Chapter Six The Cobra’s Spy

CHAPTER SIX

The Cobra's Spy

"See the building that dominates our capital, brilliant as the sun come to rest upon the earth? That is the Golden Brothel. He built it higher than our temples to the lost gods. He wrote the truth of his character in gold on our skyline. Stay away from the Cobra. Do not trust a sweet word or a warm glance. He is the most degenerate and wicked man in Eyam. I should know," Lord Marius told Lia. "He is my closest friend."

Time of Iron , ANONYMOUS

L ong past midnight, the Cobra was still at his piano. He scrawled reams over sheafs of paper, occasionally tugging an ink-black braid in absent-minded despair. He'd shed his hair ornaments, leaving golden stars and snakes scattered carelessly across the fragments of his new play. The Cobra said everybody had their own creative process. His was writing frantically, chasing art down rather than creating it.

Eventually the Cobra made a dramatic gesture and swept half the pages off the piano. He reached past the papers for a vial, cut-glass and purple, tipping oil into his palm.

"I can't remember the right words," he declared in laughing mourning, more to the gilded surface of his instrument than Marius.

Since the piano was unlikely to contribute to the conversation, Marius rolled his eyes. "Is a story worth fretting over?"

The Cobra glanced up as though startled Marius was there, then smiled as though he were welcome. "Have you never considered art grants us the impossible? Art opens a door into someone else's imagination and lets us walk through. Art is the dreamed-of escape. Art lets the dead speak and the living laugh. Art takes you away from pain when no medicine can save you. Art is the first and last word. Art is the final consolation."

Typical of the Cobra, to hope he could keep talking past death. He and his set always chattered about philosophy and poetry, music and art, never anything real. Lies were the fabric of his soul.

"Why would you dream of escape?"

The Cobra raised an eyebrow, working oil through his long braids. "Why would you dream of prison?"

Once he'd mixed up his oil and his inkwell, sending both flying. When Marius attempted to assist, the Cobra flicked ink at him and laughed. Stay clear of me, Last Hope, or be stained.

Marius was born of the Oracle's mountains. His bones were cold stone and colder truth, and he found the Cobra's nonsense intolerable. "Make something up and write it down. If you don't like it, improve it later."

"You think storytelling is that simple?" The Cobra made an ill-bred face, then picked up the quill he'd flung down. "Perhaps I can imagine a bridge between two scenes that don't connect. That's how bards told stories when nothing was written down and memory failed. That's how stories transform."

Abruptly, Marius was sick of the sight of the Cobra, luminous with gold and inspiration. The man wasted his mind as he wasted his time.

"I do not care for stories. Someone is dying tomorrow."

"Someone's always dying," the Cobra said casually. "Stories go on."

This conversation turned Marius's stomach. He shut his mouth. The Cobra, who filled every silence, began to sing. He wrote at the piano in order to provide himself with musical interludes. What the Cobra called a piano was an unearthly contraption, a perversion of a clavichord. The instrument was carved and painted with golden-green scales that coruscated in the brilliant illumination the Cobra insisted upon. Every surface was crowded with golden candelabras wrought in serpent shapes, and the chandelier was a crystal-dripping sun. He taught the torches to burn bright, and filled the room with chaotic melody. The reflection of flame turned the window behind him into a golden lake.

Marius's father claimed merchants cheated their lords with false gold. It might shine, but tested against real gold would never ring true. Once Marius had a friend who could charm birds from trees to cages like the Cobra could, a brother in arms he trusted with his life, but Lucius was dead. Now, all Marius had was this illusory brightness, fool's gold over the hollowness of a wooden statue long rotted away. The Cobra was barely a real person. Marius had never seen him angry, grieving, or revealing any genuine feeling.

He was the ideal companion. Emotions were dangerous for Marius.

The golden lake of glass was disturbed by a movement in the dark. Marius lifted a hand to arrest the song. Catching the Cobra's attention, Marius pointed.

At the window lurked a creature dripping blood.

As they watched, the blade of a knife was inserted between the edge of the window and the sill. The sash window lifted with a sound like teeth grinding.

Marius found this mildly interesting, until the Cobra flinched.

The whole court knew the Cobra was a coward. The Cobra freely admitted it. He wouldn't touch a weapon. But he didn't flinch.

A youth rolled into the window and landed on the tiles, soundless as the light striking his bared blade. A knife wouldn't save him. Marius hurdled the Cobra's elaborately carved sofa and went for the intruder.

The bargain between them was a filthy one, but Marius kept faith. He had no intention of letting anybody touch the Cobra.

Unlike most when faced with the charge of a berserker, the youth didn't falter or retreat. He stilled, wary as a wild thing. Beasts recognized each other, but there was a difference between a caged beast who belonged somewhere and some hungry stray who belonged nowhere at all. No man at court could stand against Marius. No man even presented a challenge.

Another knife appeared in the youth's free hand, twin blades spinning. A feral smile sprang to his face as he leaped for Marius. He wore the livery of the royal guard while he broke the king's laws by trespassing. He'd scared the Cobra. Marius needed no weapon to strike this insolent whelp down.

At the last possible instant before bloodshed, there was light.

A note of command rang through Marius's body, as if his bones were bells. " Stop ."

Two fingers pressed against Marius's shoulder, not even a full hand, with no pressure behind the touch. The Cobra didn't need to exert himself.

"No murder in my parlour, boys."

When Marius fell reluctantly back, the Cobra slid between them.

"Thank you," murmured the worst man in the world, sent by the gods to punish Marius for his sins. The thanks was mockery. Marius had no choice but to obey.

Even though the Cobra's order was rank foolishness. This was an armed intruder with an eerie smile, and the Cobra's thoroughly indecent dressing gown made it clear he was unarmed. On many occasions Marius had spoken to him strongly about his attire, but the Cobra pretended Marius was joking.

The Cobra's glittering attention turned to the blood-soaked criminal. "Loved the entrance."

Marius said coldly, "If you are on a mission from the king or your master, use the door."

"I'm not on the king's or my mistress's business," drawled the guard, in a low-born accent. "I'm here on my own business."

The Cobra arched an eyebrow. "I haven't had the doubtful pleasure of your acquaintance. I'm the Marquis of Popenjoy, the Golden Cobra. This is my friend Lord Marius Valerius, the Last Hope."

The boy tilted his head, fresh blood dripping from his rough-cut hair. Judging by the splatter, Marius calculated, he had recently killed at least four men.

"Lord Marius and I met in court earlier."

"I do not recall every servant I encounter at court," said Marius.

He doubted the guard had been drenched in blood at the time. Marius found blood memorable.

The Cobra shot him a quelling glance. Strange wariness still clung to the Cobra, who had once hummed a tune as the city burned. "Forgive him. Too much aristocracy affects the brain," claimed the wildly hypocritical Lord Popenjoy.

Charm was a weapon Marius had never possessed and the Cobra always misused. Contrary in all things, the Cobra wasted it now on a common thug.

The guard grinned. "Do you know me? I hear you know everything."

He heard true. The Cobra knew when ships wouldn't return and where fires would start. Now his gaze went brilliantly intent, as though distant flames reflected in his eyes. Marius had learned this expression from years of familiar contempt. The Cobra saw this boy, and anticipated disaster.

"You're Key. People called you the Villain of the Cauldron."

The cur's teeth were too sharp for his smile to be sweet. "They call me something different these days. I don't think the new name will stick."

The Cobra sounded almost amused. "It won't. Tell me your business."

Disbelieving, Marius wheeled on him. "You cannot hire a treacherous cut-throat! I forbid it."

"Really? Thank you." The Cobra sounded definitely amused. "I love to do the forbidden."

Suddenly young and hopeful, Key of the Cauldron asked, "I hear you pay spies?"

The invitation to villainy seemed to please the Cobra. "Lavishly."

Encouraged, the guard proceeded: "This is about Lady Rahela Domitia."

"We know the lady is to die." Marius's voice sounded harsh even in his own ears.

Testifying to the lady's crimes had been a grim business. His king was rightly furious at her perfidy, but that didn't mean she should be butchered. When Marius urged she be swiftly and mercifully put to death, Octavian said she did not deserve mercy. Marius couldn't talk to Octavian as he had when they were boys. It was Marius's fault.

He only wanted justice. He didn't know why justice was so painfully difficult to achieve.

He'd given evidence. Her fate was his responsibility. He hated the woman, and hated the thought of her wretched death. Cold misery had driven Marius to the Cobra's house. There was no true light or comfort here, but Marius had nowhere else to go.

Key of the Cauldron smiled as though he knew an evil secret. "The lady will not die tomorrow. She's been declared a true prophet."

As Marius froze the Cobra's laughter spilled into the air like a shower of counterfeit gold coins, bright and false as hell. There never was anyone so radiant, or so vile.

"A surprise twist!" The Golden Cobra applauded. "Now that's interesting."