Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
VAROK
My tail sweeps the ground behind me as I lead Leira through the winding tunnels toward the market district.
Every muscle in my body remains coiled tight, ready to strike at the first sign of danger.
I position myself between her and each passing naga, the tip of my tail brushing against her legs, an unavoidable contact in these narrow passages that sends unwelcome heat rippling through my core.
The meeting with the Serpent Crown weighs heavy in my mind, his words about the TrueCoil’s growing unrest echoing like poison in my thoughts.
The OathCoil, entrusted to Leira’s father in exchange for her at our gates, has shown us no sign of rebellion within the human courts, no whisper, no shadow of dissent. That silence leaves me restless.
What we do know is the TrueCoil spews venom within our own walls, closer to her than she can imagine. She has no idea of the danger she faces simply by walking these halls, even with my blood in her veins.
“Stay close,” I murmur as we approach a junction where several tunnels converge.
The space teems with serpents, their slitted gazes sliding over her; most linger with open curiosity, but some sharpen with contempt that even Emberyn at her throat and my presence at her side cannot blunt.
Whispers float through the air, hissing against the stone and fracturing into harsh echoes.
The Serpent Crown’s warning burns fresh in my mind. His ancient eyes had fixed on me with terrible clarity as he spoke of the TrueCoil’s fury over our bonding.
“My worms have brought me whispers,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries, “that the TrueCoil sees the Threadborn as a blight upon our kind. They believe the prophecy awakens with her, and for that, they will not rest until she is silenced.”
I have often wondered who they are, yet no one but the Serpent Crown knows the faces of his worms. They slip unseen through the tunnels, winding through the veins of the city, gathering what others dismiss, stray whispers in market’s shadows, a rumor traded over cave-wine, the tremor in a voice that speaks too quickly.
Nameless, patient, and impossibly loyal, these spies have served him for more than a century.
And what they bring to the Crown is never false.
And then Zara’s words at the temple. The Flame showing her visions of the TrueCoil, of threads woven tighter than before, bright and untested, already pulling against the old weave.
The little seer’s warnings align too perfectly with what I already know: Leira is a target simply for existing, for carrying Emberyn, for the blood bond we share.
Whether the prophecy has been awakened or not, the TrueCoil see her as a threat.
I glance at where she walks beside me, watching her catalog every detail of our path with those sharp gray eyes.
The memory of Severa's message still sends ice through my veins.
Leira gone, slipped away without protection.
The panic that gripped me was raw fear, a visceral response I have not felt since my brothers—
“What did Zara mean about shadows? And what is the TrueCoil?” Leira's voice slips between us like a blade finding its sheath, her keen eyes catching mine with uncanny precision, as though she has been silently reading the troubled text of my thoughts.
I silence her with a quick shush, my heart racing as I lean closer, keeping my tone low and urgent. “You must not speak of what the tiny seer reveals in public.”
Several passing naga slow their pace, vertical pupils contracting with interest over our exchange.
Without thinking, I wrap my tail around her waist, not roughly, but firmly enough to guide her toward a small alcove carved into the tunnel wall.
I pull her into the shadowed space, curved stone providing a semblance of privacy from prying eyes and listening ears.
"You must never leave the den unescorted again. Ever. Do you understand?"
"I understand perfectly that I'm not your prisoner but your bloodmate." Her chin tilts upward, a small rebellion against my looming presence even as my tail remains coiled around her waist like a living belt of possession.
"You do not understand the danger," I hiss, keeping my voice low. "This is not Clavenmoor with its open streets and daytime guards. This is Vessan-Kar, where shadows have teeth and ancient hatreds run deeper than the awakened stone."
"Then teach me of the dangers,” she counters, her small, human hands settling on my scales, not backing down an inch. "I can't protect myself against threats I don't understand."
I want to tell her everything, of how the TrueCoil has sworn for centuries to keep the Threadborn Prophecy from coming to pass, how they remain hidden in plain sight, how they see her not as a bridge, but as a blight, a human who could taint the naga way of life.
To them, her very presence will ignite conflict, not end it.
Our bond is a betrayal in their eyes, keeping the wounds of the Sundering open and raw.
They fear she will trigger elemental upheaval, that our union could unravel the future of our people.
But not here, not where any ear pressed to stone could carry our words to the wrong fangs.
"There are things I cannot discuss in the open," I say instead, my voice tight with frustration. "But know this, your presence here disrupts a balance centuries in the making. There are those who would sooner spill blood, both naga and human, than have a human living among us."
"So I'm to be kept in a cage for my own protection?" The words slip between us like a dagger, barely a whisper but sharp enough to draw blood. She stands her ground, close enough that the heat of her body radiates into mine. "That is not peace, Varok.”
"It must suffice for now," I declare, scales bristling along my spine while heat floods unbidden through my veins, a dangerous warmth that intensifies when her gaze holds mine, challenging and defiant in a way that makes my fangs ache behind closed lips.
"Until my people recognize our bonding is the path to enduring peace with yours, I am bound by duty to protect you, using any means I consider necessary. "
"You don't get to decide that unilaterally," she fires back. "I'm not some fragile ornament to be locked away. I survived the journey here. I walked into your temple surrounded by my enemies. I gave my blood willingly."
A grudging admiration rises in me despite my irritation over her insolence. Most humans would cower before a warrior of my size, especially one radiating the tension I know I must be projecting. Yet here she stands toe to tail, unwavering, meeting my gaze without flinching.
The corner of my mouth twitches upward, not quite a smile, but something close. In truth, she reminds me of a young warrior after their first battle, too stubborn to acknowledge danger, too brave for their own survival.
"Are you mocking me?" she demands, eyes flashing.
"No," I say honestly. "I am...appreciating your spirit. You would have made a formidable warrior."
She blinks, clearly not expecting the compliment. "I'd still make a formidable one, if given the chance."
The heat of my exasperation ebbs, replaced by something more complicated.
She stands so close I can count her eyelashes, and when she tilts her chin up in defiance despite being in the heart of her ancestral enemy's domain, something shifts beneath my ribs.
I want to shield her with scales and sword, not because treaties demand it, but because the thought of harm coming to her makes my venom sacs ache.
It would be easier if I could maintain the hatred centuries of war instilled in me, but every second I am in her presence that hatred dissipates.
"Your den keeper hates me," she blurts. "Severa. I just wanted to get away from her hostile glares and retrieve my satchel.”
I sigh, sinking down as I loosen the coil of my tail beneath me.
"There is a good reason why it will take Severa time to warm up to you. She was there the day my brothers were slaughtered. She tried to defend them when humans breached the eastern caverns of my family’s settlement.
” The memories rise unbidden. Blood on stone, scales torn from flesh, three bodies I laid side by side in the Temple of Threads so their essence could be returned to the Flame. "She nearly died in the attempt.”
My voice grows rough with the effort of control. "I was too late. By the time I reached them, my brothers were gone, and Severa was half dead herself, pinned against the cavern wall by human blades."
Leira's expression changes, softening in a way I do not expect. Her eyes grow misty, genuinely pained. "I'm sorry," she breathes against the silence between us, fingers smoothing my scales in a hesitant caress. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
The simple words strike me like a physical blow. I had braced for excuses, for justifications about the necessities of war. I was not prepared for this raw empathy that reaches past flesh and scale to touch something I have kept guarded for centuries.
"It was not your fault," I manage, my throat tight with emotion. "It was long ago, before you were born, during the most brutal phase of the Sundering. Just before our territory was reduced to ash.”
"Perhaps, but I understand loss," she says quietly. "And I understand carrying its weight."
"I will speak to Severa," I promise, feeling the weight of ancient loyalties press against newer obligations. "She has served my bloodline since before my first shedding. Her venom has long dried, though her eyes still flash with old hatreds.”
For a moment, we stand in silence, the barriers between us not gone but somehow thinned, made permeable by shared grief over war-ravaged life across impossible divides.