Throughout the meal, I sense currents moving beneath the formal dining, alliances forming and shifting like shadowsacross the walls. Courtiers watch one another as closely as they watch us. Their whispers flowing in patterns I instinctively recognize as dangerous.
Lurok approaches the table to update Varok directly about Talon patrols, giving me the opportunity to study him without his withering glare as his attention is on Varok. There’s barely concealed contempt in his carriage when he must acknowledge my presence. This is a naga who would see me dead, who considers my bond with Varok an abomination, who views peace itself as betrayal.
And he is not alone. Throughout the hall, I catch glimpses of similar sentiment in the eyes of other courtiers, in the subtle positioning of bodies, in whispers behind scaled hands. The TrueCoil's influence must reach deeper than Varok realizes.
The memory surfaces unbidden of that strange mark on the underside of Severa's tail. Varok's words about TrueCoil loyalists echo in my mind: how they brand themselves in places easily concealed, how they infiltrate the inner circles of power. I glimpsed it only briefly and can’t be certain it matches the etching in the market’s pillar. But a spy planted in the private den of the Crown's second-in-command would be invaluable to their cause. The realization curdles within me. I must tell Varok the moment we're alone in his den.
As the ceremonial meal concludes, I meet the Serpent Crown's ancient gaze across the table. He sees the danger in my being here as clearly as I do.
"You have chosen a difficult path, Threadborn," he says, using the title that still feels foreign to my ears. "The weft of fate rarely follows straight lines."
"I didn't choose to be Threadborn," I reply.
"Perhaps not, yet you chose to take the place of your younger sibling. Choice and destiny walk hand in hand more often than we acknowledge," he says. "Remember that in the days ahead."
“Wait.” I pause rising from my seat. “How did you know I took my sister’s place?” I haven’t told this to anyone but Zara.
The Serpent Crown inclines his head slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. His ivory fangs catch the flickering light as his gaze fixes on mine, unreadable. “I know many things,” he says simply, voice low and deliberate, carrying the weight of centuries. “Some truths reveal themselves without a word. Some choices cannot be hidden, no matter how quietly they are made.”
I frown, trying to untangle the meaning behind his cryptic words. “Reveal themselves how?”
He lets a faint pause hang in the air, then replies, “It matters less how I know than that I do. Remember this, Threadborn. The world notices more than you imagine, and every choice leaves its mark upon the weave of fate.”
The Serpent Crown’s words echo in my mind, each one threading through my thoughts like a silken cord I cannot quite untangle. Even the simple act of standing, preparing to leave, feels weighted with consequence. Varok’s presence steadies me, a reminder that I am not entirely alone in this intricate weave of attention and expectation.
As we take our leave, I catch Lurok watching us with that narrowed, glacial gaze. The hatred in his eyes is a physical force, a promise of violence barely contained by the thin veneer of court protocol.
Emberyn pulses against my skin, warming when Varok's scales brush my arm, a silent reminder of bonds that run deeper than politics, than species, than the ancient hatreds that still seethe beneath the surface of this fragile peace.
I lift my chin, meeting Lurok's gaze without flinching. I may be surrounded by enemies, caught in currents I'm only beginning to understand, but I will not be cowed. For Serin, for humanity, for the strange bond that grows stronger between Varok and me. I will go toe to tail with whatever comes next,even if it means confronting the shadows that watch us from every corner of this beautiful, dangerous realm.
In the next heartbeat, the world shatters around me. A thunderous crack rends the air, followed by a wave of searing heat that slams into me like the breath of hell itself. My skin burns, my vision fractures into shards of light and darkness, and the cacophony of screams and stone collapsing rings in my ears. Pain lances through me, white hot, before the world fades into blackness.
Chapter Ten
VAROK
Ash coats my tongue like grave dirt as I push through the curtain of smoke. Each breath burns, but I force air into my lungs, tasting char and ruin with every gasp. The chamber lies shattered, its keh’shali guttering like dying stars. I call her name again, my voice raw and unfamiliar to my own ears. The sound vanishes into the roar of flames that lick at what remains of the Serpent Crown’s great hall.
Where is she? She was just here, by my side.
I told her she would be safe inside the palace. I should have known better. Safety is an illusion. The TrueCoil’s reach is farther than I ever gave them credit for, or else the rot runs nearer, hidden in the ranks of my own Talons.
Lurok’s face flashes in my mind, his contempt no secret. But to go this far? To destroy the great hall, to risk killing the Serpent Crown himself, all for the chance to rid themselves of the Threadborn? Even their fanaticism strains belief.
And yet…prophecy whispers otherwise.Four shall wake when one is crowned. Their power stirred, their fates unbound. Fire first, the Sovereign Flame.
Would they gamble even the life of Naryth and risk setting those words in motion? And if fire comes first, then perhaps it is not only her life they mean to snuff out, but mine.
The ceiling has partially collapsed, crushing the ornate table where we just dined. My tail slams against fallen debris, shoving it aside with desperate force. Stone shards bite into my scales, drawing blood I barely register. The air itself burns, a furnace of shattered flame and smoke. Heat lashes across my exposed scales, but it does not consume me as it should. It sears, yes, but dulled, muted, as though some deeper fire within me rises to meet it, refusing to let me break. I press forward, deeper into the heart of destruction, where the great hall once stood. One moment we feasted with the Crown, the next I was hurled against stone by an unseen force, the world collapsing around us.
"Leira!" I shout again, though the smoke steals half my voice.
A Talon guard lies crumpled against a twisted column, scales blackened, eyes unseeing. I recognize him, Therin, new to the Talons. Dead. Beyond him, another warrior drags himself along the floor, leaving a trail of blood-slicked stone behind him. Shapes stagger and collapse. Others claw rubble aside, their voices hoarse, their scales blackened. The scent of char and blood thickens with every breath.
And then I see her.
A glimpse of pale skin beneath a slab of stone.
