Brood of Vipers by Maggie Claire (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

lift the weapon. I step between him and the Vibría, lightly taking Cyrus’s hand. “You came here because you say we have a common enemy, but you have not explained why you hate the king. Why should we believe you?”

“My kinsmen and I are Vibría abominations because of the king’s nastiness and greed,” Vatusia explains, all traces of humor and mischief fleeing from her expression. “We are not his allies, child; we are his captives.” Lady Vatusia turns her scaly face up toward the cavern’s opening, closing her eyes as though she is being warmed by the soft moonlight streaming in overhead. Her shoulders slump as she prepares to tell her story, and I cannot help but feel sorry for her. Everything about Lady Vatusia in this vulnerable pose attests to her helplessness and desperate circumstances.

“I…I am sorry,” I lament, wishing I could offer her more than words in comfort. Cyrus begins to protest, but I quell his words by brushing my hand on his arm. Look, I plead, hoping my eyes can convey what my words do not. See her as she really is, Cyrus. She’s a victim too.

“It is not you that I blame for my situation, child,” Lady Vatusia replies, crossing her arms and digging her claws into her own skin. Whatever magic she’s using to project her form before us must be showing us a current image of herself. Tiny trails of blood trickle down her arms. But she’s too emotional to notice the damage she causes, already too full of pain to feel anything more as she tells her story. “The Vibría used to be skilled magicians and seers, possessing wonderful abilities. But we were still simply human, in service to Alaric’s father. He was a fierce but fair-minded man. He treated us reasonably, and we counseled him well. It wasn’t a happy situation, but it worked well enough for both sides. When Ddraigs were discovered in our land, it came as no surprise to anyone that most of them bonded with us. The king gave them over to our care, and we never forgot his unexpected generosity.

“Then the king died without warning, and Alaric assumed the throne. We suspected that our king was murdered, but Alaric would not hear our cries for an investigation. Rumors began to circulate that Alaric might have killed his own father to take control of Déchets. That was when Alaric stole our Ddraigs from us. He—he slaughtered them all.” Lady Vatusia’s voice fades to a soft, wheezing gasp as she speaks of the loss of her Ddraigs, a wound that is still fresh in her heart.

“That’s not the story our Ddraigs told us,” I interject, my mind alive with the ramifications of this new information should Lady Vatusia’s tale be true. If the Vibría despise the king of Déchets, will they truly stand with us when we fight? Their change of allegiance would come as a huge surprise to Alaric. It might just be enough to help us defeat him.

“Your Ddraigs probably heard the lies circulated after Alaric destroyed our Ddraigs. That tyrant will not allow himself to be cast as the villain in the eyes of his people. He commanded that his guards and his court spread the story that we, the magicians, killed the Ddraigs ourselves in order to become immortal.” Lady Vatusia snorts at the thought, pacing toward us and mumbling under her breath, “He doesn’t realize that all the people see through the lies anyway. Most of the people fear him; those that don’t are doe-eyed fools.”

“So, if he killed all of your Ddraigs, how did you become Vibría?” Cyrus questions, skeptical of the woman’s story. Every time she moves or steps closer to us, Cyrus’s body tenses as though he’s preparing for a fight.

“I’ll explain it all, if you’ll let me,” Lady Vatusia snaps, baring her teeth at Cyrus. “During the days when Alaric took the throne, I was the leader of the magicians. He blamed me for our dissenting opinions about his father’s death. So, Alaric tied me to a pillar in his throne room and forced me to watch as he slew each Ddraig. Can you imagine what it was like? I watched every one of my kinsmen’s most beloved creatures die. Alaric saved mine for last; I still hear the sounds of his roaring, grieving all the senseless, meaningless destruction.” Lady Vatusia’s eyes flow with tears, her scaly hands trembling as she reaches up to wipe them away. “Alaric got so lost in the murder and macabre of it all that he left me unguarded. While Alaric killed the Ddraigs, I cast a spell to keep their hearts beating. I had hoped I would be able to find a way of rebirthing the Ddraigs through the combined magic of my people. At the time, I thought I was doing good, finding a way to salvage all that we had lost.”

“But you said he turned you into Vibría. How?” Cyrus demands, and I grip his hand tightly, urging him to be quiet. “What, Iris? You’re not buying this—”

“Let her tell her story,” I hiss, ignoring Cyrus’s reply as I turn back to Lady Vatusia, intent on hearing what she has to say before I make a judgment. Something about the rawness of her expression, the agonizingly painful details of the tale, makes me believe she is telling the truth.

“I took the Ddraig hearts back to my people. We spent the next weeks in mourning, weeping and broken, completely inconsolable. Of course, when Alaric discovered what I had done, he was furious. He originally intended to kill us all, but something stayed his hand. Instead, Alaric blackmailed my second in command, Xanti, threatening to torture me and the rest of the female magicians if Xanti didn’t follow his instructions. Xanti cast a spell that tied our life spans to the beating hearts of the Ddraigs. I know he did it to spare me and the other women from a death sentence, but