"Her chambers," I mutter, already gliding toward the door. "Even if she refuses to hear me, I must try."
The bond pulses weakly, as if in acknowledgment. I pause, frowning. Something about that pulse feels wrong—too distant, too muted. But perhaps that is merely the weight of her anger, the walls she has erected between us.
I will break those walls, if she allows it. I will earn back what I have damaged through my silence. Whatever it takes, however long it requires, I will not lose her to my own failings.
I glide through the door, determination replacing despair as I move through the silent corridors toward her chambers, toward the only future that now matters.
The corridors leading to Leira's chambers stretch before me as they always do, ancient stone walls punctuated by jutting crystal formations that thrust from the rock at irregular intervals, the distant murmur of servants going about their duties, the occasional echo of a Talon patrol. Yet something prickles beneath my scales, an instinct I cannot name but dare not ignore. I quicken my pace slightly, my coils gliding smoothly across polished floors.
I round the final corner expecting to see Zaethir and Nirik standing sentinel. Their absence hits me like a physical blow. The corridor before Leira's door stands empty, abandoned. No guards. No explanation.
I taste the air, tongue flicking out to catch any lingering scent or signature. Nothing unusual, just the faint trace of her two guards, of her chamber servant, and Leira's distinctive human perfume, mixed with the herbal notes that cling to her since she began her studies with the temple healers. Nothing else. No threats.
My scales contract against my body, a warrior's instinct screaming warnings my mind refuses to accept. Zaethir and Nirik would never abandon their post, not without direct orders or blood spilled.
At my approach, the door recognizes her blood coursing through my veins and flows open. As I slither inside, the wrongness of the room strikes me instantly. The chamber lies still and silent, precisely as it was prepared for her arrival weeks ago, barely touched since she began sharing my nest.
"Leira?" I call, moving deeper into the space despite already knowing it is empty. My voice echoes back to me, mocking.
I circle the chamber, my dread intensifying with each sweep of my tail. The royal quarters remain sealed to all but a select few. Jeslyn among them. I had trusted her implicitly, but now every russet-scaled female in the palace has become suspect in my mind. Sareth personally oversees the interrogation of every palace servant granted such privileged access, making betrayal from within these walls all the more unfathomable.
A sweetness cuts through my dread. The unmistakable aroma of glimmergrain. My head snaps toward it, tongue flicking rapidly to taste the air. Near the doorway lies an overturned basket, its contents scattered across the stone floorof round, pale cakes, their surfaces glittering with tiny crystals of sugar like miniature constellations against a night sky.
One cake lies apart from the others, a single bite missing from its edge.
I cross to it in a single, fluid motion, sinking down to examine the evidence. The cake sits like an accusation, the clean arc of teeth marks visible in its exposed interior. Leira's teeth. Leira's bite.
I bring it to my nose, inhaling deeply. The sweet, nutty aroma seems innocent enough, redolent with the warm scents of properly prepared glimmergrain and temple honey. Nothing overtly suspicious.
But my gut churns with certainty. My bloodmate would not take a single bite, abandon the rest, and vanish without a trace.
Our bond remains distant, as if buried beneath layers of wool. Present but muffled in a way that speaks of interference rather than her emotional withdrawal. I felt it once before as she lay unconscious before the Flame, her broken body surrendered to healing sleep. This is not anger. This is absence.
My tongue flicks out, tasting the air around the fallen cake. The risk is necessary. I need to know what substance felled Leira with a single bite.
With deliberate care, I isolate a single crumb between my claws, examining the seemingly innocent morsel. With a decisive motion, I place the crumb on my tongue.
At first I taste only what I expect, the sweet-savory blend common to traditional glimmergrain cake, the melting of sugar crystals leaving pleasant warmth. Then, as the morsel dissolves further, something else emerges. A bitter undertone, sharp and medicinal, hiding beneath the dominant flavors like a scorpion beneath sand.
I freeze, recognition flaring instant and certain.
I hiss and spit the remaining fragments onto the floor. The same sedative Zara mixed with the water I gave Leira before her broken leg was set. I recall how quickly it had taken effect, softening her pain and drawing her into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Now that same bitter note clings to my tongue, unmistakable despite attempts to mask it with sweetness. I know someone drugged her. Someone she trusted enough to accept food from.
Rage floods me, molten and consuming. The byrn, that primal, possessive instinct to protect what is mine, claws its way up my spine. My scales flush with heat, the air around me shimmering as my elemental power responds to emotional extremes. The temperature in the chamber rises perceptibly, moisture evaporating from stone surfaces in thin wisps of steam.
My lungs expand in a deliberate rhythm as I wrestle my thoughts into order. While the drugged cakes account for why I cannot sense Leira's consciousness, it leaves too many questions unanswered. Where are Zaethir and Nirik? Was it Lurok or the TrueCoil who orchestrated this with such calculated precision? The Temple was Leira’s only destination today and must be the source of these poisoned offerings.
A russet-scaled face materializes in my thoughts—Miria, the herb-keeper who has been teaching Leira our healing traditions. She would have both access to gloomroot and Leira's trust. All russet-scaled females in Vessan-Kar had been questioned and searched for the TrueCoil's brand upon their scales. By the day’s end, we found nothing suspicious enough to warrant detention. My Talons released them all, including Miria.
I surge across Leira's chambers to the serpentglass panel embedded in the far wall. My palm sweeps over its surface, activating the network of luminous veins beneath. The ancient stone responds instantly, liquefying under my touch as the communication pathways brighten to life.
"Connect to Sareth," I command, my voice raw with barely contained fury. "Priority royal summons."
The serpentglass ripples like disturbed water, its surface shifting from solid to fluid as it searches for my commander. The moment stretches unbearably, each second another slither Leira's captors might be taking away from my reach. I press harder against the stone, as if physical pressure might speed its ancient magic.
"Come on," I hiss through clenched fangs. "Answer.”
