Chapter 16 #3
Zaethir's tail flicks sharply against the floor, a quick, controlled movement that betrays his irritation. His face remains impassive, but his voice tightens. "Vessan-Kar is not without danger. Not all welcome your presence, Threadborn."
"Then all the more reason for me to be seen," I reply, drawing myself up to my full height, though it still leaves me looking up at both of them. "I will not hide behind locked doors inside the palace when I have warriors to protect me."
Zara glides forward, her small form somehow undaunted by Zaethir's imposing presence. "I would protect her," she says, her voice soft but surprisingly firm. "The Infinity Flame speaks to me. It would whisper warnings if danger approached.”
Zaethir's expression doesn't soften, but something shifts in his gaze as he looks at the young seer, not respect, but acknowledgment of her unexpected boldness.
"Your gifts are still developing, young one," his tone identical to how he addresses me. Cold and clipped. "They would not be enough if the TrueCoil decided to strike again."
"Perhaps not, but you will be with us," Zara challenges. "You and Nirik. And the garden is within the inner palace, where only those with royal approval can enter."
Nirik nods, seemingly emboldened by her logic. "The inner garden is well-secured," he adds, glancing at Zaethir. "The risk would be minimal."
A tense silence fills the corridor. I watch Zaethir's internal calculations play out behind an unreadable gaze, weighing duty against reasonable requests, security protocols against the reality that keeping me constantly confined might itself create problems.
His gaze darkens as he studies me, weighing duty against defiance. The moment stretches taut between us before something shifts in his rigid posture, not surrender but tactical retreat.
"Wait here," he commands, then slithers to a recessed alcove several feet away. His scaled fingers trace a pattern across a network of veins to illuminate a small panel of serpentglass. It bathes his face in light, the glow catching the edges of his scales like the facets of a gem.
Nirik shifts closer to us, his rust-colored scales catching the light. "He is contacting the sovereign," he whispers, a note of apology in his voice.
I watch as Zaethir speaks in low, clipped tones, his back deliberately turned to us. The set of his shoulders betrays tension, the subtle ripple of scales along his spine revealing his displeasure even from behind.
When he returns, his pupils have contracted so thin they've nearly disappeared, leaving only rings of icy blue iris staring back at me like winter lakes frozen over with cold fury.
"The sovereign has approved the outing," he announces, each word bitten off as though it costs him something to say it.
Relief floods through me, embarrassingly potent for such a small victory. "Thank you," I say, meaning it despite his grudging tone.
Zara beams beside me, her scales brightening with pleasure as she tugs gently at my hand. "Come! It is not far."
We move through the palace corridors, my guards like watchful shadows. Nirik's presence feels amicable, his curious glances softening the suffocation of constant surveillance. Zaethir remains several paces behind, his silence a physical thing pressing against my back.
The route Zara chooses winds away from the main thoroughfares, down narrower passages.
With each turn, the formal grandeur of the royal wing gives way to older architecture where walls are less polished, ceilings lower, and the veins of bioluminescence more organic in their patterns.
These passages feel lived-in, worn smooth by centuries of scales.
"Almost there," Zara whispers, pulling me toward an unassuming archway half hidden behind a curtain of what looks like beaded water but is actually thousands of tiny crystal droplets strung on filaments thinner than hair. They part with a musical tinkling as we pass through.
Nothing prepares me for what lies beyond.
The garden takes my breath away, a vast cavern carved with a ceiling arching so high above that it disappears into shadow. But shadow implies darkness, and there is no darkness here. The entire space hums with gentle light that seems to emanate from everything at once.
"Oh," I breathe, the sound small against the vastness before me.
The walls are veined with glowing minerals, not the uniform blue green of the palace corridors, but a symphony of colors.
Streaks of amber, violet, and silvery blue trace patterns across the stone.
Vines drape from terraced ledges, their leaves glowing with soft sapphire and emerald light.
They sway gently in a current I can't feel, as though dancing to music beyond human hearing.
Zara watches my face, her expression alight with pleasure at my wonder. "It is beautiful, is it not?”
"Beautiful doesn't begin to cover it," I whisper, taking a hesitant step forward.
The path beneath my feet is inlaid with smooth stones that shimmer faintly, responding to my weight with gentle pulses of light that fade as I move on.
Above us, translucent blossoms bloom like fallen stars caught mid-descent, each one casting its own faint glow across the pathways.
Some open and close with rhythmic pulses, others remain still, their petals spread wide to reveal luminous centers in shades of gold and pale violet.
From a cleft high in the cavern wall, a small waterfall spills like liquid silver, catching the ambient light in rainbow hues.
The sound of it fills the space. Not the thunderous crash of aboveground falls, but a musical tinkling, like crystal wind chimes stirred by a gentle breeze.
The water gathers in clear pools below, ringed by stones polished to mirror smoothness.
Their surfaces reflect the colors above, creating the illusion of portals into other worlds.
"May I?" I ask, gesturing toward the nearest pool.
Zara nods eagerly. "Of course!"
I kneel beside the water, dipping my fingers into its cool clarity.
It feels different from ordinary water, slightly thicker, almost silken against my skin.
Ripples spread outward from my touch, each one trailing luminescence in its wake before fading.
The sensation is so unexpected, so foreign and yet so soothing, that I laugh aloud.
"It's alive," I say, watching the ripples dance.
"Everything here is," Zara replies, her tail swishing with excitement. "The water comes from the deep caverns where the ancient ones first settled. It carries memories, some say."
I withdraw my hand reluctantly, watching the glow fade.
The air around us smells faintly of moss and mineral rain, strange and beautiful, alive in ways I've never felt aboveground.
Each breath feels cleaner, more vital, as though the very atmosphere is infused with the life force that makes these plants glow.
We continue along the path, Zara pointing out various plants with childlike enthusiasm.
"These only bloom when someone passes," she explains, indicating delicate spiral-shaped flowers that unfurl as she approaches, their petals releasing tiny motes of light that float upward like glowing pollen.
"And those," she gestures to moss-like growths that pulse with azure light, "they respond to sound. Listen."
She hums a soft, three-note melody, and the moss brightens in perfect rhythm with her voice, the light rippling outward. I try humming the same pattern, and watch in delight as the plants respond to me as well, though with less intensity.
"They know you are human," Zara says, "but they accept you because you are Threadborn.”
Zara glides to a stone bench beside one of the larger pools, patting the space beside her in invitation. I join her, aware of our guards taking positions at discrete distances. Nirik closer, his expression openly appreciative of our surroundings, Zaethir farther back, watchful as ever.
“This garden is the heart of Vessan-Kar,” Zara says, her eyes bright with pride.
“The foundation crystal was set here nearly a thousand years ago, by the first Serpent Crown. Every Crown since has shaped the palace, guiding its growth from the rock, adding wings of crystal, halls, and terraces. This garden developed slowly over the centuries, each generation pruning and tending the plants that now grow here.”
I pause, remembering Varok’s words from my first visit to the palace, when I had met Naryth, the Serpent Crown, who was lost to the bombing. “He told me about the foundation crystal,” I say softly. “I remember him saying every Crown since has left their mark.”
Zara’s small hand gestures toward a particularly vibrant patch of flora.
“These plants,” she says, voice reverent, “are descendants of the earliest growths nurtured here.
As the female of the palace, tradition holds that you will join Varok in nurturing them now, guiding both garden and palace into their next evolution. "
Her words settle over me, carrying centuries of care and devotion.
I look around with new eyes, seeing not just beauty but the living legacy of a people shaping their home over time.
The palace and garden are not merely places of splendor, they are monuments to endurance, adaptation, and the devotion of every Crown that came before, and now I will be a part of that legacy.
For the first time since crossing the threshold into Vessan-Kar, I feel a quiet reverence, a sense of connection to the past, to the lives that have cultivated this place, and to the threads that tie me inexorably to Varok.
I'm still absorbing the quiet beauty of the garden when Zara's stomach growls audibly, the sound incongruously ordinary amid such ethereal surroundings. She covers her middle with both hands, scales flushing a deep violet.
"Sorry," she whispers, looking so mortified I have to suppress a smile.
"When did you last eat?" I ask.
She shrugs one delicate shoulder. "Last evening. I was too excited about bringing you here to think about food this morning."
The admission touches me, this youth so eager to share something special that she forgot basic needs. It reminds me of Serin on festival days, too caught up in anticipation to eat until she nearly fainted from hunger.
"We should fix that," I say, glancing around at the tranquil surroundings. "This would be a beautiful place for the midday meal."
Zara's face brightens. "We could eat here by the water!" She turns toward our guards, her voice taking on a sweetly persuasive tone. "Would not that be nice? Much better than returning to those stuffy formal chambers."
Nirik's tail gives an enthusiastic flick, his navy gaze warming with genuine agreement. "I can have the kitchen staff prepare something and bring it here," he says, glancing at Zaethir as if seeking permission.
Zaethir's expression doesn't change, his icy gaze unreadable as he considers the request. I half expect him to refuse outright, to insist we return to the safety of my assigned quarters. But after a moment, he gives a single, curt nod.
"Be quick about it," he tells Nirik, his voice low. "And alert no one unnecessarily to the Threadborn's location."
The younger warrior bobs his head. "I will return shortly," he promises before slipping away through the crystal-beaded curtain, the tiny droplets singing as they part for him.
“You promised to tell me all about the world aboveground,” Zara reminds me excitedly. “I would hear about the sun.”
"The sun..." I begin, closing my eyes briefly to summon the sensation.
"It's warmth that seeps into your bones.
Sometimes gentle, like being wrapped in a heated blanket.
Other times it's fierce. It can burn your skin if you stay too long.
" I touch her pearlescent arm. "Your scales would shimmer beautifully in it. "
Zara's face lights up, the glow beneath her scales intensifying with her joy, as if trying to create her own inner sunlight. "It sounds wonderful. I would love to visit your world one day.”
A shadow passes over her violet eyes. There one moment, gone the next, like a premonition darkening her features before she can mask it.
I steer the conversation away from whatever troubled future she might have glimpsed. "You can meet my little sister, Serin," I say quickly. Bad news can wait till later. "Can we explore more of the garden?”
"Of course!" Zara answers before Zaethir can object, already sliding forward on her pearly coils. "I'll show you the singing flowers."
We wander deeper into the garden, following winding paths that curve between glowing pools.
Zaethir maintains his distance, moving like a shadow at the periphery of my awareness.
I feel his eyes on me constantly, tracking every movement with the focus of a predator, but I refuse to let his vigilance dampen my joyous outing with my young friend.
Zara leads me to a cluster of tall, reed-like plants that terminate in bell-shaped blossoms of palest blue. As we approach, they begin to emit a soft, harmonic hum that rises and falls in gentle waves.
"They are responding to our breath," Zara explains, inhaling deeply to demonstrate how the pitch changes. "The Temple Guardians use them in meditation. If you match your breathing to their song, it is said to bring clarity."
I try it, drawing air slowly into my lungs, and the flowers' melody shifts subtly, weaving around my breath pattern in a way that feels intensely personal, almost intimate. The sound wraps around me like an embrace, soothing tensions I hadn't realized I was carrying.