Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

children and running after him. Through the smoke, she saw him fall. Saw the splatter of blood even as she heard his screams, and Lydia lunged between the flames, catching hold of his wrist.

She tried to haul him back, but the mimics had hold of him, and instead, she was dragged between the stacks of burning wood, barely feeling the heat.

Then hands closed on her ankles, jerking her to safety.

The man came with her. But only half of him.

Gagging, Lydia fell back against Killian, staring first at the dead man’s sightless eyes, and then the ruined mess of flesh at the bottom of his torso. His legs were gone.

“How many are out there?” Killian asked in a low voice, and she tore her eyes from the corpse to look beyond the fire, seeing the life surround the mimics’ forms.

“Dozens.”

Another of the group ran screaming into the trees, shouting, “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

“Everyone needs to calm down!” Agrippa hollered, but it was to no avail. The camp was in chaos, everyone fighting with one another as the mimics riled frayed tempers and exploited fears.

The couple were tied up, but there was no more rope. Agrippa and Baird struggled to restrain people, Killian going to their aid. But they couldn’t hold down everyone, and the other travelers flung themselves at them, attacking.

And the sun had only just set.

Lydia’s mind raced, then a solution occurred to her. But it was one not without risks.

Picking up a burning branch, she tossed it outside the perimeter. Driving the mimics back. Then she took a deep breath, and ran between the fires, snatching up an armload of needled deadfall from the shadows and then stumbling back inside the ring.

No one had noticed her go, the mimics’ volume growing by the second. So no one noticed when she went to the cook fire at the center of camp and dropped the branches on the flames, a great cloud of smoke filling the air. Hurrying to the edge of the perimeter, she sucked in a deep breath and then pressed her face to the ground, watching as the group unwittingly inhaled the smoke.

Slowly, they stopped fighting, looking around in confusion, only Agrippa seeming to realize what she’d done. Holding his breath, he raced in her direction, then stumbled and fell to the ground, unconscious. Everyone else dropped to the ground, and Killian fell to his knees.

His eyes locked on hers as he gasped, “Keep the perimeter fires lit!” Then he swayed and fell on his side.

The need to breathe was becoming nearly painful, but Lydia kept holding her last clean breath of air in her lungs. She stumbled over to the fire and tossed water on the flames. Gouts of smoke and steam rose into the air, but flames still flickered, so she threw dirt on the fire. Only when she couldn’t take it anymore did she race back to the perimeter and suck in a deep mouthful of air.

Though it was much dissipated, she still tasted the acrid smoke of the nettles, and a wave of dizziness swept over her.

Stay conscious, she silently pleaded. Otherwise we are all dead.

On hands and knees, she crawled around the perimeter, adding fuel to the fires in case she succumbed. Only then did she check the others, going to Killian first. His pulse was strong, and she prayed he’d be the first to wake, because she didn’t think she’d get away with this trick twice.

Only once she was certain everyone was all right did she sit next to the children, lending them her body heat against the mounting cold. Through all of this, the mimics had been quiet. She prayed the smoke had knocked them out, too, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she heard a voice. Unfamiliar and yet … not.

“What a strike of fortune, the Calorian boy being marked,” a man said, then laughed. “The gods favor our girl, there can be no doubt. Once the boy has sworn himself to her, I’ll speak to Liam about a betrothal. It’s a good match—will please the people.”

Liam was Killian’s father’s name. Lydia shook her head in confusion, her eyes going to Killian, but he still slept. Were the mimics stealing from inside his head, even now?

“Kitaryia is not yet three, Derrek,” a woman said softly. “Wait until she’s older. Until we see if she favors his company or not before rushing into these things. We’ve time.”

A child babbled in the distance, the words unclear to Lydia, but she heard the click click of heels, then the woman said, “Let me help you, love,” and she abruptly could see the scene playing out before her. A woman’s face, hazy, looking down at her, and beyond, a tall man in a green coat, his face equally blurred.

He said, “Best hope she favors him, for he’ll be at her side the whole of their lives.”

The woman laughed, and Lydia felt the strange sensation of being lifted. Of being carried, and she gave her head a sharp shake. “He’s not a boy to be led anywhere he does not wish to go. His parents can scarce keep him seated through a lesson without him escaping off into the wilds.”

“He’ll settle.”

“I don’t think so, so best hope he favors our girl as well.”

A loud bang echoed through the night, and Lydia jumped, trying to pull her head from the fog. But it was impossible.

“What is the meaning of this, Cyntha!” the man snarled. “You’ve no business being in here.”

“Which is strange, given this was my bed for more than a decade, Your Grace.” A new voice purred the words, a younger version of Cyntha’s voice.

Rufina.

Whose mind were the mimics taking this from?

There was no time to dwell on the question, because Rufina was speaking again.

“My bed, until you cast me aside for her.”

“Get. Out!” the man shouted, his anger palpable, and Lydia tried to see, but her vision was obscured by the woman’s body. But she heard the gasp, heard the man say, “Gods …