Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [113]
“Which one is it?” the slave asked. “I’ll-”
“No you won’t,” Arvin said. “I will.”
“But it’s Highsun,” the slave protested. “The snakes are all away from the-”
“Don’t question me, slave,” Arvin spat, easily imitating Zelia’s imperious tone. The throbbing in his head helped; it gave an edge to his impatience. “Come down here at once, or you will be punished.” Arvin twitched his upper lip, as if about to bare his fangs. “I’ll see to it myself.”
The slave’s face paled and he sank to the ground. As he landed, Arvin eyed his sandals. They were made from unblemished white leather-pegasus hide.
The slave stood, eyes obediently on the ground but with a wary look on his face. It was clear he didn’t believe Arvin’s story, yet at the same time he was frightened of disobeying a yuan-ti. Seeing this, Arvin drew upon his psionic talent. The base of his scalp prickling with energy, he spoke softly to the slave. “You’ve served the Extaminos family for many years, slave. You can be trusted to keep a secret. It wasn’t just any yuan-ti that was killed, but Osran Extaminos, tenth in line for the throne.”
The slave had been standing with his head tilted, as if listening not just to Arvin but also to a distant sound-the charm’s secondary display. “I heard the palace slaves whispering about Osran,” he confided. “I didn’t believe it was true.”
“I assure you, it is,” Arvin said gravely, steering the slave into the shade of a nearby building. “We suspect the snake that killed him was a polymorphed assassin. I’m here to lay a trap for him. I need to take your place for the day. Give me your clothes and bucket… and those sandals.”
The slave looked at him warily. “I can’t. I’ll be punished if they find out.”
“They won’t,” Arvin snapped-a little more testily than he’d intended. “Nobody will know.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his last three silver pieces, and pressed them into the slave’s hand. “Take the day off. Treat yourself to a bath-a long one. Don’t come back until Sunset. I’ll leave the sandals in the bucket, under here.” He gestured at the base of a nearby ramp. The shadowed hollow under it would make an excellent hiding place.
The slave stood, staring uncertainly at the silver coins on his palm. “I don’t know…”
Arvin rubbed his throbbing temples. The midday heat was making them pound worse than ever. “You don’t know what?” he snapped, hissing angrily.
The human swallowed nervously. “Maybe we should speak to my master, first, before…”
Arvin couldn’t stand it any longer. Humans weren’t supposed to question-they were meant to obey. His whole plan was about to come undone. He couldn’t permit that to happen. His angry hiss turned into a whisper. “Shivis!”
Quick as thought, the dagger was in his gloved hand. He thrust forward and the blade bit deep into the slave’s stomach. “You’re not”-stab-“speaking”-stab-“to your master!” Arvin hissed.
The slave sank to the street, eyes wide and mouth making faint gasping sounds. His bucket clattered to the ground beside him, spilling its last dribble of water. Something warm and sticky coated Arvin’s hand; he licked his fingers and was rewarded with the sweet taste of blood. “Insolent human,” he muttered, the last word twisting his lips.
Only then did he realize what he’d done.
He stared down at the slave, horrified. Then he realized the man’s blood was still on his lips. He spat and nearly threw up. He slammed his fist into the wall. “Gods curse you, Zelia.”
Realizing he might be in trouble-big trouble-if any of the militia were nearby, Arvin looked wildly around. No one was in sight. Disappearing the dagger into his glove-he’d clean it later-he shoved the body under the ramp. He crouched for a moment in the cool shadow, and closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head, saying a prayer for the slave’s soul. Then, hands shaking, he unfastened