The warrior woman, the Captain, fills the doorway. Asema. She is not wearing her helmet now, revealing a face that looks as if it was carved from granite, scarred and hard. Her eyes are dark, assessing. She looks at me not as a person, but as a problem she cannot yet solve.
She does not enter the room. She stands on the threshold, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.
"Come," she says. Her voice is deep, lacking the cruel modulation of her master’s. It is just a command.
"Where?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Rina said... she said I should eat."
"You have eaten," Asema says, her gaze flickering to the empty tray. "Lord Imas requires you."
"Why?"
Asema steps aside, gesturing into the dark hallway. "He wishes to test the connection."
The words hang in the air, cold and clinical.Test the connection.
I look at her hands. They are steady. She is not angry. She is not cruel. She is simply a tool of his will.
I have no choice. I am in the center of a fortress, surrounded by monsters.
I step forward, my legs feeling like water. As I pass Asema, she falls into step behind me, a silent, armored shadow.
"Do not fight him," she says, her voice so low it is almost lost under the sound of the rain drumming on the roof. "He is... unstable tonight."
I look back at her, surprised by the warning. She does not meet my eyes. She stares straight ahead, her face a mask of duty.
We walk down the corridor, toward the heavy oak doors of the study. Even from here, I can feel him. The static in the air is thicker, buzzing against my skin.
He is waiting. And he is hungry.
5
LORD IMAS
The hum of the obsidian ring returns slowly, a lethargic vibration against the bone of my finger. It is not the roaring furnace of power I am accustomed to, but it is there. The connection to The Serpent has reknit itself, fragile and resentful, like a limb that has been broken and poorly set.
My magic is back. But it feels… sulky. I need to confirm something about her.
I stand before the iron cage placed on the center of my desk. Inside, threerodanscrabble against the metal bars. They are vile creatures, the size of large cats, with hairless, scabby tails and teeth capable of chewing through oak. They smell of ammonia and musk, a sharp stench that cuts through the ever-present heavy incense of my study.
They hiss at me, their beady red eyes filled with a mindless, ravenous hunger.
"Perfect," I whisper.
The heavy door opens. I do not turn. I know the cadence of Asema’s stride, the heavy, rhythmic clanking of her armor. And I know the lighter, uneven scuff of the girl’s slippers.
"Leave us," I command.
Asema hesitates. I can feel her disapproval radiating off her like heat from a stone. "My Lord, the creature is… unpredictable. You are unarmed."
"I am never unarmed, Captain. Leave."
The door clicks shut. The silence of the room reasserts itself, heavy and expectant.
I turn slowly. Leora stands by the hearth, her back pressed against the cold stone. She looks rested, though the wariness in her posture remains. Her hands are hidden in her sleeves, but I see the tension in her shoulders. She is watching me, her sapphire eyes tracking my every movement.
"Come here," I say.
She does not move. She defies the order not with words, but with a stillness that is infuriatingly loud.
