And somewhere within this city, Lurok goes on with his life, having cast me from it as easily as shedding his scales. The thought twists something hot and vile in my gut.
"This way," Leira says, nodding to the Talon guards who flank the entrance. They incline their heads respectfully to her—to the Threadborn, mate of the Sovereign Flame—and regard me with expressions I cannot read. Do they see a hero who helped save their city, or just another fragile human intruding on their world?
We pass through the archway into a grand corridor that stretches before us like a river of polished obsidian. The walls rise in smooth curves, embedded with veins of luminous minerals that pulse with a gentle rhythm. Crystal formations thrust from the walls at intervals, their faceted surfaces refracting light into spectral cascades that spill across our path.
"The foundation crystal was set here nearly a thousand years ago," Leira explains, her voice taking on the quality of atour guide. "Every Serpent Crown since has shaped the palace, guiding its growth from living rock."
I try to focus on her words, to appreciate the millennia of history and craftsmanship surrounding us. But my mind keeps slipping away, back to the Flame room, back to Lurok's cold dismissal.Just survival. Nothing more.I bite the inside of my cheek, using the small pain to anchor myself in the present.
Leira stops abruptly, turning to face me. "All right, what's wrong?"
I blink, startled by her directness. "What do you mean?"
"You're a thousand miles away. What happened?"
For a moment, I consider telling her everything, of the humiliation of confessing my feelings only to have them dismissed, and the crushing weight of his rejection. But the words stick in my throat. Speaking them aloud would make them more real somehow, would force me to fully face what I've lost before I'm ready.
"I'm just tired," I say instead, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face. "It's been a lot to process. You know, nearly dying, waking up in an underground naga city, learning our father was plotting mass destruction. My mind is still catching up."
Leira's expression softens, though skepticism lingers in her eyes. "Of course. I should have realized." She touches my arm gently. "You've been through more than anyone should have to endure, and I’m pushing you too hard. Sorry, I’m just so happy you’re here.”
I nod, grateful she isn't pressing further, though I know my sister well enough to recognize the temporary reprieve for what it is. She'll return to this conversation when she thinks I'm stronger, more prepared. For now, though, she lets it drop.
"We're almost there," she says, guiding me forward once more. "Your chamber is in the eastern wing, near ours. Varok thought you might appreciate the privacy."
We turn down a broader passage where the ceiling vaults upward like a cathedral, its distant apex lost in shadow. Ceremonial banners cascade from above, their silk surfaces rippling with silver-threaded naga script that catches the light as we pass beneath them.
We stopped before what appears to be a solid wall of polished obsidian, its surface gleaming with embedded silver threads that form intricate spiraling patterns. Sigil above the door.
"Place your hand here," Leira instructs, guiding my palm to the cool stone surface. "The chamber needs to recognize you as its owner." When my palm makes contact, the obsidian ripples beneath my fingers like disturbed water. The solid stone liquefies, flowing outward from my touch in silent, graceful waves until an opening appears before us.
"After you," she says with a small flourish.
I step inside and gasp. The chamber is spacious and elegant in ways I never imagined possible in an underground dwelling. The ceiling curves overhead in a perfect dome, its surface embedded with the same luminous crystals that light the corridors, creating the impression of a private sky.
A nest dominates one wall, draped in deep blue and silver fabrics that shimmer in the gentle light. Beside it stands a table carved from the same dark wood as the door, its surface inlaid with what appears to be mother-of-pearl in spiral patterns. Comfortable-looking low lounging couches form a sitting area near a hearth where blue flames dance around a heartstone twice the size of the one Lurok had stolen from the TrueCoil.
"This is all... for me?" I ask, unable to hide my surprise.
Leira laughs, a sound that momentarily bridges the gap between our old life and this new reality. "Did you expect a dungeon cell? You saved their city, Serin. Besides," she adds, her tone softening, "you're my sister. That makes you royal family.”
She moves deeper into the chamber, gesturing for me to follow. "There's a washroom through here," she says, showing me how to operate fixtures and levers that seem to grow organically from the walls.
"Hot springs run beneath Vessan-Kar," Leira explains. "The naga have channeled them for showering.”
She guides me to a familiar-looking glass panel embedded in the wall. "And over here is how you call for attendants if you need anything," she explains. "Just brush your fingers over this keh’shalin design to activate the serpentglass. It’s the same communication device we saw them working on in the tunnels, remember?" I absently nod. She pauses, her hand still hovering over the network of keh’shalin. "Are you sure you're all right? You look pale.”
"Just tired," I repeat, sinking onto the edge of a lounger. The cushion gives beneath my weight, surprisingly soft. "I just need to rest."
Leira nods, concern still shadowing her eyes. "I'll leave you to settle in, then. There are two Talon guards stationed outside your door for protection, not confinement," she adds quickly, seeing my expression. "Our chambers are just down the corridor if you need anything. And Serin..." She hesitates, as if weighing her words. "Whatever's troubling you, when you're ready to talk, I'm here."
Before I can respond, she slips out the door, the stone flowing closed behind her. The silence she leaves in her wake feels oppressive despite the spacious beauty surrounding me. I stare at my hands, remembering how they once touched silver scales with tenderness, and once traced the sharp angles of a face I thought I'd come to know.
Alone at last, I let my carefully maintained composure begin to crumble. The ache I've been holding at bay surges forward, demanding acknowledgment.
I should lie down, take advantage of the comfort after days on a healing cot. My body craves rest, but my mind refuses to quiet. I rise from the lounger’s edge and begin to pace, my steps carrying me in widening circles around the chamber.
The beautiful room, so carefully prepared for me, so thoughtfully furnished, feels like a cage. Luxurious, yes, but still a space to contain me while the real world continues elsewhere. Whilehecontinues elsewhere, having extracted himself from my life as clinically as a healer removing a splinter.
