Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

The Lady came toward her. She could swear she heard the rustle of scales. The Lady’s gait was eerily smooth—but ladies were trained to walk so, gliding in their long skirts. She could not be slithering over that too-smooth floor like a great snake.

Her hand brushed Merris’ cheek. It was warm and dry. “So young,” she said. “And growing quite lovely. We have not always been blessed with beauty. Your bravery is impressive, though some might call it foolishness. Is that your young man yonder? Or a loyal servant?”

“A friend,” Merris said thickly. “It’s just a friend.”

The Lady’s smile was as patronizing as any adult’s in the face of a child’s silliness. “Just a friend. Yes. We may keep him, if he pleases us. Every Lady needs a friend.”

Merris bit her tongue. There was no way she was going to tell the Lady what Coryn really was. She had been very, very foolish—just how foolish, she was only beginning to understand. If she lived through this, she would never again sneer at a character in a story for doing something so demonstrably stupid that the veriest idiot would know better.

And no, she was not going to blame Coryn’s Companion for getting her into this. She had done it herself, with or without anyone else’s advice.

The Lady’s hands came to rest on her shoulders. They applied no pressure, but they held Merris rooted. Her eyes were black, glittering in the waning light. “So lovely,” she said. “So young. Blood so sweet with innocence—and just a tang of arrogance. You highborn are so sure that the world is yours to own.”

“And you’re not highborn?”

The Lady blinked. Had it startled her that Merris could still speak? But then she laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “I am much, much older than your Lords and princes.”

Merris fought to get away. She could not move at all. The Lady’s nostrils flared, as if Merris’ anger and frustration and her swelling terror had an intoxicating scent.

“So sweet,” the Lady said, almost a purr. “So strong. I did well when I chose you. Young blood is precious, but young blood that is strong—that serves me very well indeed.”

“I’ll never serve you,” Merris said through gritted teeth.

“No,” said the Lady, “but your blood and body will. It was most enterprising of you to come early. Convenient, too. Pomp and circumstance have their amusements, but the crowds can be distracting—and there are so many questions. I’ll take you now, then, with many thanks.”

Her grip tightened. Her smile had grown wide—unnaturally so. Her face was changing, stretching. It had a strange look.

A snake, Merris thought, getting ready to swallow its prey. Except, why swallow her own heir? What—

A snake also shed its skin. Suppose it put on another one. Younger, prettier, stronger—able to feign the appearance of humanity, and thereby to avoid suspicion while it fed on its people.

The Lady did not want Merris. She wanted Merris’ body. And Merris had walked straight into her lair.

She must have been doing this for years—centuries. Life after life, body after body. But . . .

“Where are the children?” Merris asked. “The old people, I could see why they would go to feed you, but if there aren’t any children, where is the next generation?”

The Lady stopped. Her face was almost but not quite stretched out of recognition. She could still talk, though the words sounded odd. “I was hungry. Had to feed—keep the body alive. The cattle will breed more. Soon. Now the new body is here.”

Merris fought with every scrap of will she had, but she was bound fast. The Lady was not human any more; she was all mouth and supple, scaled body. She rose above Merris, maw gaping wide.

The world exploded in white fire. Someone was shouting—screaming words that made no sense at all.

The spell on Merris let go. She dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. A white wall reared above her. Silver hooves struck, battering the great worm.

It burst like a bladder. Black blood sprayed. The stink of it turned Merris’ stomach inside out. Everything that had ever died or rotted was in that stench, and every festering sickness.

Selena trampled it into the cave’s floor. Her teeth were bared and her ears flat to her skull. Coryn clung to her back, making no effort to stop her, though she went on long after there was nothing more than a wet smear on the waxy stone.

The Companion stood still. Her light had dwindled to a moonlit glow. Her ears were still slanted back and her nostrils were wrinkled in disgust, but her fury was gone.

She blew out her breath in a sudden and explosive snort. Coryn jumped so hard he almost fell off. Merris found herself on her feet, arms wrapped around Selena’s neck, holding on for dear life.

A tiny part of her gibbered that she could be killed, too. She was the Lady’s heir, after all.

But Selena was calming down even more, relaxing little by little. Her neck bent around, but only to nuzzle Merris’ hair. She sighed into it; if she had been human, Merris thought she would have sagged in relief.