"Zara?" I press myself against the bars again, hope flaring in my chest. "Zara, can you hear me?"
The tiny form stirs, just slightly, one small hand moving to press against the stone floor.
She's waking up!
Relief crashes over me with such force that I have to grip the bars to stay upright. I watch intently as she struggles toward consciousness, my own fear momentarily forgotten in the desperate need to see her eyes open, to hear her voice, to know that she’s alright.
"I'm here, Zara," I say softly. "You're not alone. I'm right here."
"Ny'Leira?" Zara's voice is barely a whisper, but in the oppressive silence of our prison it might as well be a shout. Her small form stirs. Violet eyes flutter open, disoriented but aware. The relief that floods through me is so intense it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
"I'm here, Zara. Just across from you." I keep my voice low, conscious of how sound carries in these stone corridors. "Are you hurt?"
She pushes herself up slowly, her small hands pressing against the floor for balance. The effort seems to cost her more than it should, and a flash of anger burns through me at the thought of what they've done to her.
"My head feels fuzzy," she murmurs, touching her temple with delicate claws. "Like when I swim too deep in the garden pools and come up too fast." She looks around, taking in the bars of her cage, the dim corridor, the heartstone torch flickering on the wall. Fear crosses her young face, quickly replaced by a determined calm that seems too mature for her years. "Where are we?"
"I'm not sure," I admit. "Some kind of prison, but I don't know if we're still in Vessan-Kar or...somewhere else." I hesitate, not wanting to frighten her further but needing information. "Zara, what's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
She wraps her tail around herself, a self-comforting gesture. "Miria," she says softly. "She brought me a glimmergrain cakebefore bed. Said it was a special treat because I had been practicing my meditation so well." A shadow passes over her face. "It tasted wrong. Bitter underneath. I knew as soon as I swallowed, but it was too late. My tail stopped working. I tried to call out for Eira but..." Her voice trails off.
"The same thing happened to me," I tell her. "Miria gave me cakes too. I only took one bite before I realized something was wrong."
"Miria is bad." Her simple words hold such hurt, such betrayal, that it twists something in my chest. She had trusted the herb-keeper too.
"It seems that way," I say gently.
A groan from the cell to my right interrupts our conversation. Nirik stirs, one hand going to his head where dried blood mats his rust-colored scales.
"Nirik?" I call softly. "Can you hear me?"
His dark blue eyes snap open, instantly alert despite his injury. "Leira?" He winces as he pushes himself up. "Where—what happened?" His gaze darts around, taking in our prison with the quick assessment of a trained warrior.
“We were hoping you might tell us," I reply, then wince. "I'm so sorry about the glimmergrain cake I offered you earlier. I had no idea it was drugged. Miria slipped sedatives into the ones she gave to both Zara and me.”
He makes a low, hissing sound of pain as he touches the wound on his temple. "It was not the cake that felled me," he says, giving me a pointed look. "When Jeslyn delivered the first of your things from the sovereign’s chamber I went to help, and Zaethir came at me from behind. Said something about me being on the wrong side of the prophecy." His face darkens with anger. "My fellow Talon. We trained together, fought together. And he struck me down without even meeting my eyes."
"I'm sorry," I say, and mean it. My fingers drift unconsciously to Emberyn, remembering when Varok lied to me about the OathCoil, that telltale flutter in our bond revealing his deception. "When someone you trust betrays you like that...it leaves a wound deeper than any blade. What of Jeslyn?”
“I do not know what became of her.” Nirik shakes his head, then immediately regrets the movement, hissing again.
"Miria is working with Zaethir,” I say.
“As well as Jarik.” A low groan cuts through the darkness. I whip my head toward Lurok’s cell just as he stirs, his heavy body shifting sluggishly against the bars. His eyes open to narrow slits, unfocused at first, then sharpening like a blade honing to purpose.
“Jarik slipped away just before the explosion,” he rasps, voice thick around the sedatives still clinging to his blood. He lifts his head with a tremor of effort and fixes me with a bleary but venomous stare. “And now…the offering. The so-called Threadborn. How interesting...to find you in a cage as well.” His forked tongue flicks twice, tasting the air…tasting me. “You reek of his mark,human.”
“So what if I do?” I grit my teeth but keep my voice level. “Varok is my bloodmate.” Even if he did betray me, we are still bound by blood.
Lurok's pupils constrict to narrow slits within irises so pale they barely register against the whites of his eyes, like frost forming on clear glass. "A human claiming pride in binding herself to a naga," he murmurs, half to himself, half in scorn. "Your kind skinned our hatchlings for armor and carved our fangs into trophies. Now you walk our sacred halls as though you belong. And still…" His gaze drifts to the bars, to the chamber, to the emptiness beyond. "…still you find yourself exactly where a human belongs."
Nirik's scales bristle along his neck, fangs bared. "Leira has done nothing to warrant your hatred," he hisses, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "Those three have been plotting together for over a month, since before the bombing. Jarik recently left with Malikor to patrol the eastern border. If he's working with the others, Malikor is in immediate danger. We must find a way to warn him about the traitor slithering at his side."
“Over a month.” Lurok absorbs that, jaw tightening. “That is how long I have been in this cage? Long enough for the rot to spread.”
Yes," Nirik confirms, his scales rippling with tension in the dim light. "You went missing the night of the bombing. Naryth is dead and Varok has been crowned Sovereign Flame.”
“I had not heard my captors whisper the Serpent Crown was dead,” he said, voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "So the Threadborn Prophecy advances while our people march toward ruin."
