Nirik's scales flare as he hisses, "The Season of Naga is not the ruin of our species, Lurok. It is the beginning of a peaceful existence. One without war."
"Yet there she is," Lurok spits, jabbing a clawed finger toward my cell, "bound to one of us, a dilution of our sacred bloodlines."
"Only TrueCoil believes as you do, which makes it strange that your own radicals have you imprisoned alongside us."
Lurok's jaw tightens. "I am not one of them. I may not share your beliefs, Nirik, but I am no enemy to my own kind."
"If you have been here all this time," Nirik presses, leaning forward until his scales scraped against metal, "what do you know about them?"
"They are not TrueCoil," he says, voice dripping with contempt. "TrueCoil would never lower themselves to allying with humans. These traitors were Naryth's worms—about four dozen Talon and civilian alike. They hid among us, whisperingpoison in the Serpent Crown's ear while selling our secrets to the enemy. Loyal to nothing but their own ambitions."
I lean forward, gripping the cold bars. "I overheard Miria and Zaethir discussing their plans. They plan to cut your throats and leave you for dead and intend to take Zara and me to General Thorne." My throat tightens around the words, but I force myself to meet Lurok's icy gaze directly. "What will they do with me and Zara once we are handed over?"
"I do not know what they plan for you.” Lurok's forked tongue flicks between his fangs. “What I do know is Jarik moved with purpose just before the blast in the great hall, slipping away with the calculated precision of someone executing a long-rehearsed plan."
“Who’s Jarik?” I ask.
Lurok seems to consider whether answering is worth his time, then relents with a slight incline of his head. "A Talon. One of Malikor's chosen few.”
"You followed him out of the palace before the bomb went off?" Nirik asks, his voice sharp with suspicion.
"I tried. I lost him in the chaos after the blast, then found him again near the south side of the palace where Varok and Eira exited carrying out the offering.” Lurok's gaze fixes on me, his pupils thinning to slits as the memory surfaces. "He moved like he was invisible, like he belonged exactly where he was, but his eyes...they watched Varok with too much focus. The wrong kind of focus.
"I tracked him. He led me to the eastern side of the city, to a tunnel everyone believed collapsed during the early days of the Sundering." Lurok shifts his powerful form, sluggishly coiling his tail beneath him as he continues his story. "But it was not collapsed at all. The entrance was concealed with an old glamour, a trick the Temple Guardians once used to hide ourcache of armament from prying, human eyes during the height of the war."
"The Flame showed me someone at Ry’Varok’s side,” Zara whispers. "I could not see his face, but it was a naga he trusted who planned to betray him.”
Lurok's gaze snaps to her, his pupils contracting then dilating as he struggles to focus. "Did it now, little seer?" His words still carry a slight slur, but his voice grows steadier with each syllable. "Knowledge is power. Perhaps that is why you are in a cage alongside the rest of us." He blinks hard, shakes his head once as if clearing cobwebs, then returns his attention to me and Nirik. "I followed Jarik through to the tunnel’s end. It led outside Vessan-Kar and into the Ashlands." His clawed hand grips the bars tighter, steadying himself as his speech becomes more precise. "The tunnel opened into a ravine. That is where I saw them. Human soldiers. Dozens of them, setting up an encampment along the eastern border. Supply crates marked with the insignia of your father’s army.” His gaze spears through me. “And leading them was Thorne."
“Just like I said,” Nirik hisses. “We have to warn Malikor of Jarik’s deception.”
The knowledge hits me like a punch to the gut. General Thorne is my father's military adviser who attended the treaty signing and is now amassing soldiers at the border. If my father orchestrated this military buildup, the very thing Varok witnessed through the OathCoil, it’s no wonder Varok was reluctant to answer my questions. I had felt his guilt and uncertainty pulse through our bond. I had accused him of betrayal, but it's my own people who are the aggressors.
"We cannot warn Malikor from in here, Nirik.” Lurok gestures to our cages with a sweep of his arm. "I was on my way back to warn Varok when something stung my neck. Some kind of dart followed by darkness, until I woke in this cage. They havefed me, kept me alive all this time. I suppose not knowing what to do with me. I was hit with a second dart and woke to you three.”
Nirik's scales ripple with disbelief. "I would think you would be in favor of reigniting the Sundering," Nirik says, eyes narrowing to slits. "You openly oppose the treaty with the humans. You called the Threadborn Prophecy a death knell for our people."
Lurok's glacial gaze slides to me, lingering on Emberyn at my throat. His laugh is cold and without humor. "The human is the harbinger of our doom. The prophecy speaks of ruination, not salvation." His claws tighten around the bars. "But I would never ally with human filth to hasten our destruction.”
“You should reserve your hatred for the traitors working with General Thorne, not for me,” I say, voice low, steady. “I gave myself willingly to help end this war. And if you think the prophecy speaks of doom, it is not because of me. It’s because your own people are making it happen.”
For the first time, Lurok’s expression shifts. Not softening—he has no softness in him—but assessing.
“You speak boldly for prey,” he says.
I meet his stare head on. “I’m not prey.”
"What do they hope to gain by allying with Thorne?” Nirik asks. "Why betray their own kind?"
“Power,” Lurok says simply, voice sharpening. “Always power. Thorne offers them something they believe the Crown cannot—freedom from the darkness, from the tunnels. A place in the world above.” His lip curls in disgust. “They are fools. Thorne will use them then discard them. Humans always do.”
“Thorne isn’thumans.” I defend. “Thorne is one man. A corrupt one. Don’t put his sins on me or on every innocent life in Clavenmoor.”
His eyes snap to mine. “You think I speak of one human? Oh no, Threadborn. I speak of centuries. Clutches skinned. Territory burned. My family carved to pieces.”
“I have lost people as well!” I snap back.
His voice drops to a low, lethal growl. “You will forgive me if I do not weep for your species.”
