He rises, coiling tighter as his hand drops instinctively to the weapon at his side. His nostrils flare, and glacial eyes narrow to slits as he catches Varok's scent clinging to my skin. The pheromones of his sovereign marking what belongs to him. His weapon remains sheathed, but the message is clear: something has changed in the careful equilibrium of his guard duty, and it's not just my leaving, it's that he doesn’t approve of me carrying Varok’s mark.
"The sovereign has not approved this outing," Zaethir says, his voice low but edged with unmistakable warning. Each word is precisely measured, cool as stone and twice as unyielding.
I feel Zara tense beside me, her small hand tightening around mine. Through that contact comes a wave of emotion: her distress at causing conflict, her genuine desire to show me something beautiful, her fear of the stern warrior before us. Thesensation is startling, like feeling her thoughts brush against mine, gone before I can fully grasp it.
My chin lifts, spine straightening. "The sovereign also said I was not a prisoner."
The words hang in the air between us, a challenge that makes Zaethir's vertical pupils contract to thin slits. He doesn't move, doesn't shift his weight or bare his fangs, but something dangerous ripples beneath his controlled exterior. The corridor suddenly feels narrower, the ceiling lower, as if his discontent has physical weight.
Nirik shifts uneasily beside him. His rust-colored scales catch the light as he moves, throwing warm patterns against the stone walls. Unlike Zaethir, his emotions play more openly across his features: uncertainty, sympathy, and something that might be embarrassment.
"Threadborn, it is not that we wish to confine you," he offers, his voice softer, almost apologetic. "Only that?—"
My fingers tighten around Zara's hand. "That what?" I press, eyes flashing as I look between them. "That you fear for my safety even here? After Prithas Sareth personally vetted every guard in this wing? After they searched every stone and crevice of the palace following the bombing?" The words come out sharper than I intended, honed by days of feeling watched, of being escorted everywhere like a valuable but ultimately powerless package.
Zaethir's tail flicks sharply against the floor, a quick, controlled movement that betrays his irritation. His face remains impassive, but his voice tightens. "Vessan-Kar is not without danger. Not all welcome your presence, Threadborn."
"Then all the more reason for me to be seen," I reply, drawing myself up to my full height, though it still leaves me looking up at both of them. "I will not hide behind locked doors inside the palace when I have warriors to protect me."
Zara glides forward, her small form somehow undaunted by Zaethir's imposing presence. "I would protect her," she says, her voice soft but surprisingly firm. "The Infinity Flame speaks to me. It would whisper warnings if danger approached.”
Zaethir's expression doesn't soften, but something shifts in his gaze as he looks at the young seer, not respect, but acknowledgment of her unexpected boldness.
"Your gifts are still developing, young one," his tone identical to how he addresses me. Cold and clipped. "They would not be enough if the TrueCoil decided to strike again."
"Perhaps not, but you will be with us," Zara challenges. "You and Nirik. And the garden is within the inner palace, where only those with royal approval can enter."
Nirik nods, seemingly emboldened by her logic. "The inner garden is well-secured," he adds, glancing at Zaethir. "The risk would be minimal."
A tense silence fills the corridor. I watch Zaethir's internal calculations play out behind an unreadable gaze, weighing duty against reasonable requests, security protocols against the reality that keeping me constantly confined might itself create problems.
His gaze darkens as he studies me, weighing duty against defiance. The moment stretches taut between us before something shifts in his rigid posture, not surrender but tactical retreat.
"Wait here," he commands, then slithers to a recessed alcove several feet away. His scaled fingers trace a pattern across a network of veins to illuminate a small panel of serpentglass. It bathes his face in light, the glow catching the edges of his scales like the facets of a gem.
Nirik shifts closer to us, his rust-colored scales catching the light. "He is contacting the sovereign," he whispers, a note of apology in his voice.
I watch as Zaethir speaks in low, clipped tones, his back deliberately turned to us. The set of his shoulders betrays tension, the subtle ripple of scales along his spine revealing his displeasure even from behind.
When he returns, his pupils have contracted so thin they've nearly disappeared, leaving only rings of icy blue iris staring back at me like winter lakes frozen over with cold fury. "The sovereign has approved the outing," he announces, each word bitten off as though it costs him something to say it.
Relief floods through me, embarrassingly potent for such a small victory. "Thank you," I say, meaning it despite his grudging tone.
Zara beams beside me, her scales brightening with pleasure as she tugs gently at my hand. "Come! It is not far."
We move through the palace corridors, my guards like watchful shadows. Nirik's presence feels amicable, his curious glances softening the suffocation of constant surveillance. Zaethir remains several paces behind, his silence a physical thing pressing against my back.
The route Zara chooses winds away from the main thoroughfares, down narrower passages. With each turn, the formal grandeur of the royal wing gives way to older architecture where walls are less polished, ceilings lower, and the veins of bioluminescence more organic in their patterns. These passages feel lived-in, worn smooth by centuries of scales.
"Almost there," Zara whispers, pulling me toward an unassuming archway half hidden behind a curtain of what looks like beaded water but is actually thousands of tiny crystal droplets strung on filaments thinner than hair. They part with a musical tinkling as we pass through.
Nothing prepares me for what lies beyond.
The garden takes my breath away, a vast cavern carved with a ceiling arching so high above that it disappears into shadow.But shadow implies darkness, and there is no darkness here. The entire space hums with gentle light that seems to emanate from everything at once.
"Oh," I breathe, the sound small against the vastness before me.
The walls are veined with glowing minerals, not the uniform blue green of the palace corridors, but a symphony of colors. Streaks of amber, violet, and silvery blue trace patterns across the stone. Vines drape from terraced ledges, their leaves glowing with soft sapphire and emerald light. They sway gently in a current I can't feel, as though dancing to music beyond human hearing.
