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

Stopping in front of a door, the High Lady unlocked it, then motioned for Lydia to go inside.

It was one of the many guest rooms in the palace and, given the upper level hadn’t been subjected to the sacking the rest of the building had endured, still possessed all its fine furnishings and décor. The sitting room had two large sofas upholstered in red-and-gold fabric with a delicate wooden table between them. Thick carpets layered the stone floor, and the open windows were flanked by velvet drapery.

In the corner, a suit of armor sat in pieces on one of the chairs, a dented shield with a scraped image of a falcon leaning against it. On the table next to it, she counted no fewer than six daggers of varying length, and underneath rested a bow case and stuffed quiver.

“Have a seat.” The High Lady gestured to the sofas. “Care for a drink?”

“Water, if you have it, Your Grace,” Lydia answered, perching on one of the sofas and wondering why the woman had brought her here.

“Unless we’re around Serrick and his fools, you can call me Dareena.” Going to the window, she swung open the glass, the curtains billowing wildly on the breeze. With little regard for the deadly drop to the ocean beneath her, she stood on the window frame, stretching up to retrieve a cooking pot.

As she jumped back into the room, she said, “I don’t have much faith that what we’re being served is pure.” She went to the roaring fire and sat the metal pot over the flames, watching as the snow melted.

“You’re marked,” Lydia said. “The blight can’t infect you.”

Dareena turned to look at her, raising one eyebrow. “You positive about that?”

“I…” Lydia hesitated. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

“I tempt fate often enough as it is without drinking poisoned water. Here.” She dipped a cup into the pot, then handed it to Lydia. “Drink as much as you like. I’ve six more basins collecting snow on the ledge.”

“Thank you.” Lydia sipped at the water, which tasted far cleaner and fresher than any she’d had at the temple, watching the High Lady as she took the seat across from her. She was perhaps thirty years old, and the illustration in Treatise had not done her beauty justice. Lydia suspected there wasn’t an artist in the world who could, because there was something in the woman’s motion, in the weight of her presence, that couldn’t be captured with paint or ink. It reminded her of Killian. “If I might ask, why do you think the King sent Kil … err, Lord Calorian to Rotahn?”

Dareena grinned, her upturned green eyes creasing at the corners. “Killian is no more for formality than I am. And I rather suspect you two are past that point already, am I right?”

Heat crawled up Lydia’s chest, her cheeks burning. “We’re friends.”

“It’s always good to be friends with your lover.”

Lydia felt her eyes pop, and she stammered, “It’s not like that. You’ve misinterpreted … We’ve never … I…” She clamped her teeth down to stop the babble flowing from her lips. “We are just friends.”

The High Lady’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “He reacted much the same way when I pressed him, if it makes you feel any better. Known him his entire life and not once have I seen him lose his head over a”—she smirked—“friend.”

Crossing her arms, Lydia leveled the High Lady with a steady stare. “I trust that you had greater reason to abandon the conversation between the Grand Master and the King than to satisfy your curiosity over the nature of my relationship with Lord Calorian.”

Dareena burst out laughing. “Oh, my. I can see why he values your friendship so highly. Though in truth, I saw why the moment you went head-to-head with the King over the blighted.” Taking a sip of her water, the High Lady leaned back against the cushion, resting a booted foot on one knee. “To answer your question, the Anuk have always raided the Rowenes gold mines, but apparently they’ve taken advantage of our preoccupation with Derin and increased their efforts. Serrick’s argument is that Mudamora needs that gold to rebuild and to support those who’ve lost everything to the war, but I think it’s more to do with the fact that it’s his lands and mines they are thieving from. It’s a blow to his pride.”

“That’s a ridiculous reason.” Lydia scowled. “What sort of king makes decisions based on such vanity?”

“All of them,” Dareena answered. “And if you think Serrick’s bad, you’d have been horrified if you’d met my brother. Kings, as a rule, are a vainglorious lot. And given the Mudamorian monarchy is little more than a popularity contest among the Twelve Houses, our kings are the worst.”

“His strategies certainly are.” Lydia knew her tone was sour but didn’t care. “The method of dealing with the blighted that he and Quindor have come up with is flawed.”

“And that”—Dareena leveled a finger at Lydia—“is the reason I’m here. Because I think what you have to say is more important than the words spewing from the mouths of the men we left in that throne room.” She scowled, then gave a slight shake of her head. “Tell me your opinion of what should be done.”

Part of Lydia hesitated. She didn’t know this woman, and she was not one to give her trust easily. Especially not to strangers. Except she knew that Killian trusted Dareena, and that had to count for something.

“Cyntha and Quindor are likely correct that there is no cure. The blighters are dead, their bodies nothing more than puppets animated by the Corrupter, although given they retain memory and skill, I think some part of them remains.”

“Their souls? If that’s the case, isn’t Quindor correct that it’s a mercy to give them a final death?”

“Maybe.” Lydia took a sip of her water. “But there are consequences to us doing so.”

Dareena regarded her silently, waiting.

“When I look at one of the blighters, I