eye with Kadee. “My name is Julian,” he said. “These are my children, Hara—who you’ve just met—and Aaron. I am Diente, which means I’m your king, but that doesn’t mean you need to be afraid of me. You can come to me if anything ever worries you, or if you need anything at all.” He spoke slowly, as if Kadee might be a little stupid, but it was his last words that set her off. “I can imagine how hard it is to lose your parents, but—”
“I didn’t lose them. I was kidnapped,” Kadee announced, enunciating each word carefully. She was a child, but she wasn’t an idiot; if there was one thing her father had taught her, it was the truth about her past . “My father fought in the colonial militia, and my mother followed the drum in the War of Independence. I’m an American. I don’t
have
a king.”
***
F OUR MONTHS LATER
The dancers’ nest was hot and sweltering. Unlike the other serpiente children, Kadee sweat, her skin becoming slimy and sticky.
That wasn’t the only sign of her half-human heritage that set her apart. None of the other children tripped over their own feet either. None of them had trouble drawing complex rhythms from the tall drums that accompanied the dancers or matching those rhythms with their legs and bodies as they danced.
And none of them thought it strange that the children were allowed to do almost anything they wanted, except when the nest leaders called them to lessons. They weren’t expected to be “seen and not heard.” Kadee was pretty sure most of them weren’t orphans like her, but she wouldn’t have been able to say whose parents were whose. They all ran about like wild dogs, shouting and careering through the nest, the marketplace, or even the public areas of the palace. It was a good thing that serpiente healed faster than humans, because scraped knees, bruises, and sprained wrists and ankles seemed like a daily occurrence for many of them.
And that was the
kids.
The adults—especially the young ones—were even worse.
Across the room, Hara was practicing for some important performance, surrounded by a bevy of admirers. To Kadee’s eyes, the seventeen-year-old serpiente princess appeared nearly naked in her skimpy dancing costume, but she showed no signs of shame. One of the boys came up to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her throat. Hara didn’t slap him. She
laughed.
That was what Kadee had come to expect. The serpiente touched each other all the time. The older kids flirted, kissed, and worse—in public!—and no one thought it was odd or indecent. No one chaperoned them when they slipped off together privately.
Several of Kadee’s cohorts were also practicing. Their dancing costumes were equally skimpy, in their cases not to be sexy—they were too young for that—but because no one cared about modesty. They would rather paint pictures on their skin than cover it. Kadee had to beg for slacks that went all the way to her ankles; they wouldn’t let her wear skirts, saying they couldn’t teach her to dance properly if they couldn’t see how she was moving her legs.
Trying to convince them she didn’t want to dance was pointless. They either didn’t believe her, or they didn’t know what else to do with her. She was an orphan, and serpiente orphans were always raised by the dancers’ nest.
One of the boys Kadee’s age plopped down beside her, practically falling into her, saying, “Kadee, come on, it’s time to—” His bare arm touched hers, and he recoiled with the exaggerated grace that even the littlest ones seemed able to manage. “Eww,” he said, wiping her sweat from his skin.
It was the last straw. She shoved herself to her feet, ignoring the black spots that danced at the edges of her vision as she did so. The lessons the Shantel witch had taught her when he had first “rescued” her had mostly controlled the seizures—also a result of her half-human heritage—but at that moment, she wasn’t thinking
“I didn’t lose them. I was kidnapped,” Kadee announced, enunciating each word carefully. She was a child, but she wasn’t an idiot; if there was one thing her father had taught her, it was the truth about her past . “My father fought in the colonial militia, and my mother followed the drum in the War of Independence. I’m an American. I don’t
have
a king.”
***
F OUR MONTHS LATER
The dancers’ nest was hot and sweltering. Unlike the other serpiente children, Kadee sweat, her skin becoming slimy and sticky.
That wasn’t the only sign of her half-human heritage that set her apart. None of the other children tripped over their own feet either. None of them had trouble drawing complex rhythms from the tall drums that accompanied the dancers or matching those rhythms with their legs and bodies as they danced.
And none of them thought it strange that the children were allowed to do almost anything they wanted, except when the nest leaders called them to lessons. They weren’t expected to be “seen and not heard.” Kadee was pretty sure most of them weren’t orphans like her, but she wouldn’t have been able to say whose parents were whose. They all ran about like wild dogs, shouting and careering through the nest, the marketplace, or even the public areas of the palace. It was a good thing that serpiente healed faster than humans, because scraped knees, bruises, and sprained wrists and ankles seemed like a daily occurrence for many of them.
And that was the
kids.
The adults—especially the young ones—were even worse.
Across the room, Hara was practicing for some important performance, surrounded by a bevy of admirers. To Kadee’s eyes, the seventeen-year-old serpiente princess appeared nearly naked in her skimpy dancing costume, but she showed no signs of shame. One of the boys came up to her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her throat. Hara didn’t slap him. She
laughed.
That was what Kadee had come to expect. The serpiente touched each other all the time. The older kids flirted, kissed, and worse—in public!—and no one thought it was odd or indecent. No one chaperoned them when they slipped off together privately.
Several of Kadee’s cohorts were also practicing. Their dancing costumes were equally skimpy, in their cases not to be sexy—they were too young for that—but because no one cared about modesty. They would rather paint pictures on their skin than cover it. Kadee had to beg for slacks that went all the way to her ankles; they wouldn’t let her wear skirts, saying they couldn’t teach her to dance properly if they couldn’t see how she was moving her legs.
Trying to convince them she didn’t want to dance was pointless. They either didn’t believe her, or they didn’t know what else to do with her. She was an orphan, and serpiente orphans were always raised by the dancers’ nest.
One of the boys Kadee’s age plopped down beside her, practically falling into her, saying, “Kadee, come on, it’s time to—” His bare arm touched hers, and he recoiled with the exaggerated grace that even the littlest ones seemed able to manage. “Eww,” he said, wiping her sweat from his skin.
It was the last straw. She shoved herself to her feet, ignoring the black spots that danced at the edges of her vision as she did so. The lessons the Shantel witch had taught her when he had first “rescued” her had mostly controlled the seizures—also a result of her half-human heritage—but at that moment, she wasn’t thinking
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