The scaffold smelled like dead roses and betrayal.
Lirael's knees dug into the splintered wood, her torn dress clinging to her legs like a second skin. The crowd roared below—a cacophony of curses and spit-soaked vows. Witch. Serpent's whore. Poisoner. She clenched her jaw, refusing to let them see her tremble. The executioner's shadow swallowed her whole, his axe glinting in the sun like a smile.
"Last words, traitor?" the High Priestess purred from her gilded balcony. Her voice slithered across the square, oiled with piety.
Lirael spat blood onto the scaffold. "I didn't poison the king."
A lie.
The king was dying, his veins blackened by a toxin no healer could name. And the snakes had whispered to her the night his wine turned to venom. But that secret would die with her.
"Liar," hissed a voice in her ear. Not human. Never human. "You reek of fear, little queen. Shall we give them a show?"
A serpent coiled around the scaffold's post—emerald scales, eyes like liquid gold. Its tongue flickered, brushing her ankle.
"Go to hell," Lirael muttered.
The viper laughed, a sound like bones rattling in a jar. "You first."
The axe rose.
Ten Years Earlier
Mother's hands were warm, even in the dungeon's chill.
Lirael pressed her face into the moth-eaten cloak, breathing in jasmine and iron. The scent of home. Of safety. But the dungeon reeked of mildew and despair, and the guards' torchlight painted shadows like claws on the walls.
"Listen to me," her mother whispered, pressing a scaled locket into her palm. The metal burned, searing her skin. "The palace breathes lies. Trust only the serpents."
"Why?" Lirael's voice trembled. She was nine, too young for goodbyes. "Where are they taking you?"
*Her mother's eyes—gold-green, just like hers—flickered to the cell's dripping ceiling. "Somewhere even snakes can't slither. But you… You must be brave."
*The door crashed open. Guards in obsidian armor surged forward, chains clinking. Her mother kissed her forehead. "Remember: serpents never lie."
Lirael didn't cry. Cursed princesses didn't get that luxury.
That night, the snakes began to speak.
Present Day
The axe fell.
Lirael's wrists burned. The viper's fangs had melted her ropes to ash, but no one noticed—not with the blade descending. She rolled sideways, the axe biting into wood where her neck had been. Splinters pierced her palms.
Chaos erupted.
"Witchcraft!" shrieked a priest, clutching his amulet.
"Kill the beast! Kill it!"
The viper darted between the executioner's boots, hissing as the man stumbled. Lirael scrambled backward, her dress snagging on a nail. Blood dripped from her torn sleeve, pooling on the scaffold like a promise.
A hand seized her arm—calloused, unyielding.
Kael.
The captain of the guard loomed over her, his armor black as a starless night. A scar split his brow, pale against his sun-weathered skin. His eyes—sharp, gray, furious—narrowed. "You've got nine lives, princess. Let's see if I let you waste another."
She kicked his shin. "Let go, you traitorous bastard!"
He yanked her upright, his breath hot against her ear. "You want to live? Stop fighting."
Behind them, the High Priestess's voice cut through the din. "Captain! Bring her to me. Now."
Lirael froze. She knew that tone—the priestess only used it before ordering executions. Her mother's face flashed in her mind, pale and lifeless in the palace moat. "Drowned herself," they'd said. Liar.
The viper reappeared at her feet. "Jump," it urged. "The moat's deeper than it looks."
She hesitated. The moat was a festering grave, its waters thick with algae and the bones of those who'd crossed the priestess. But Kael's sword was already drawn, its edge kissing her throat.
"Choose," he growled.
She headbutted him.
His nose crunched. He swore, blood streaming down his chin. Lirael lunged for the scaffold's edge, the viper laughing in her skull.
"Fly, little queen!"
She leapt.
Beneath the Surface
The water wasn't cold. It burned—acid on her skin, filling her lungs with fire. She thrashed, silt stinging her eyes. Shadows writhed around her: skeletal hands, bloated fish, the glint of a dagger wedged in a skull.
Mother's dagger.
She grabbed it, the hilt fitting her palm like a promise. A hand plunged into the water—Kael's, reaching for her. She stabbed.
He recoiled. She kicked deeper, following the viper's glowing scales through the murk. "Here," it hissed, vanishing into a crevice beneath the palace walls.
Lirael squeezed through, stone scraping her ribs. Air hit her face—foul, damp, but air. She collapsed onto wet cobblestones, coughing up filth.
The viper watched her, amused. "Welcome home."
She glared. "Why help me?"
"You're entertaining. And the priestess bores me."* It flicked its tongue. "But she's right about one thing… You are your mother's daughter."
Lirael froze. "What's that supposed to mean?"
A boot scuffed stone.
Kael stood in the tunnel's mouth, bloodied and breathless, his sword raised. "Enough games, witch. You're coming with me."
She brandished the dagger. "To my death?"
"To the truth." His gaze dropped to the locket around her neck—her mother's locket, the one he'd tried to steal the night of her arrest. "That belongs to the crown."
"It belongs to me."
The viper hissed. "He lies. Kill him. Take his eyes—they'd make lovely trinkets."
Kael lunged.
Lirael swung the dagger.
Metal clashed. Sparks lit the tunnel like dying stars.
The Dance of Blades
Kael fought like a storm—relentless, precise, his sword a blur of silver. Lirael dodged, her bare feet slipping on moss. She'd never held a blade before, but the dagger moved like an extension of her arm. Mother's training, she realized. Memories flickered: a woman's laughter, steel glinting in candlelight.
"Elbow up," her mother had chided. "A serpent strikes from the shadows."
Lirael feinted left, then slashed upward. Kael blocked, his blade screeching against the dagger.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
"From your conscience. Buried, I assume?"
He snarled, disarming her with a twist of his wrist. The dagger clattered to the ground. She lunged for it, but he pinned her against the wall, his forearm crushing her throat.
"You're coming with me," he repeated.
"To the priestess? I'd rather drown."
His grip tightened. "You think I serve her?"
The viper struck.
Fangs sank into Kael's wrist. He recoiled with a curse, his skin blistering. Lirael scrambled for the dagger, but froze.
Black veins crawled up Kael's arm. His eyes flickered—a flash of gold, like sunlight through amber.
Serpent's eyes.
"You're one of them," she breathed.
He staggered, clutching his wrist. "Not… by choice."
The viper coiled around Lirael's shoulders. "Lies. All guards are oath-bound. Their souls chained to the crown."
Torchlight flooded the tunnel.
"There she is!"
The High Priestess's hunters—six men in scarlet cloaks, blades drawn. Kael shoved Lirael behind him.
"Run," he ordered.
"Why?"
"Because I'm your curse now."
She ran.
The Catacombs' Secret
The tunnels twisted like a serpent's gut. Lirael followed the viper's glow, her lungs burning. The hunters' shouts faded, replaced by the drip of water and her own ragged breaths.
The viper halted before a crumbling archway. "Here."
Lirael stepped into a chamber lit by bioluminescent fungi. The walls were carved with murals—ancient, peeling. She traced a figure with her fingertips: a woman with serpentine eyes, crowned in scales, her hands raised to a massive coiled god.
Her face.
The woman in the mural had her face.
"What is this?" Lirael whispered.
"Your legacy," the viper said. "The last Serpent Queen… until you."
Footsteps echoed. Kael appeared in the archway, his face pale, veins still blackened.
"They're coming," he rasped. "You need to—"
The hunters burst into the chamber.
Lirael pressed her palm to the mural. Stone groaned. A hidden door slid open, revealing a staircase choked with cobwebs.
"Go," the viper urged. "The palace isn't done with you."
She fled upward, Kael's roar echoing behind her. "Lirael!"