“You murdered what I gave you without hesitation,” the snake murmurs. Light slides over its polished scales.
“I killed illusions.” I lift my chin, steadying my grip on the sword, though I keep its tip lowered.
“How did you know they were not real?” the snake asks.
“Because neither Sorren nor my mother would ever ask me to kill the other. That’s not who they are.”
The snake studies me.
“But you felt doubt.”
“Yes.” I nod once. “Doubt is not failure.”
“You felt regret.”
“Yes.” I pause. “Regret does not always mean you made the wrong choice.”
The snake circles me slowly. I turn with it, refusing to let my back face it.
I do not trust this creature. I do not trust what it shows me. Or what it says.
“You did not choose lover over mother.” The snake glides closer. There’s a detached curiosity to its tone. I steel myself not to retreat.
It rises higher. Closer. Its tongue flicks out, brushing the air inches from my face.
I do not blink. I do not back down.
“No,” I say evenly. “I chose myself.”
“You surprise me, Heir’s mate,” the snake says, studying me. “It has been a long time since I was last surprised.”
“My name is Nora.” I don’t lower my gaze. “Who are you?”
“I have had many names.” The finalssound stretches out, long and soft. Sibilant. “None of them matter. Your kind draws odd comfort from labeling things. As if naming something gives you power over it.”
“It doesn’t?” I ask.
“It gives you nothing.”
“If you don’t tell me what to call you, I’ll make something up,” I threaten, brandishing the sword slightly. “I’m thinking Melvin.”
The cobra hisses sharply, hood flaring in clear offense.
“Melvin?” it repeats.
“Yes. You look like a Melvin.”
A long pause follows. “Of all the names I have borne,” the snake finally says, voice tight with dignity, “there is one your tongue can manage.”
It lifts its head slightly.
“Veskar.”
“Fine,” I say. “Veskar. I still like Melvin, but it’s your choice.” I lower the sword slightly. “Now tell me where Sorren is.”
“How can you be certain he is not dead?”
“Because I feel him,” I answer. “Through the bond. I would know if he died.” My throat tightens, but my voice does not waver. “A part of me would die with him.”
