“As we have already discussed over the morning meal, I will inform him of what the Flame showed you. We are to dine with the Serpent Crown tonight," Varok says, his tone matter-of-fact but with an undertone of significance I can't miss. He glances at my riding leathers with what might be the ghost of amusement. "You will need appropriate attire. The Crown has requested your presence formally, as my blooded mate."
I’m suddenly aware of how unsuitable my few garments will be for a royal dinner. "I have nothing appropriate for meeting royalty," I admit.
"Which is why we are going to the market. There is a master weaver there who can craft something suitable before then,” he says, moving to the wall where my satchel waits. He lifts it carefully, as if conscious of its importance to me, and extends it in my direction. “Yours?"
I step forward to take it, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The contact sends a pulse of warmth up my arm. For just a heartbeat, I feel something through our bond, an impression of relief and concern intertwined, a protective instinct at odds with long-held suspicion.
He feels it too, I realize as his pupils dilate, his breath catching. This unexpected resonance between us, this connection neither of us asked for but which grows stronger with each encounter.
“Thank you,” I say, holding the satchel close. It feels lighter than I remember, as if the significance I once attached to these few possessions has thinned, fading like echoes from a life that is no longer mine. I clutch it to my chest, as though I can anchor myself to the remnants of who I was. My old life feels impossibly distant now, a shoreline I can no longer return to, blurred and unreachable against the tide of this new reality.
Varok inclines his head, and the fall of his thick braid drifts over one shoulder like a ribbon of flame. For the briefest moment, I catch myself wondering at the texture of those fiery strands, then he turns to Zara. “We must go.”
Zara bows her head respectfully, a knowing smile playing across her lips. “I will see you again tomorrow, Leira.”
The thought is snatched from my mind before I can lend it voice. “See you then.”
“I will make myself available to play escort tomorrow,” Varok offers.
“Watch the shadows, Ry’Varok, for they are watching you.” Zara’s parting words linger like smoke in the chamber, curling cold fingers around my throat.
Chapter Seven
VAROK
My tail sweeps the ground behind me as I lead Leira through the winding tunnels toward the market district. Every muscle in my body remains coiled tight, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. I position myself between her and each passing naga, the tip of my tail brushing against her legs, an unavoidable contact in these narrow passages that sends unwelcome heat rippling through my core.
The meeting with the Serpent Crown weighs heavy in my mind, his words about the TrueCoil’s growing unrest echoing like poison in my thoughts. The OathCoil, entrusted to Leira’s father in exchange for her at our gates, has shown us no sign of rebellion within the human courts, no whisper, no shadow of dissent. That silence leaves me restless.
What we do know is the TrueCoil spews venom within our own walls, closer to her than she can imagine. She has no idea of the danger she faces simply by walking these halls, even with my blood in her veins.
“Stay close,” I murmur as we approach a junction where several tunnels converge. The space teems with serpents, their slitted gazes sliding over her; most linger with open curiosity, but some sharpen with contempt that even Emberyn at herthroat and my presence at her side cannot blunt. Whispers float through the air, hissing against the stone and fracturing into harsh echoes.
The Serpent Crown’s warning burns fresh in my mind. His ancient eyes had fixed on me with terrible clarity as he spoke of the TrueCoil’s fury over our bonding.
“My worms have brought me whispers,”he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries,“that the TrueCoil sees the Threadborn as a blight upon our kind. They believe the prophecy awakens with her, and for that, they will not rest until she is silenced.”
I have often wondered who they are, yet no one but the Serpent Crown knows the faces of his worms. They slip unseen through the tunnels, winding through the veins of the city, gathering what others dismiss, stray whispers in market’s shadows, a rumor traded over cave-wine, the tremor in a voice that speaks too quickly. Nameless, patient, and impossibly loyal, these spies have served him for more than a century. And what they bring to the Crown is never false.
And then Zara’s words at the temple. The Flame showing her visions of the TrueCoil, of threads woven tighter than before, bright and untested, already pulling against the old weave. The little seer’s warnings align too perfectly with what I already know: Leira is a target simply for existing, for carrying Emberyn, for the blood bond we share. Whether the prophecy has been awakened or not, the TrueCoil see her as a threat.
I glance at where she walks beside me, watching her catalog every detail of our path with those sharp gray eyes. The memory of Severa's message still sends ice through my veins. Leira gone, slipped away without protection. The panic that gripped me was raw fear, a visceral response I have not felt since my brothers?—
“What did Zara mean about shadows? And what is the TrueCoil?” Leira's voice slips between us like a blade finding itssheath, her keen eyes catching mine with uncanny precision, as though she has been silently reading the troubled text of my thoughts.
I silence her with a quick shush, my heart racing as I lean closer, keeping my tone low and urgent. “You must not speak of what the tiny seer reveals in public.”
Several passing naga slow their pace, vertical pupils contracting with interest over our exchange. Without thinking, I wrap my tail around her waist, not roughly, but firmly enough to guide her toward a small alcove carved into the tunnel wall. I pull her into the shadowed space, curved stone providing a semblance of privacy from prying eyes and listening ears.
"You must never leave the den unescorted again. Ever. Do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly that I'm not your prisoner but your bloodmate." Her chin tilts upward, a small rebellion against my looming presence even as my tail remains coiled around her waist like a living belt of possession.
"You do not understand the danger," I hiss, keeping my voice low. "This is not Clavenmoor with its open streets and daytime guards. This is Vessan-Kar, where shadows have teeth and ancient hatreds run deeper than the awakened stone."
"Then teach me of the dangers,” she counters, her small, human hands settling on my scales, not backing down an inch. "I can't protect myself against threats I don't understand."
I want to tell her everything, of how the TrueCoil has sworn for centuries to keep the Threadborn Prophecy from coming to pass, how they remain hidden in plain sight, how they see her not as a bridge, but as a blight, a human who could taint the naga way of life. To them, her very presence will ignite conflict, not end it. Our bond is a betrayal in their eyes, keeping the wounds of the Sundering open and raw. They fear she will trigger elemental upheaval, that our union could unravel the future ofour people. But not here, not where any ear pressed to stone could carry our words to the wrong fangs.
