My mind instantly conjures Severa's face, my den keeper with her perpetual expression of cold disdain, particularly when Leira is present. She bears russet scales and has unrestricted access to my private chambers. She has always been efficient in her duties, but despite the length of time I have known her, she has remained distant, revealing little of herself beyond perfect, emotionless service. Could she be the traitor? The spy within my own walls?
"Severa," I murmur, the name falling from my lips before I can stop it.
Traven's head turns sharply toward me. "Your den keeper? You suspect her?"
“The whispered voice is difficult to identify with certainty, but the scales match," I say, though I know it is not proof enough. "And she has made her dislike of Leira quite clear." I bite back the rest of my suspicions. Her knowledge of the marketattack before our return. Her healer's training during the war years, giving her access to the temple gardens.
"Many still distrust the union," Sareth reminds me, though his expression remains troubled. "But few would dare conspire with Thorne."
The projection continues, showing more of the conversation—details about timing, about weaknesses in our defenses no outsider should know. With each word, the knot of betrayal twists tighter in my chest. Whether Severa or another, one of our own has turned against us, sharing secrets that could lead to our slaughter.
Zara's warning suddenly echoes through my mind. Her small voice in the garden, eyes seeing far more than a young should."Beware the shadow that hides behind loyalty. Its fangs are patient."
If the russet-scaled traitor is indeed Severa, she has been hiding in plain sight; privy to my schedule, moving freely through my most private spaces. The same spaces Leira now occupies. The thought sends a chill through me unlike anything I have felt in centuries.
The human in the projection glances at a device around his wrist. "We're out of time.”
The naga female nods once. "Tell your general to be ready to receive the two fe?—”
The conspiracy unfolding before us suddenly freezes as the naga female stiffens, her hooded head turning sharply toward the exact position of the OathCoil.
"Impossible," Sareth breathes, his massive form leaning forward.
The OathCoil is designed to be undetectable, its crystal core shielding it to bend light and muffle sound when needed. Yet her eyes focus with unnerving precision on the spot where our spy hides.
The human councillor begins to speak, unaware of the danger, but the female raises her hand, silencing him mid-sentence. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the air, and a cold smile spreads across what little of her face is visible beneath the hood.
"We are being watched," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper so faint the OathCoil barely captures it.
The human's head whips around, panic flashing across his features. "What? Where? Is it the Crownward Guard?”
"Something far more interesting,” she replies, her smile widening to reveal fangs that gleam in the moonlight. “A little stone serpent with crystal eyes."
She moves with startling speed, her body uncoiling like a released spring, surging toward the OathCoil's hiding place. Her hand darts forward with incredible speed to seize the statue by the tail. The image lurches violently, spinning as the construct is yanked from its position.
For a sickening moment, we see the night sky, then the ground, the image shifting wildly before slamming against the stone path with bone-shattering force. The projection splinters, fractures of light shooting through the war chamber as the recording crystal within cracks under the impact. Once more she lifts it, and once more the statue smacks against unyielding stone.
For several heartbeats, none of us speak. The betrayal hanging in the air between us like smoke after fire.
Sareth exhales slowly, the sound harsh in the echoing room. “To receive two of what?” he mutters. “Whatever the arrangement was…it may have been accelerated the moment she found the OathCoil.”
“Or abandoned,” Traven counters, jaw tight. “If the human feared the Crownward Guard, then not all of them support Thorne’s intent. But that female—whoever she is—she has already vanished.”
“She was able to leave Vessan-Kar without notice,” I say darkly, gliding to the edge of the war table. “In and out of the city without passing through the obsidian gate.”
Sareth’s eyes widen. “That is impossible. I saw to the collapse of every tunnel?—”
“That female proved there is at least one exit,” I cut in. “An old passage. Something forgotten during the Sundering.”
A ripple of unease passes between my two commanders.
Traven clears his throat. “What of the garden, Sovereign? If a healer or guardian supplied gloomroot?—”
“It will be sealed,” I snap. “Permanently. Eira the Elder alone will have access. No healers. No guardians. No exceptions.”
Sareth nods sharply. “I will inform Eira.”
I dig my claws into the table, the weight of betrayal pressing down from all sides. Humans arranged with naga traitors, a faction most likely led by Lurok. A healer working against us. Poison in enemy hands. Explosives potentially hidden in Vessan-Kar.
