would not have to await the day when he finally killed himself or let someone kill him.
He would not have to wake up one day and realize that the scent of death clung to Corinos.
So lost in thought was he, that they were back in his room before he realized it. He ordered Corinos away, but as usual was ignored, as Corinos went about dressing him for bed. “Sleep, Highness,” Corinos said gently, and all but shoved him into bed, tugging the blankets up high.
More drained from the funeral than he liked to admit, Culebra curled up in his blankets and pillows, chuckling softly at the ponderous weight that shifted and moved beside him on the massive bed.
Ruisenor was the only snake who bore a name. Culebra had never known another like her. She was enormous – at least fifteen feet long, as wide as his hand span. He had met her when he was only a child, back when he did not have to cover his eyes…mere months before his gaze started to freeze people in their tracks, leave them with splitting headaches.
She was black – true black, the kind that almost looked blue in certain light. Sinuous, elegant, beautiful and deadly. He seldom saw her during the day, only in the early morning and late at night, but if he needed her, Ruisenor was there.
He felt himself drifting off, even his darkest thoughts not able to win against the cozy fire, warm bed, the snake beside him…and Corinos, whom he could hear sit down beside him, back to the bed, head just lying against the mattress.
The stupid man would stay there all night just because he knew Culebra was still upset about Isabella. Bastard bodyguard, couldn’t he see he’d be better off without having to baby-sit a blind prince? He’d do better, be happier, if he’d just go somewhere else!
That’s why Culebra was leaving. He was tired of sensing death, of the whispers…but really it was Corinos. He wanted Corinos to be well and truly happy. He did not want to see the man he loved begin to hate him as everyone else did.
Except Corinos was stupid and stubborn and wouldn’t go away like Culebra ordered him. Well, he’d finally figured out how to fix the problem. In a month, Culebra would vanish and Corinos would finally be free.
Chapter Two
Corinos waited until Culebra’s breath evened out, then stood and moved to sit down beside him on the bed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, foolish prince.
Corinos was going to throttle him. Then beat him senseless. Then he was going to tie him down and show him in explicit detail just how much Corinos was never going to stop loving him.
Or let him go. Did Culebra really think he didn’t know what the prince was up to? He’d be insulted if he wasn’t so livid.
The missives had come only that morning, and Corinos had all but bolted for the sanctuary, where Culebra always spent his mornings, to wring his neck then and there.
He raked a hand through his hair and stifled a sigh.
All day he’d debated whether or not to tell Culebra he was aware of his scheme to run away. In the end, with the funeral and the rumors that of course started flying, Corinos had decided to keep his knowledge a secret.
Let the month pass. Let nothing happen. Then he’d either beat Culebra senseless or actually go through with that whole tying down thing…
Shifting uncomfortably on the bed, Corinos forced his thoughts to behave and looked down at the sleeping prince. Against his will, his hand strayed up to stroke the fine lines of Culebra’s cheek bones, brush soft strands of gray hair from the dark silk that covered his eyes.
That he’d slept straight through the remainder of the service and the farewell dinner…Culebra was usually good about tending his duties. Not of late, but that was probably because his depression was running deeper than usual…and there was also his plans of running away.
He wondered how long Culebra would refuse to speak to him, when he realized that his bodyguard had been aware of his plans almost the entire time. Hopefully not more than week – that had been torturous.
It was times like this Corinos missed his brother more than ever. Granito could make anyone smile, could ease any sorrow. No one could remain depressed around his older brother. Granito didn’t know the meaning of the word depressed.
For years it had made him jealous. That had ended in the Dowager Queen’s apple orchard – him with a broken nose, his brother a black eye, and all misunderstandings resolved. They’d told Culebra they’d gotten into it with some thieves. Every since he’d been trying to convince Culebra that the prince was being stupid.
So far, he’d gotten one kiss and a great deal of frustration for his efforts.
Granito had said he had more patience than even a god. However, even gods eventually ran out of patience – and Corinos was nearly at the limit if his. There had to be a faster way to convince a stubborn, depressed prince that giving in to the bodyguard that loved him mind, body, and soul would solve a lot of both their problems.
Every minute of every day Corinos rather thought that the Basilisk Prince was a poor title – Stupid, Stubborn Prince was far more fitting.
Stupid, stubborn, beautiful, wonderful, and so weighed down with his own thoughts that Corinos wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life soothing that pain away. If only Culebra would let him…
He shook his head. Sleep was what he needed, but he didn’t trust Culebra not to wake and go wandering at some point in the night. Which just wouldn’t do, and thinking that returned him to that which mattered most.
Keeping Culebra safe.
More than a few groups would like to have the Basilisk Prince at their disposal. Reports had been flying in lately of increased activity from groups that had too long been dormant.
The Brotherhood of the Black Rose had been seen within the royal city, asking questions they shouldn’t be asking, stirring up trouble with them.
Everyone had thought the Brotherhood of the White Rose dead – yet more than a few reports had been sent in, dispelling that belief quite firmly, at least in Corinos’s mind.
So far he had managed to keep the reports to a precious few, not wanting to alarm the King or Prince until he and the King’s men were certain the two organizations were truly going to become a threat. The Roses rose and fell, but seldom did they rise to dangerous levels.
Except that a Black Rose had somehow convinced Culebra that he could spirit him away to the mountains. Corinos had gone cold reading those reports. Then he’d wanted to kill a certain prince.
Now he had to worry about the Black Rose. They seldom turned into real trouble, but when they did – history was painted with the blood they’d spilled.
The Brotherhoods dated back to the days when, according to legend – and who could call it false with Culebra walking around – the people had buried the dead Basilisk, and placed in his hands a single rose that had been lying beside the body.
The people had argued. Some had said the god was responsible for the destruction. Others said he had saved his people. From those who believed the Basilisk had turned on his own children arose the Brotherhood of the Black Rose. Whenever a Basilisk Prince was born, they were never far away. Often they did what amounted to nothing, but not always. Three Basilisk Princes had died at their hands.
The Brotherhood of the White Rose originated from those who stood in defense of the fallen Basilisk. They fought against the Black Rose. At one point in time they had been a legitimate faith – but time, feuding, and the far more bloodthirsty Black Rose had destroyed them. Or so had been believed until recently.
He’d sent out a few trusted soldiers to investigate the matter more thoroughly. They should be reporting back at the end of the week. Corinos hoped it was nothing more than rumors, ruffians using the Roses simply for the reputation.
If the Black Rose was fully active…
His thoughts broke off as Culebra shifted restlessly beside him, breaking the silence with tortured half-sobs. A nightmare. Culebra had them frequently, ever since a return journey from Pozhar more than three years ago.
Scales and teeth, Corinos didn’t know how the prince endured it. He felt sick thinking about it. Until three years ago mermaids had only been part of ancient Kundouin myth. Then sailors and travelers had started relating chilling rumors, terrifying stories…
Corinos glowered in the dark, as thoughts of the mermaids invariably made him think of the nobles who had all but attacked Culebra upon his return. No survivors, no other witnesses. Only their blind, cursed prince to say that an entire ship full of people had been killed by mermaids – everyone except the prince.
No one else could be found to say the story was true, of course – they had bee killed. However, Culebra said that Prince Nankyokukai of Kundou had saved him, taken him to Pozhar, where Piedre had sent a new ship to see him home.
Except that only months after its arrival in Pozhar, Prince Nankyokukai’s ship had been lost at sea. It had vanished completely. Some said it had to do with the days-long storm that had seemed to cover the entire world. Many had declared it a sign of the return of the Three Storm Dragons of Kundou.
Only a year and a half ago, Pozhar too had suddenly changed its opinion on the divine, and declared their Sacred Firebird was not, after all, going to destroy them. Queen Sonya declared he was returned to them, and that the rest of the True Sacred Prophecy would some day come to pass.
All that meant to Corinos was that there was no one to tell the suspicious fools of Piedre that their prince had indeed been attacked by mermaids. He needed no such witnesses, but he would enjoy shoving it in the faces of those obnoxious fools.
Beside him, the prince’s cries suddenly worsened, and the thrashed on the bed, arms flying out, as if he was lost and trying to find his way. Corinos caught the arms and pressed them gently down, leaning his weight over Culebra until he stilled. He bent his head to speak softly in the prince’s ear. “Culebra, it’s all right. I promise.”
Making a faint, whimpering sound, the sleeping prince turned toward his voice, breath soft, smelling of sweet wine, as it washed over him. Corinos sat up before he could do something stupid and painful. In all the years he’d loved the prince, only once had Culebra let slip any sign he felt the same.
Stupid, stubborn princes who thought they were doing the right thing.
Still, he did have one kiss. Corinos was more than willing to consider that progress. After he told the prince his little scheme had been found out, he would start to work harder at settling what lie between them.
Reluctantly Corinos let his hands slide away from Culebra’s arm, enjoying the soft skin beneath his rough hands. Culebra would always stand out in Piedre. His skin was perfectly, flawlessly white, gray hair as fine as silk. It was a startling thing to see in a country where everyone had olive skin, dark hair and eyes. He wondered, sometimes, what color Culebra’s eyes were beneath the bindings. Would they be dark amber like his brothers? Brown like his father’s? Or would they be the same gray as his hair?
Not that it mattered. Culebra’s eyes had been covered for as long as he’d known the prince. Though he wondered about the eyes beneath the binding, it was more natural curiosity than any real desire to know.
Something brushed by his hand, drawing him from his wandering thoughts, and in the light of the fire, Corinos could just make out the long coil of black that was separate from the surrounding darkness.
Ruisenor. If Culebra had a favorite among his hundreds of snakes, it was the great beast that slept with him every night. Being appointed to the position of bodyguard to the Basilisk Prince of Piedre had forced him to become something of an expert on snakes. He could tell in a moment which ones were venomous, which ones merely squeezed their victims to death, to which country each snake was native. He had not realized there could be so many snakes in the world. If there was a species unaccounted for, then it was only a matter of time. Just this night, yet another one had appeared in the church while it had sought out the prince.
Culebra had told him once that he could sort of read how the snakes felt. That they seemed to know, too, when he was happy or upset, and who was the source of either. It chilled Corinos when Culebra let it slip one night that he had only to ask and the snakes would employ their deadly skills to remove all those who upset him. More than a few people in the palace were more terrified of the Prince’s pets than they were of his eyesight.
Thankfully, precious few knew about Ruisenor. The snake vanished during the day – Corinos did not want to know where it went – so the servants never saw her. He was the only one who tended and cared for the prince.
He had no idea where the gigantic originated. All his research told him was that no one had ever heard a blue-black snake of such length and size. There were not even accounts of old myths or legends. The snake, as near as he could tell, did not exist.
So long as it did not turn on the prince – something he had to concede was highly unlikely – Corinos did not particularly care. He would also admit that should he fail to keep intruders away, there was no doubt that Ruisenor would take care of matters. A snake of that size…he did not like to think too hard on what sorts of things it could eat if it felt like it.
Though there were days he could cheerfully compose a list and hand it to her with an apology if the food wound up tasting awful.
First on that list would be the Roses. Then all the nobles who needed to learn to keep their disrespectful, foolish mouths shut. Some days he was sorely tempted to tack on Pruebas’s name. He was a good King, but a poor brother.
His thoughts were once more broken off as Culebra began to shift again in his sleep, moving restlessly from side to side. Corinos reached out and let his hand rest lightly on Culebra’s hip, tugging him a bit closer, wishing he could hold him properly. The prince immediately stilled, a telling sign, and Corinos took what joy from it that he could. He smiled faintly at the dark head that moved closer to rest alongside Culebra’s. “We take care of him, don’t we, dark beauty? Perhaps between us, someday we will make him see reason.”
The snake shifted again, and it was probably the late hour that made it seem as though the snake nodded. Corinos smiled faintly and reached up to gently stroke her head – it had taken him months to work up the bravery to touch the gigantic snake. She had, in the end, seemed to say ‘about time’ but again he thought it must only be in his head. On the other hand, Culebra was quite confident in expressing to him how the various snakes felt…so perhaps she was nodding.
He let his hand slide away to once more rest lightly on Culebra’s hip, feeling the warmth of the prince, silently promising to them both that one day he would be able to comfort Culebra properly, finally rid of the wall that the prince insisted stay between them.
Several minutes later, Culebra stilled, settled, and Corinos knew there would be no more dreams that night. Stroking the prince’s cheek one last time, he slid back off the bed and settled on the floor, crossing his arms over his chest, sword across his lap.
“Corinos, I have told you a thousand times not to sleep on the floor like that,” Culebra said in his ear.
If the prince wanted revenge, then speaking to him in that low, sleep-hazed voice was certainly the way to go about it. Just barely touching him as he sat up was also a clever idea. Stifling a sigh, Corinos stood up and stretched. He scrubbed at his hair and face, longing for a bath, a shave. “Sleep well, Highness?”
“Better than idiots who insist on sleeping on cold floors,” Culebra retorted, reaching out to pet Ruisenor as the snake slithered off the bed and away to wherever it went during the daylight hours – which was still an hour away. Culebra was not one to sleep for long, usually going to bed late and rising at least an hour or two before dawn. The nap he’d taken yesterday was testament to just how badly the Dowager Queen’s death had upset him.
“I slept very well, thank you, Highness.”
Saying nothing, Culebra strode across his room and pulled on the long rope in the corner of his room – calling for breakfast, a bath. He would assist Culebra, and once he was eating, set guards while he went to prepare himself for the day.
Dressing Culebra was pure torture – but one he would not give up for the world. In every way Culebra was different from his countrymen. Pale where Piedrens were dark, slender and fine-boned where most Piedrens were of larger, stockier build. No matter how many hours Culebra spent in the sun, he would always be as pale as marble, and no amount of exercise would ever build his muscles beyond a wiry strength that only emphasized his slighter frame.
Yet it was that very strangeness that made him the closest to Piedre and the god they had once worshipped.
Still, it wasn’t his near-divinity of which Corinos thought when he looked upon Culebra. Unlike so many others, he saw only a young man who spiraled down into despondence a little more each day…a young man he wished would realize that Corinos was all he needed to drive away most of that anguish.
Shaking off his thoughts, Corinos crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a pale, blue-gray robe. Moving to Culebra, he carefully stripped the prince of his sleeping clothes and slid the robe over his shoulders, letting his hands caress lightly as he pulled the cord belt tight and cinched it.
“Corinos,” Culebra said sharply.
Corinos ignored the reprimand. “What are your plans for the day, Highness?
Only a few years ago, Culebra had been the exotic face of Piedre to the world – a blind, pretty prince with a sharp mind, he had traveled the world, representing his country in Kundou, Pozhar, and Verde.
Then had come the mermaids – an ancient Kundouin myth come to life in the most awful way. Culebra had held together remarkably well, all through his second journey back across the sea – and that after having first to return to Pozhar. He had kept calm throughout the interviews with his brother and the ministers, through the whispers at dinner…and had broken down entirely in his room when finally he was left in peace.
He had refused to go near the ocean since. The decision had only deepened the rift between Culebra and his brother – not that either one of them seemed to mind. There was very little love lost between them; Culebra too proud and resigned to being disliked by everyone, Pruebas too strict and unbending – and sometimes Corinos suspected envious – to be more understanding and gentle with his little brother.
Granito had always tried to reconcile the differences between the royal brothers, but Pruebas had disliked Granito for his colorful, almost flamboyant ways – traits, he thought, that did not belong in a bodyguard.
Except flamboyant had been exactly what Culebra needed. He needed people who laughed and flouted those rules which could be flouted. People who did not care what others thought. Pruebas’s greatest flaw was that he cared too much what people thought, and always that led back to what they thought of his notorious brother.
He broke off his wandering thoughts with a shake of his head, realizing Culebra had never answered him. “Highness, have you plans for the day?”
“My beauties, of course,” Culebra answered. “After that, I am having lunch with my brother. Then perhaps we might go into town? I wanted to offer prayers for Isabella at her church.”
Isabella had been fond of a small, old church tucked away in a corner of the crowded city. She had often – loudly – said it was far more sincere than the pomposity that had built the cathedral in which yesterday’s service had been held. She had been quiet close with the father who maintained it – his brother had often speculated how close, usually where Isabella could hear and chortle secretively. Occasionally, Culebra had gone with her.
“As you wish, Highness,” Corinos replied. “Have you any engagements this evening?”
“None. The council is in session, and I’ve no desire to attend balls and dinner parties.” He could see the way Culebra repressed a shudder. They were something he managed in the days when he had traveled, but he had never liked them. Being blind made it difficult to navigate such things, and more than a little overwhelming. “If I am fortunate, I can enjoy a quiet evening.”
Corinos forced himself not to think about what they could – should – be doing on such a rare free night. If he succumbed to such thoughts, he’d had a long, frustrating day in front of him.
His thoughts broke off as servants rapped at the door, and he opened it to admit them, watching carefully as they brought in the bathtub, followed by bucket after bucket of steaming water. “Your bath is ready, Highness,” he said as the servants finished and closed the door behind them.
“I noticed,” Culebra said, but without heat, the faintest twist of a smile to his lips. He set down the stone he’d been playing with – there were several stones, and other miscellaneous objects – in a heavy porcelain bowl beside the fireplace, kept there for their interesting textures and shapes. Culebra loved to touch them, play with them, memorize every last contour.
Corinos helped him out of his robe and into the bath, keeping his mind carefully blank as he watched Culebra slide into the steaming water.
“You may go,” Culebra said, his head bent down as he felt out his washing cloth and soap. “I am in no hurry this morning.”
“Nor am I, Highness,” Corinos said, and looked away from the sight of Culebra slowly and carefully washing himself. That, however, only made his hearing more acute, and that proved far more torturous.
Sternly reminding himself of all the reasons giving in to temptation was a bad idea, Corinos strode toward the window on the opposite side of the massive chamber and looked into the courtyard.
The royal palace was three stories high, shaped in like a rectangle, the last side made up only of the palace gates. Within the palace was a maze of long halls, interconnected chambers, hidden chambers, never mind the stairwells and smaller hallways. Corinos could never quite tell if whomever had designed it had kept safety of the royal family in mind, or not considered it all. A lifetime could be spent memorizing the layout of the palace, and still several rooms would remain undetected.
No one but a few poor servants were about. Lamps were still lit, spilling intermittent light across the pale cobblestones, dispelling the dark of the early morning hour. Not enough of it, for Corinos’s tastes. He could see far too many places where an intruder might lurk.
Granito would have seen even more. His brother had always been the better bodyguard. That Corinos could not find his equal was the sole reason Culebra had only one bodyguard. Hundreds had been interviewed, but for one reason or another Corinos found them lacking. He had been more than willing to trust Culebra to Granito, but no one else. The two of them had been sworn as his lifelong protectors. He would not replace his brother lightly.
If he were honest, which he must always be for lies could cost lives, he was also becoming less and less willing to share. Culebra was his. To protect. To love.
Even if Culebra was being stubborn and stupid about it.
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Date: 2007-01-02 12:17 pm (UTC)There were just a few things:
The one day, not long after the child’s... I think you mean then one day...
...I am leaving, grandmother. I am sorry.” You have an end quote there, but no beginning quote.
...Every since he’d been trying to convince Culebra that the prince was being stupid. I think Ever since...would work better.
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Date: 2007-01-03 10:39 pm (UTC)^__^ I didn't think he made much of an impression the first go round, so I'm glad he's remembered.
I shall fix. Thankee <3
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Date: 2007-01-02 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 04:02 pm (UTC)I wonder why Culebra thinks that it is safe to trust the Black Rose. Oh, or maybe he expects to be killed. Hm. That did seem to be the only way to end the wait for someone to try to kill him, to stop, essentially, being himself, as he seems to want. *whimpers* Poor Basilisk Prince. Stupid everyone else except Corinos and the snakes. And possibly Cortez. We shall see.
Soon, I hope. I kinda want to read the whole thing right now! Though, I do enjoy the sweet torture of having to wait.
I must say, though, that I feel quite tortured enough with Sandstorm, and would love to see more of that anytime. ^_^ If it fits in with your plans.
Can't wait 'til Monday!^^
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Date: 2007-01-02 04:41 pm (UTC)Poor Culebra really needs to listen to Corinos.
I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes - The white rose/black rose potential threat is worrisome. It sounds like keeping Culebra safe may become a very difficult task for Corinos!
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Date: 2007-01-02 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 09:34 pm (UTC)1. Every since he’d been trying to convince Culebra that the prince was being stupid.
I think it should be 'Ever since'
2. No one else could be found to say the story was true, of course – they had bee killed.
And it's supposed to be 'been' I believe.
I'm really liking the Culebra-Corinos dynamics. Their relationship is so casual and familiar but also rather tense in many places. A nice balance.
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Date: 2007-01-02 10:19 pm (UTC)So far it's lovely. =3 There seems to be less (outright) description of the surroundings and the characters than usual, leading to a starker feel, but it really works. Given that the impression I've gotten so far is of a stark country, it makes sense. Or maybe I'm just imagining that the previous Lost Gods stories had more imagery. XD I'll have to look back and see.
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Date: 2007-01-03 12:29 am (UTC)Poor emo prince--he's lucky he has such a devoted bodyguard. 'Cause Lord knows I woulda smacked him upside the head by now. (And that snake isn't by any chance connected to the Lady, is it? That could just be me reaching, however.) :mwahs: Lovely, as always!
Now the question of the hour: Where oh where has the Ma~derr gone? Oh where oh where can she be? With her slash so short and her slash so long, oh where oh where can she beeeee? XD
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Date: 2007-01-03 08:14 pm (UTC)2) I love Cortez. *hearts* I love how badass she is in that first opening scene. ^_^
3) *snuggle hugs Culebra* Poor boy, I love how you write him with the weight of the world on his shoulders, in mourning, and feeling that the only ones he can turn to are his snakes. I also love how much he wants to be turning to Corinos, but just can't seem to let himself for fear of what happened to Granito.
4) *kicks Culebra's brother in the nuts* I love how you can describe the elaborate pagentry of the funeral and then go on to explain how it is everything that Isabella would have hated and how it's the brother's way of getting the last word and getting even.
5) I love your female characters. They're incredible. Isabella's dead, and yet you still can't help but love her and mourn a little that she's gone and left Culebra to deal with everything on his lonesome.
6) I adore Corinos's persistence and his unwillingness to just toss in the towel or give up on Culebra. *hearts him*
7) You totally and utterly rock. *loves on you*
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Date: 2007-01-03 10:38 pm (UTC)^____^ If you are reading it a second time, it must not be a total wash. And right now you and tygs are the only ones who know Cortez is a she ^_~
Ahaha, my females are probably not terribly realistic but after yaers and years of putting up with the stupid shrieking chicks of anime and video games, I cannot tolerate trying for less than cool and kickass.
Oooh, I should work on your Selkie story. /random
I also need to remember to sign out my sister and sign me in before replying to coments >_>
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Date: 2007-01-03 11:51 pm (UTC)And...oops? I'll try not to be spoilery from now on. Promise. ^_^;;
*tackle glomps* I don't think it's possible for you to write something that's a total wash. Seriously.
No, you do a damn good job with them. They're not Mary Sues, they're not shrinking violets, they're not damsels in distress, and they aren't she-men either. It's like you manage the best of all worlds. If more female characters were written like yours, I'd read them more often. *hearts*
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Date: 2007-01-13 08:43 am (UTC)I have this morbid curiosity/desire to see the bindings taken off of Culebra's eyes, accidently or whatever, and see the havoc is would cause... that's probably bad of me. Ah well.
I adore this story universe, I really, really do. At some point early on as I started reading this, I decided to go back and reread Culebra's appearance in Treasure... which somehow turned into me rereading the entirety of treasure... (and staying up until 3:30am to do so when I should have gone to bed by 12 at the latest...) But yes. I always love reminding myself of how awesome and exceedingly engaging your writing is. (I may not always comment, but I'm fairly certain I've read everything that you've made avaliable for people to read of you writing. Which was, in my own opinion, no small feat, considering what a prolific writer you are. Which is something I ADORE you for, incidentally.)
Anyway. I really like this story. And I think I'll go read the next chapters now.