Brian McClellan

GREEN-EYED VIPERS

2015

A short story from the collection of stories “In the Field Marshal’s Shadow”

Eight years before the events of Promise of Blood...

The Baroness Petara loved a good party. She loved the color, the wine, the music; the giddy blur of faces and the gaudy splendor of gilded furniture. The halls of Skyline Palace were lit this evening by hundreds of candelabras and all the nobility of Adro were in attendance, dressed to the nines and preening like haughty birds. At an event like this, Petara loved to assume an air of distracted boredom and watch the flock of vain young men fall over themselves to entertain her.

Petara loved that the rest of the women in the hall knew what she was about and were helpless to stop her, even when their own husbands threw themselves gallantly at her, requesting the honor of a dance or offering her a drink.

Some of the men enjoyed her sporadic flirting. Some of them were there to gain favor – she was a cousin of the king, after all – and even more of them hovered around hoping to spend a night in her arms. She didn’t blame them. Even in her late thirties, Petara was one of the most beautiful women in the room, and a wealthy widow.

On a normal night, she would have taken at least one of the young men home with her, or up to one of the hundreds of spare bedrooms on the second floor of the palace. This, however, was not a normal night. She was not going to be the midnight conquest of some idiot duke’s son. She had her own hunting to do.

The very best of hunters knew when to wait and let their prey come to them. And Petara was the best.

She gave a titillated laugh at something lewd the man next to her whispered in her ear. “I’m sure I couldn’t,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance that told him that oh yes, she certainly could. What was his name again? Frederik. How unoriginal. But he was the third son of a duke with lucrative trading contracts and he had some wonderfully strong arms. Petara liked to mix business and pleasure when she could.

She leaned over to Frederik and whispered, “Call on me at my manor in the Routs tomorrow night at eleven.” Without waiting for an answer, she extricated herself from his arms and stood against a marble pillar, stretching languidly in a way that would give Frederik all sorts of ideas. She smiled at him over her shoulder, snatched a glass of sparkling wine from a passing servant, and left the stuffy sitting room and the dozen or so suitors all vying for her attention.

It was a relief to be away from them, if she was being honest with herself. The simpering and flattery got old. Petara wasn’t some brainless bauble to be impressed by flattering words, even if she did act the part most of the time. She went out into the hall, sipping her wine thoughtfully, making a mental inventory of the faces she didn’t know. She threaded her way into the nearest ballroom, stopping to greet friends and rivals, then went half way up the grand staircase and turned to watch the dancers on the floor below.

She let her eyes wander the room, stopping briefly on a dark blue uniform in one corner. No. That wasn’t the man she sought.

She found another blue uniform and, with a nervous pit in her stomach, checked the face of the man wearing it. Once again she was mistaken. Her disappointment annoyed her. She felt like a girl at her first masquerade, heart aflutter.

She buried the annoyance beneath a smile, then proceeded on to the next ballroom, and then the next.

It was in the third that she found the man she hunted. He was hard to miss – a person much like herself, to whom lesser men and women flocked, clamoring for his attention. His presence in a room demanded such. He was tall, with salt and pepper hair and skin darkened by campaigns in the Gurlish sun, his face weathered by the elements and battle. He wore the dark blue uniform of an Adran soldier with a sword at his hip, and the gold epaulets of the field marshal of the Adran army.

Everyone in the room had their own opinion of Field Marshal Tamas. Some of them worshiped him. More hated him. At least half a dozen actively plotted his death. The nobility in general thought he was an insufferable upstart who had tricked the king into letting him lead the nation’s armies – a despicable worm burrowing its way into the royal apple.

Petara had no illusions about the field marshal. She never had, not since she first saw him on parade when she was still a girl and him a already a colonel. She could still remember that moment clearly, barely seventeen and feeling her heart pound in her chest as he rode by, her cheeks flushing when he glanced her direction. Others whispered that this low-born officer couldn’t possibly rise higher in the king’s graces but she had known almost instinctively that he would someday be one of the most influential men in the country.

So she waited. And nine years ago, when the opportunity presented itself, Petara aided the Kez plot to execute Tamas’s wife.

She felt herself flush, as if merely thinking it in the same room as Tamas would tip her hand to him. She dismissed the notion immediately. Tamas was a brilliant tactician and a natural leader of men, but only passingly adept at politics. Very little subtlety when it came to intrigue. Beneath his cold exterior he was a passionate, even brutal man and if he had so much as suspected her involvement, she would have been dead years ago. He didn’t know – he couldn’t know.

It made the prospect of bedding him so much more thrilling.

She took up her spot on the staircase, adopting a bored expression, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he moved across the room, greeting and shaking hands. His face was steel, only breaking character to flick a smile as he kissed a young woman’s hand. The girl’s father sweated visibly behind her. Everyone knew Tamas’s reputation with the young noblewomen.

The field marshal moved past the girl, hard eyes sweeping the floor. He glanced upward once, and Petara was sure he’d seen her. Lady Petara, the widow baroness; standing alone, statuesque in a low cut, damask dress, a string of pearls brushing against her décolletage. Petara knew Tamas. She was far too good of a target for him to ignore.

She thought back over the years since his wife’s death. Petara and Tamas never slept together, despite both their reputations for dalliances and their mutual eligibility. Petara had avoided him diligently – without looking like it, of course. She wanted to leave him for as long as possible. Let his grief pass. Let his star in the government continue to shine. Let him get older, lonelier.

The timing was perfect. Her informants said that he was growing more receptive to the idea of a second marriage. Despite their hatred of him, more than one noble house already spoke of sacrificing their prettiest daughters for a chance to snag Tamas’s influence.

Petara would bed him tonight. Give him something to remember. And then, over the next few months, they’d have more chance meetings. Another dalliance, then another. Petara would shift her interests to align with his, and influence his to align with hers in all the smallest ways. It might take years, but a man of his intelligence wouldn’t help but see the advantage in a marriage. She could give him more children and leave them a legacy that would be the envy of every other noble house. Petara need only be patient.

Tamas was heading toward her now. He shook off the last of his sycophants and ascended the stairs. He passed behind her, and Petara felt a spike of indignation. He was going to walk right past, without a second glance!

“Lady Petara.” The voice was clipped, formal.

She took a deep breath. Of course he wouldn’t walk past. Not a man in this room could do that to her. Petara looked at him over her right shoulder. “Why, Field Marshal Tamas! I didn’t see you there.”

Tamas was several steps above, and looked as if he’d only just noticed her. His mind was probably off on some campaign in Gurla. He came down two steps and gave her a half bow. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Good evening, field marshal.” Petara looked up at him, batting long eyelashes, daring him not to start sweating. She knew what that look did to men. “How are you enjoying the party?”

“Very entertaining,” Tamas said, his voice deadpan. His eyes moved down her body, lingering at her hips, and then returned to her eyes. He wet his lips with his tongue.

It was the tell Petara was waiting for. I have you, she thought to herself. “They can get repetitive, can’t they?” she asked casually, affecting a stifled yawn.

“A bit.”

She let her eyes go to the glass in his hand. Mild cider. The field marshal was a teetotaler. Hadn’t drank in years. It annoyed her. Men plied with a little drink were so much easier to control. But, she reassured herself, this wouldn’t be a problem. Tamas never let sobriety prevent him from enjoying the company of beautiful women. She said, “The dancing, the champagne. We’ve seen it all before, you and I.”

Tamas half turned to look out over the ballroom. He seemed disinterested in the dancing below. He gave her body a sidelong glance. “Many times,” he said.

She searched his eyes, looking for something in them. Any kind of warning that he knew what she was about. Not the bit about sleeping together. He knew exactly what type of woman she was, just as she knew what kind of man he was. Winding up in each other’s arms was almost a given.

No, she searched for a flicker of hate. Of disgust. Anything to warn her away. He wouldn’t try anything, of course. Not in Skyline Palace. No one would be so brazen with the royal guard no more than a shout away at all times.

There was nothing in Tamas’s eyes but his steely calm. It was unnerving in its own way, but it meant that she had nothing to fear from him.

Petara felt a chill move down her spine. He had no idea about what she’d done to implicate his late wife! How exciting!

She raised her eyebrows, turning away from her view of the dance hall as if a thought had just occurred to her. “You know that I’m an amateur naturalist, don’t you?” she asked. The next part of this little game. It was never as simple as, Would you like to go upstairs with me? There always had to be some kind of verbal dance that would only lead to the inevitable. Tamas’s recent return from Gurla had provided just such an excuse.

Tamas sipped from his glass. “I’d heard rumors to that effect.”

Petara let herself sway a little closer to Tamas, brushing his arm with her own. “And I’ve heard rumors that you brought a number of rather stunning samples back from your latest campaign in Gurla.”

“I did.”

“Tell me, what did you bring back?”

He glanced down at his cup. “Several dozen baloa tree saplings, for one. Only a few survived the journey. Remarkable tree. Grows inches every day. Can get to be enormous with the right care. I fear they’ll all die in our environment. Too cold.”

“Trees?” Petara asked, feigning a yawn but giving him a hint of a smile. “Is that it?”

“Of course not. Several carcasses on ice for dissection at Adopest University. Badgers, goats, big cats. Half a dozen types of rodents. All sorts of interesting curiosities from that side of the globe.” Tamas downed the last of his cider then looked none-too-subtly down the front of Petara’s dress.

She shifted to give him a better view. “Nothing alive?”

“I did, actually. A rather rare snake. The green-eyed viper.”

Petara’s informants had told her this was the case, but she faked a look of astonishment. In the world of Adran naturalists – and it was a popular hobby among the nobility – a green-eyed viper was about the rarest Gurlish animal brought to this part of the world. It was probably worth two hundred thousand krana. She took him by the arm, affecting the besotted eccentric. “I must have it!”

Tamas blinked at her. “You must? I wish it was mine to give. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not yours?”

“Well, it is mine. But it’s meant as a gift. Everything I’ve brought back is going straight to Prime Lektor at the University.”

“Prime Lektor? That old goat?”

Tamas stiffened. “Prime is a friend of mine.”

He was friends with the vice-chancellor of the University? She’d not actually known that. Prime Lektor was little more than a trumped-up teacher but he had some influence. Petara could use that. “I’m sorry,” Petara said, pouting. “I didn’t mean it.” She pressed herself a little closer.

“No, no,” Tamas said, body relaxing. He discarded his cup on a servant’s tray and broke his stony facade for the first time with a small smile. “He is an old goat. But really, I can’t part with the snake. Prime wants it so badly.”

“I’m sure the university can get another. What have they paid you for it? I’ll pay twice as much!”

“My lady, it’s not about the money.”

Petara leaned forward. “Then what’s it about?”

“Well, really...” Tamas trailed off. His eyes dipped to her cleavage again. “Really, it’s just a matter of...” He paused.

“Let me examine it at least,” Petara said. She had to stifle a grin. Seeing Field Marshal Tamas stutter – if she got no where else tonight that thought alone would keep her warm. How delicious! She continued, “You know how rare they are. I’ll be the envy of every naturalist in Adro.”

“It’s a very dangerous animal,” Tamas said, finding his tongue again.

“Come now, I won’t touch it. Unless you want me to.” Petara resisted an eye-roll.

Tamas looked around the room as if considering her request. She could see the color in his cheeks. The stupid innuendo had its desired effect. “I suppose you could come and call tomorrow night,” Tamas said.

Frederik was supposed to come to her home tomorrow night. Petara could cancel that appointment, or... “It must be this evening.”

“It’s already quite late.”

“Have a servant fetch the creature. Carry it here in a box. We’ll take it upstairs to one of the spare rooms where it won’t endanger any of the guests. Really, you must.”

Tamas tilted his head. His eyes had stopped wandering and he examined her curiously, as if wondering whether she was still flirting or really was this eccentric. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Of course!”

They sent a servant running to Tamas’s home and got more drinks, chatting quietly. Within twenty minutes Petara had strung her arm through Tamas’s. He made no effort to extricate himself. Within forty minutes he’d finally handed his damn hat off to a servant and had one hand in the small of Petara’s back, fingers brushing her ass gently from time to time.

They chatted with Deliv dignitaries and made small talk with some of Petara’s merchant friends. Tamas even talked business with a pair of his generals and Petara listened in, fascinated. Someone else might find this kind of thing boring but not her. She was born for strategy and logistics. In a few years this could be her life and the mere thought made her dizzy. She and Tamas, arm and arm, could conquer the world.

A few hours passed before the servant returned. He carried a wooden crate just big enough for a pair of boots. Petara could feel the sparkling wine do its work, her footing not entirely secure, and Tamas’s own cheeks were flushed from the heat of the ballroom. The servant led them upstairs, far down one of the many side corridors, and into a cool room where he lit the candles and the fire before leaving them alone with the crate.

Petara eyed it, a thrill of excitement going through her. She only cared a little for the snake itself. Sure, it was a curiosity. Someone with a little less brains might even find it as enthralling as she acted but, after all, it was just a snake.

She chided herself for the pretense. Tamas was obviously interested in her. Maybe she could have just asked him to go upstairs. Only her training as a proper noblewoman, something ingrained from a young age, made her go through the motions.

But the pretense was over now. They were alone. Tamas stepped over to the crate and Petara intercepted him, pushing up against him, intertwining her fingers in his. She looked up, lips full, mouth slightly open. “Field marshal,” she said, “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“No,” Tamas said. “I think not.”

Petara felt an involuntary purr in the back of her throat as he pulled her close to him. Their first kiss was long, deep, and lingering. She’d been with dozens, maybe even hundreds of men. Each had their own strength, their own attraction. She’d even been with a few Privileged in her time, but never a powder mage. She could already tell this was going to be an experience to remember.

Tamas pulled away. She followed him, mouth open, but he took her hand in his and held it up to the light.

“These fingers,” he said. He lowered his lips to them, kissing her fingertips one by one.

“What about them?” she asked.

“They’ve done so much.”

Petara frowned. “Oh?”

“Really, I’m quite impressed.” He continued to kiss her fingers, but Petara felt a dip in her eagerness.

“Are you now?” she asked.

“Oh, very.”

She felt a sudden prick against her palm and pulled away from Tamas. “What was that?”

Tamas showed her his hand. He held a tiny, hollow bone needle between two of his fingers, and she stepped away from him to examine her palm in the light of the candle. The scratch had drawn the smallest bit of blood. Her heart was no longer racing with excitement, and she was overwhelmed by her own annoyance.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded.

Tamas produced a clay vial from one pocket and sunk the needle into the wax inside. His steel visage was gone. His face was soft, kindly. Maybe a little bit tired.

“It’ll only take a moment,” he said. “There. You should be feeling it now.”

Petara tried to back away but found her feet frozen, her hands stiff. No part of her body would obey her, not even her eyelids.

“Absolute paralysis,” Tamas said. He removed a pocket watch from his jacket and set it on the table next to the crate. “You should be dead in about two minutes.”

Petara tried to move, to call for help. To beg. Nothing came out. She couldn’t even breathe. She felt the sweat beading on her brow. She wanted to tell him that the royal guard were patrolling this hallway. That whatever he dared could come to only ruin. He couldn’t possibly get away with this.

Tamas took a powder charge out of his pocket and unwrapped it slowly, like a thoughtful child unwrapping a candy. He sprinkled the black powder on his tongue then put the wrapper back in his pocket.

Petara remained frozen in place, her limbs locked. She couldn’t even collapse to the floor. All she could do was watch.

Tamas drew his dagger and flipped the latch on the crate. He removed a smaller box from within then flipped the latch on that one as well, letting the top spring open.

He struck faster than the eye could see, the tip of his dagger plunging into the box and staying there for several seconds. Petara was transfixed. She tried desperately to remember how much time had passed, but her mind had grown foggy. How long had he said? A minute? Two? This must all be a joke. Surely he wouldn’t kill her, not where everyone could see his crime.

“She called you her friend,” Tamas said.

She? Petara wondered. Who?

Tamas’s hand dipped into the box and came out with the limp body of a small snake, no longer than his forearm and as thick around as a man’s thumb. It was a pretty creature with a repeating pattern of scales across its back that looked like so many green eyes. The tip of Tamas’s dagger had pierced its brain, killing it.

He stepped over and lifted her hand up where she could see it. “Erika spoke of you often,” he said, lifting the snake and pressing on either side of its jaw with his thumb and forefinger. The tiny mouth opened to reveal two fangs. Tamas pressed them against the palm of her hand where he had cut her. She felt the twin needles bite into her flesh. “She said you were one of the smartest women she knew – clever, forward thinking, with an iron resolve. She trusted you, and said you could help us forge a new world. She went to a Kez guillotine with no knowledge of your betrayal.”

Tamas examined his handiwork. From Petara’s viewpoint there was no longer a scratch on her palm. Just two tiny pinpricks. The horror of it dawned on her even as her mind grew more frantic and confused. The venom on the needle was from this very snake. Tamas would tell everyone that she had opened the box overeager, and against his wishes tried to grasp the creature. It had bitten her, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I would ask you why you did it, but now...” Tamas shrugged, waving the tiny fangs of the snake under her eyes.

Because I wanted you for myself. Because she didn’t deserve you.

Tamas leaned forward. The tired kindliness was gone from his eyes. They were harsh, angry. He put his lips next to her ear. “I bet you’re wondering how I knew. Well. I know a lot of things. The ‘hunting accident’ that killed your husband? Lord Lindberg’s financial ruin and apparent suicide? Lady Soliat foreswearing her title and joining a Kresim convent?” Tamas snorted. “I don’t care about your murders or machinations. I’ve killed and ruined enough nobles myself to make even you blush. What I care about is that Erika called you her friend, and you sent a courier to Duke Nikslaus to let him know where she would be so he could arrest her. That’s all that matters.”

Tamas dropped the limp snake and crushed it under his boot. Petara felt his fingers on her chest, and she was pushed gently backward, her body finally collapsing onto the bed behind her. Her vision became cloudy, her eyeballs burning from not being able to blink. There was a pain deep in her chest.

Tamas appeared above her. “It would be so much more fitting to kill you with all the others. But that’s still years away, and I wanted this to be personal. Goodbye, Lady Petara.”

Petara tried to croak out something – anything – but her body still disobeyed her. How had this night gone so wrong? What was her misstep? How had he known about her involvement?

It had been a trap, and she’d walked straight into it. Pit, she’d led him by the hand up to the room where he would kill her.

She was still fighting with the indignity of it all when darkness finally claimed her.

Tamas stared coldly down at the corpse for several seconds before remembering the bitterness of the kiss. He made a face and spit into the fireplace, wiping his lips of Petara’s taste and hoped that Erika would forgive him for that.

He thought she might.

He checked the clay vial before returning it to his pocket. How would it look if he accidentally pricked himself with that venom? He shook his head, chuckling mirthlessly, letting his gaze fall back on the body. Petara really had been a striking, intelligent woman. She would have made a formidable ally. He might even had married her if he’d never come across her involvement in Erika’s death.

But Tamas did not forget. He did not forgive.

Tamas glanced at Petara’s corpse one last time before opening the door.

“Help!” he called. “Help! There’s been a terrible accident!”

Content

Brian McClellan
GREEN-EYED VIPERS
2015
A short story from the collection of stories “In the Field Marshal’s Shadow”