Chapter 10 #3
Zara passes me a small crystal vial filled with clear liquid. “This also contains a strong sedative. Now that she is out of danger, her leg needs to be set. Better for her if she does not feel it.”
I nod and gently support Leira's head with one hand and bring the vial to her cracked lips. She drinks slowly, each swallow visibly painful.
"The TrueCoil," she murmurs after she is finished. "It was them, wasn't it?"
"Yes." I see no reason to shield her from the truth. "I believe they meant to kill us both."
Her eyes sharpen with a flicker of that fierce spirit I have come to respect. “We have to find them before they get away.”
“I will endeavor to do so,” I reply, a small grin tugging at the edges of my lips. “As for you, Ashira… only healing and rest.”
She blinks at the name, curiosity knitting her brow. “Ashira?”
“Tiny warrior,” I murmur, letting the words linger between us, a quiet benediction only for her.
“I’m not tiny, I’m—” Her protest dies on her lips as the sedative Zara slipped into her water threads through her veins. The storm in her gaze softens, the sharpness melting to a misty haze. The last sparks of resistance flicker and fade and her lids drift closed, surrendering to the pull of sleep.
Something delicate unfurls in my chest, fierce yet vulnerable, like a candle’s first flicker in a windless hall.
I sweep a strand of singed hair from her face; the touch lingers longer than necessary, a quiet acknowledgment of something I am not ready to name.
Beneath the weight of duty, a fragile warmth has taken root, tethering me to her in ways I had not thought possible.
The entrance to the Flame room parts with a violent rush of air.
Sareth enters, his massive form hunched beneath a terrible burden.
In his arms lies Naryth, the Serpent Crown, broken and bloodied.
The crown itself is askew on his silver mane, now matted with crimson.
Blood seeps from countless wounds, staining Sareth's scales where he cradles his sovereign.
Across the chamber, Eira’s voice cuts through the hush, guiding Sareth to lay Naryth’s lifeless form on the far side of the Flame.
Zara’s hand finds mine, small but steady, her touch grounding me even as the weight of what enters the chamber threatens to pull me under.
Her violet gaze meets mine, calm in the way of one who has already seen what must be.
“Go to him, Varok,” she murmurs, voice soft but resolute. “I can tend to Leira.”
For a breath I cannot move, torn between my bond and my duty, but the certainty in her gaze releases me. The young seer nods once, as if granting permission I did not know I needed.
"Prithas," Sareth's voice cracks with emotion I have never before heard from the battle-hardened warrior as I join him. "Naryth is gone. I found him beneath the broken table.”
The sight of Naryth’s still form cleaves through me like a blade.
For three centuries I have served this sovereign, fought beneath his banner, carried his will into the darkest corners of war, and now he lies broken before me.
A great flame snuffed by treachery. Grief presses hard against my chest, sharp and unyielding, but beneath it coils a darker fire. Rage.
“The ones responsible have stolen more than a ruler; they have torn from us a male worthy of loyalty. A sovereign who carried his people through the Sundering’s long shadow,” I grit out through clenched fangs.
My tail constricts against the stone, fury sharpening the grief into something jagged, a vow already forming in the marrow of my bones.
“They will pay for this. Every last TrueCoil who conspired to bring him down.”
Sareth’s eyes flick warily about the chamber before he leans close. His voice a harsh whisper edged with grief and suspicion. “The remnants of the device were found clinging to the underside, positioned at the head of the table. His place.”
“Why would the TrueCoil strike at the Crown?” The question leaves me in a rasp.
“Perhaps it was not the TrueCoil,” Sareth ventures, unease threading his voice.
The thought gnaws at me, sharp and unrelenting. Could there be another faction hidden among us, one seeking to snuff the prophecy out completely? The idea coils through me like poison, every face a suspect, every silence a possible oath unspoken.
“What other reason would there be to see Naryth dead?” Sareth presses, his words heavy with dread.
The palace fire had scorched the walls yet barely touched me; its bite had been shallow, restrained. Something deeper stirred within me, a fledgling fire threading through my veins. It reached outward, spilling into Leira, a careful, almost hesitant touch that helped mend her wounds.
The words of the prophecy coil through me like embers beneath frozen ash.
Four shall wake when one is crowned.
Their power stirred, their fates unbound.
Fire first…
My mind recoils at the thought. The fire elemental cannot be me. Impossible! I am not worthy, not ready, not for what the prophecy demands. Yet that subtle torch smolders in my chest, insistent, undeniable.
Eira kneels in silence, drawing a funerary shroud over Naryth’s form. Woven from blackened silk and threads of hammered gold, the cloth glimmers like a night sky veined with fire. Her milky gaze lifts to me, reverence trembling through her words. “The Sovereign Flame can now be crowned.”
Venom curse it!