Zara curls her tail neatly beneath her opposite me, her small form braced with perfect posture. She nudges one of her checker pieces, a smooth glinting stone the color of storm clouds, forward across the square of parchment spread between us. The “board” is little more than a sturdy sheet we inked with uneven squares earlier, but Zara treats it like precious gamewood.
“You’re thinking too hard, Ny’Leira.” Her tone is bright, teasing.
Every time she calls me that, something soft and warm unfurls deep inside my chest. She chose to claim me as family. Because I am Ry’Varok’s bloodmate, she has decided I musttherefore be her aunt. And the fact that she thinks of Varok as her uncle in human terms? It’s almost too sweet to bear.
I stare at the board, hoping to find some hidden advantage. "I'm thinking precisely the right amount," I lie. The little imp mastered this game in minutes, already winning four out of five rounds since I taught her to play an hour ago.
Zara huffs, the sound as delicate as wind brushing crystal. “That is what you always say right before I take your piece.”
“You haven’t taken anything yet.” I move one of my pale pieces forward.
She beams, smug and radiant, then slides another stone in a graceful flick of her claws. “Now I have.”
I stare at my missing checker, then at her. “You set that up.”
“I absolutely did.” She lifts her chin with the kind of confidence only children and warlords possess. “If you want to win, Ny’Leira, you have to stop playing like a human and start thinking like a naga.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “And what does thinking like a naga entail?”
Her tail tip flicks in a pleased little arc. “Patience. Precision. And knowing exactly where your opponent will slither before they do.”
“You’re terrifying,” I inform her fondly, placing a hand over my heart. “Truly.”
Zara’s smile softens, all smugness dissolving into something gentle. “You are family,” she says simply. “So I must teach you properly.”
That warmth beneath my ribs spreads, blooming into something that feels dangerously like belonging. I move my next piece, not because it’s a good play, but because it makes her eyes light up in triumph.
The Infinity Flame crackles softly behind her, a quiet, sentient roar, as if even it approves.
In the next few moves, Zara claims victory again, her storm-gray stone sliding across the parchment with effortless precision. She throws me a triumphant look, tail curling in an arc of pride, and I can’t help but grin.
“I have done it again,” she announces, voice triumphant, the faintest hint of mischief sparkling in her violet eyes.
“Again,” I confirm, shaking my head with mock despair. “I am truly no match for a young naga strategist.”
Her laughter ripples through the flame room, soft and bright, and I feel a tender tug deep inside me all warm and protective.
A ripple of movement catches my attention. Eira glides into the room, her presence calm and purposeful. “Zara,” she says gently, “time for your lessons. The morning hour has passed.”
Zara pouts ever so slightly, her shoulders slumping just enough to betray her disappointment, but she straightens again at a sideways glance from Eira. Her eyes flick to me, wide and imploring, a silent request for just one more move, one more moment of our game.
I push my stone aside and fold my hands in my lap, leaning forward slightly. “Tomorrow we’ll play again,” I say softly. “And after, I’ll teach you another human game called hopscotch.”
Her eyes light up, and she nods with the kind of conviction only a child can summon. “Promise, Ny’Leira?”
I promise," I murmur, drawing her into my arms. Her small body settles against mine, half-child, half-serpent, with a rightness that still surprises me. She tucks her head beneath my chin, her scales cool against my human warmth, and I breathe in her scent of crushed herbs and something like rain on stone. The moment stretches between us, fragile and perfect.
In precious times like this, I almost forget I came to Vessan-Kar as a political offering, a human bride sacrificed to secure peace. The weight of that role, of the scrutiny, the suspicion, the constant awareness that I represent an entire species to thosewho have every reason to hate us. It falls away when Zara is near. With her, I'm simply Ny'Leira, not the Threadborn, not the human, not the offering.
"I should go," she says eventually, though she makes no move to extract herself from my embrace. "Eira says I have three more lessons before the evening meal."
"Then you should go," I agree, equally reluctant to end our time together. "Knowledge feeds the spirit as surely as food feeds the body."
She wrinkles her nose at my wisdom, then giggles. "You sound like Eira when you say things like that."
"A high compliment indeed." I release her slowly, smoothing a hand over her silken hair. "I'll see you tomorrow after your morning lessons. Be sure to eat a hearty morning meal, hopscotch can be vigorous."
"I will." She hesitates, then darts forward to press her forehead briefly against mine, a naga gesture of deep affection that she's never offered before. "Until tomorrow, Ny'Leira. May your threads shine bright."
