Page 34 of The Serpent Prince

Would she ever live without shackles?

Some days, it was hard to believe.

She had to find the Drasil.

CHAPTER 12

It would be more than a month before they would start off on their first emissary visit, but Kiran had promised her training, and he delivered.

The first day of training had a dark cloud of wickedness looming over it, and it was her new teacher, Master Heirwyn. Ever since they’d met back in Essenheim during the assessments, she reminded Imani of Ara. In fact, a sinking feeling told her that Master Heirwyn was a formidable magic user, and her first lesson was about to be a rough one.

Grabbing her new gloves and checking to make sure her wand was hidden in the folds of her dress, Imani set off to find Master Heirwyn. But just as she reached for the knob, a loud knock sounded from the other side.

Imani looked at the door, frowning in confusion. Who would be visiting her at this early hour? Curiosity got the best of her, and she threw open the door.

An elf stood outside. His dark hair was slightly mussed, curling around his pointed ears. Kiran leaned casually against the doorframe and gave her a slow, lazy smile. “Imani,” he greeted.

She didn’t return the look. Instead, she tilted her head to the side in question. “What do you want at this hour?”

He laughed. “My, my, not a morning person, are we, little elf? I love riling you up.”

“First of all,” Imani bit out, a stab of fury at that demeaning term momentarily trumping her confusion and manners, “piss off. I don’t respond to ‘little elf.’ Second of all, the riling is mutual. Third of all, back to my original question—what do you want?”

He gave her a broad smile, eyes twinkling. “What I want is for you to come willingly with me,” he said. Then he screened Imani head to toe in her soft, black leggings, a plain tunic with leather vambraces on her forearms, and boots. “I’m to escort you to Master Heirwyn.”

Imani was confident she could get herself there and refused to feel more like a prisoner than she already did. It had taken a few days, but Imani was finally starting to understand her way around the castle. It was far more confusing than Essenheim’s. Not only was it built over hundreds of years with trap doors, secret passageways, and hallways that ended in dead-ends, but sections had been expanded, destroyed, or added during that time, making navigating the palace a complex process. Still, she would do it alone.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Imani said, this time scanning Kiran in a similar manner. His appearance suggested he had just rolled out of bed, but his demeanor was far more chipper than Imani was interested in.

“You don’t actually get a choice,” he said cheerfully.

Taking a few calming breaths, Imani decided this wasn’t a battle worth fighting, but the invisible shackles placed around her chafed.

She fingered her grandmother’s Draswood wand, imagining it was the Drasil. If it was, she wouldn’t be going anywhere with this man.

Grabbing a few small daggers, she shoved them into several secret hiding places on her body. His brow arched in surprise, but he made no comment, and she ignored him, strolling out the door and letting him follow.

After the public argument about Imani in front of the whole court, there wasn’t a soul in this castle who didn’t know who she was. Everywhere Imani went, Niflheim courtiers in mid-conversation would stop and stare at her. Some would whisper, murmur to each other. Some would eye her up and down from afar, as if they were trying to size her up. Kiran had been right; they stared whether she cast her illusion or not.

Most days, she didn’t bother to cast much glamour to mute her looks. Kiran tightened the echo shield back up again, which seemed to work well on her soul draw, but it still held dominion over everything, and they would stare, anyway. The flesh magic still kept her other secrets hidden. Otherwise, she was herself for the first time in years.

Besides casting the echo shield the night after the fealty service, Kiran had been a ghost. He’d all but disappeared except for one handwritten note she’d received from him at first light that morning, directing her to the north tower wing.

Imani ducked her chin and tried to avoid those gazes and didn’t try to engage Kiran in conversation. She wasn’t, in fact, a morning person.

They lapsed into silence for the next ten minutes of the walk. By the time they rounded the corner and took the stairs to the third floor, his lack of responses, however, frayed her last nerve. Getting answers out of people here was a painstakingly slow, infuriating endeavor.

“So, are you keeping tabs on me everywhere I go for your father, like his lapdog? What’s your plan with the witches? Because we’re not all training,” she sneered.

“It’s adorable you think these questions are supposed to goad me into suddenly spilling my secrets.” He leaned down to her. “I think if anyone’s the lapdog, it’s you—that binding puts you at my mercy.”

Despite the raging inferno inside her at hearing the truth, Imani smoothed out her face to hide any reaction. Someone here was going to start answering her questions eventually. She just had to be patient and keep trying.

“Maybe you should try making friends with my fiancée. She is your kind after all.”

Imani whipped out her wand and put it under his chin. “If you think I’m going to say one word to that woman, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Kiran held up his hands in mock surrender, not bothering to hide his grin. “Fangs away, terrifying little elf.”