Page 16 of A Drop of Venom

About an hour later, I was on my knees beside my herb bed, gently coaxing a few milkroot and haldi plants to bud as a flowering vine curled lovingly around my shoulders, when I heard the now-familiar sound of Terolon’s scales brushing against stone.

His deep voice came from the garden doorway behind me. “What a lovely sight you are, my shelshi.”

I smiled over my shoulder as he glided across the grass. The smooth undulations of his long black-and-crimson body mesmerized me. I’d never seen anyone or anything move with so much grace, elegance, and beauty. And yet every depiction of a serpentae I’d ever seen had made them look grotesque in the extreme.

“What a dirt-covered sight I am, you mean,” I said wryly, showing him my hands and arms.

“There is nothing more beautiful than a woman with plant magic tending her garden.” Terolon coiled himself around me, careful not to damage any of the plants in the garden, and bent to kiss the top of my head. He smelled of rich forest earth and his own unique combination of warm stone, clove, and sweet wine. I breathed in his scent and felt tension I didn’t know I was carrying ease from my shoulders.

Very gently, his fingertip caressed one of the blooms on the vine that was laying across my shoulders like a mantle. “This vine has never flowered before,” he said. “I had no idea the blossoms were yellow.”

“This variety is. Others can be pink, red, or even blue. These yellow petals add a lovely light sweetness to tea.” I sat back on my heels and looked up at him. “I’d like to gather mushrooms to grow in the summer cave and more herbs for this bed. Will you be able to accompany me into the forest this afternoon, do you think?”

“Of course.” Smiling, Terolon plucked leaves out of my hair and dropped them onto the grass. “I think it will rain soon, but not for long. We’ll go gathering after the midday meal. I will help you carry your treasures back. We’ll need baskets for future trips. Have you started thinking about your list for Aluc?”

“Yes. I’m afraid it keeps growing. I’ll need pots for dried herbs too.” I gently unwound the vine from my shoulders, returned it to the stone wall behind the garden bed, and let Terolon help me to my feet. “He’ll write down the list when he gets here, you said?”

“Yes. He takes his duties as a scribe very seriously.” He took my hand and cradled it carefully in his much larger one. “He enjoys using the enchanted quill Stosior gave him last winter solstice.”

“An enchanted quill sounds like a marvelous gift. Imagine if you had both an enchanted quill and a book that never ran out of pages to write on.” I bent to pick up my empty tea mug and handed it to Terolon to carry when he extended his hand. “I would write every day if I had something that wondrous.”

“What would you write about?” Terolon asked as we strolled around the garden—or rather, I strolled barefoot as he undulated gracefully beside me.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind picked up both outside the garden and within it, making branches sway and autumn leaves flutter to the ground.

“Everything.” I squeezed his hand though his was so much larger than mine that he probably barely felt it, and he squeezed back with a gentle curl of his fingers. “I’d write about the garden, the forest, all the little trickles of water in the cave. I’d describe every perfectly ordinary day and all the perfectly ordinary things I did, like making tea or pulling weeds. I’d write about my magic, especially how it feels to be able to use it without being afraid. And I’d end each day’s writings by thanking the Goddess for bringing me here to you.”

He drew me close, wrapped his coils around me, and kissed my knuckles. “If you want to write, I’ll make sure you have what you need—though I might not be able to procure an enchanted quill or book with endless pages.”

“An ordinary quill, pot of ink, and book will do just fine.” I cupped his face and stroked his cheek with my thumb, feeling the softness of his scales. “Thank you, Terolon. With all my heart.”

“It’s my pleasure, my shelshi. Anything that brings you joy is my joy as well.” He glanced up as thunder rumbled again and drops of rain began to fall. “We should go inside. You can tell me your plans for the herb garden and mushrooms while we rest and listen to the rain.”

“Only if I can lie in your coils,” I said with mock sternness, as if I didn’t know he’d insist upon it.

“If you must,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Come, my sweetness.”

Smiling, I let him escort me out of the rain and into the mountain.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TEROLON

Autumn days slipped by in a wonderful, warm reverie.

Each morning, my shelshi woke in my coils, gave me kisses, and slipped away to the hot springs in the winter cave to bathe and dress. By the time she returned, I’d have her first meal ready, or nearly so: hot porridge cooked over a fire, with fruits from the garden.

During the day, Hazel spent a good deal of her time in our garden practicing her magic or sewing while enjoying the company of growing things that adored her in return. I used the time to either go hunting for my own food or bring back meat to cook for her that day or smoke and preserve to add to our stores.

After her midday meal, we often basked in the afternoon sun, which was my second-favorite time of day after our nights together in our nest. She dozed on my chest or read aloud to me from one of my many books written by her kind, or some combination of the two. Hazel loved stories of romance and adventure. I did as well, but truthfully I would have listened to my mate read aloud pamphlets from the village or the scientific papers of a rambling eccentric if it meant I could hear her voice.

In the evenings, after her light supper, we either watched the stars emerge while lying in the garden or returned to the cave to share stories of our lives. If it rained, I arranged myself just inside the narrow passageway, ignoring the discomfort simply so she could curl up in my coils and enjoy the sounds and scents of the world being washed clean.

I learned much about my shelshi during these evenings—and added names to my mental list of those who deserved death for mistreating Hazel over her nearly thirty years of life. At the top of this list were Lord Vedast and his band of guards who’d terrorized and nearly killed her, followed closely by her abusive cousins and the lecherous landlord who’d turned her out of her family’s home out of spite. Hazel’s mother had already passed beyond my reach, for which the vile woman should be grateful.

Hazel also shared good memories of days spent with her grandmother and childhood friends. I treasured those stories a great deal because they were accompanied by smiles and laughter and soft looks in her eyes.

I told my mate of Izaelon, from its seaside towns and year-round warmth to festivals and traditions. She peppered me with questions about my home kingdom often well into the night.