Chapter 21 #4
At the soft scuff of my boots, he whirls.
Surprise flashes bright in his yellow gaze before melting into something tender.
In three fluid undulations he reaches me, arms sweeping me into the kind of embrace that makes Emberyn flare hot against my skin.
I melt into him, burying my face in the warm hollow of his throat where scales give way to softer flesh, breathing in that scent that is uniquely, intoxicatingly Varok.
I shift in his arms, curiosity piqued as I peer at the illuminated image. Recognition strikes like a hard blow. Clavenmoor. Its sprawling courtyards and ivy-clad stone walls, shimmers on the wall. My smile withers into a hard line.
Wriggling free, I step away, voice tight. “Why do you have footage of my home?”
Through our bond I taste his hesitation, bitter on my tongue.
"It is..." Varok shifts his weight, tail coiling tighter beneath him. "It is not what it appears to be."
I take another step away from him, the basket of cakes suddenly heavy in my hand. "Then what is it? Because it looks exactly like surveillance of Clavenmoor."
His gaze flicks to the image, then back to me, his guilt I can feel pulsing sharper, like pressure behind my ribs. “The OathCoil is a living stone construct,” he manages. “It…records and transmits information.”
“The OathCoil? The serpent statue Sareth handed my father when he traded me at the gate?” My laugh cracks, brittle. “So you used me as a delivery system to spy on my own people.”
"No…well, yes," Varok says, voice tight as his tail lashes once against the floor, "but—”
“But what!” I cut him off, fury buzzing like a storm beneath my skin.
Only through love will the elemental powers fully awaken, Eira’s recitation of the prophecy crashes into my consciousness like a tidal wave. A furnace of fury ignites in my chest, scorching and relentless, heat raging through every vein until my fingertips tingle with it.
It all clicks into place. "It makes perfect sense now.
" My voice cuts between us like a heated blade.
"How could I have been so blind? You used me.
You seduced me to awaken your elemental power," I hiss, each word crystallizing the betrayal in my chest. "I was never your true bloodmate, just a tool to ignite your magic. "
“That is not true." His tail lashes once, then twice, scales bristling.
"At first, yes. The OathCoil was merely a precaution to ensure peace.
Then we found—" His words falter as something darker passes behind his eyes.
"Your arrival changed everything between our peoples.
The balance of—" He rakes clawed fingers through his wealth of auburn hair.
Through our bond, I feel the turmoil beneath his composure.
"Then the prophecy complicated matters further.
I never intended—" His gaze meets mine, then falls away, as if the weight of my accusation is too heavy to bear.
"Ashira, you must understand that I—that we—that none of this was planned. "
“Planned well enough for you to plant that serpent statue inside Clavenmoor,” I snarl.
When Varok reaches for me, I retreat, my palm thrust outward like a shield.
“Stay away from me!” I turn and storm out of the war chamber, Emberyn burning against my chest, Varok’s stunned silence following me like a ghost.
I rush away from Varok’s hidden war room, each step feeling like the snap of a chain, clean and final.
Zaethir and Nirik scramble to catch up, but I don’t slow for their anxious, echoing slithers.
Past the throne, past the Hall of Ancestors with its judging crystal faces, I march toward my own chambers, not Varok’s.
As I go, the palace grows colder, more foreign, as if the walls themselves sense the break and quietly draw away. I clutch the basket of glimmergrain cakes to my chest, as if I could anchor myself with something that reminds me of home.
“Have my things moved here,” I command Zaethir and Nirik as I reach my door, the words brittle, each syllable a confession of defeat. “From the sovereign’s quarters. Immediately.”
Inside the chamber glows from the keh’shali illuminating the familiar shapes.
The door solidifies, a slab of stone isolating me from the world, and only then do I let the mask fall.
I drop the basket and sink to the floor, knees colliding with the smooth chill of rock.
Fury should be enough to hold me together, but in its wake comes only emptiness; a hollowing grief, the ache of heartbreak.
My fists clench against the pain, nails biting into my palms. I replay the last few minutes in fragmented flashes: Varok's arms around me, the heat of Emberyn, the guilty look on his face when I accused him of betrayal.
The way I felt it through the bond, a surge of cold calculation from him colliding with my own burning rage.
For the first time since the journey from Clavenmoor, I feel utterly alone.
I was a fool to imagine I understood naga politics or Varok’s feelings, or my own role in any of it.
The worst part is how much I still want to believe he meant me no harm, how the longing hasn’t dulled even in the face of his treachery.
The silence is unbearable. My mind claws for escape, for some small comfort, and lands on the memory of Serin.
The bright, bell-like sound of her laughter echoing through the stone corridors of Valen House, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled at me across the dinner table.
I would give anything to be with her now, even for a moment, even if it meant enduring Father's cold lectures.
But I am bound here, by blood and by oath and by the damnable thread that now feels like a curse.
I let the tears come, not in a flood but in silent, angry drops that leave no mark. How could I have been so blind? Never trust a serpent, Father used to warn. His words echo, relentless. Grief twists where my heart used to reside whole, each breath a shard of pain.
A soft, sweet scent drifts through the gloom: glimmergrain cakes, warm and almond-scented like home.
My heart yearns for Serin. I reach for the basket, fingers trembling as I lift a cake.
I close my eyes, inhaling the fragrance of freshly baked almond cookies in Valen House’s cozy kitchen, laughter rising around me as Serin nudges me for the last crumb.
I take a bite. For a heartbeat, sugar melts perfectly…
then a cloying bitterness claws at my tongue, reminiscent of the water Varok pressed to my lips after the bombing.
Panic spikes. I think of Nirik and the cake I gave him.
He can’t eat it! I lurch to my feet, vision blurring as I go to warn him, but my legs betray me.
I collapse to the floor, the cake tumbling from my fingers.
A stirring at my waist draws my attention. I glance down just in time to see the silver clasp cinching my tunic slither away, a pale serpent writhing, its eyes flashing malice before darkness claims me.