Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
LEIRA
Consciousness returns in fragments. First the chill of stone beneath my body, then the musty scent of damp stone.
My eyelids refuse to lift, weighted down as if forged from molten metal cooled against my face.
The bitter aftertaste of the glimmergrain cake lingers on my tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.
Where am I? My mind struggles through the fog of the sedative Miria laced into that single, treacherous bite.
The distinctive whisper of scales against stone, the rhythmic drag of a serpentine body coming closer. I fight the instinct to tense as the sound stops just above where I lay. A soft hiss of indrawn breath. The subtle shift of weight as someone leans closer.
The scrape of a claw against metal, at my throat. I realize with sudden clarity that someone is tugging at the chain where Emberyn hangs. The chain slides against my skin but stops as it meets resistance.
I remain motionless, willing my muscles to stay slack, my chest rising and falling in the deep, measured rhythm of unconsciousness.
"Why in the Ancients’ name will this damned thing not snap?" a male voice mutters, the tone familiar in a way that sends ice through my veins. A sharper tug makes me fight to keep my expression slack, my breathing unchanged.
"It will not yield." A second voice slithers into the darkness.
Female, honeyed yet precise, with that distinctive accent I once mistook for wisdom instead of cunning.
Miria. My stomach twists into a knot. "The chain was forged in the Infinity Flame itself. Once placed around the Threadborn’s throat, no force born of mortal hand can sever it. "
"You could have mentioned that before I wasted time trying," the male says, his tone controlled but edged with irritation.
The voice clicks into place like a key finding its lock.
Zaethir. The guard assigned to keep me safe, now revealed as my jailer.
I should have trusted the prickle of unease I felt whenever those cold eyes followed my movements through the palace corridors.
"You did not ask." Miria's tone holds the faintest edge of amusement. "Besides, the serpent stone is not our concern. The human is. We must move her and the seer before dawn if we are to reach the rendezvous point."
My heart seizes in my chest, the thought of Zara in danger eclipsing any concern for myself.
“Too bad you allowed the human back to her chambers. Had she shared the cakes with Varok, we would have had him too,” Miria's voice drops to a seething whisper.
"You can thank the Ancients that the seer is far more valuable than you realize.
Thorne will be pleased with both acquisitions.
Without the Threadborn, the prophecy remains unfulfilled, and the seer's visions will serve our greater purpose. "
"The sovereign will tear Vessan-Kar apart stone by stone to find them," Zaethir says, his scales rustling against the stone floor as he shifts his weight.
"Precisely why you should have delivered the human to his chambers,” Miria replies, her voice tight with impatience. "We must be gone before first light touches the mountain."
"What of Lurok?" Zaethir asks. "He knows too much about us and the tunnels. Once he regains consciousness again—"
"He will not," Miria cuts in. "The last dose I gave him would fell three naga. Slit his throat and leave him to bleed out.”
They have Lurok too. The same Talon commander Varok was convinced had orchestrated the bombing that killed Naryth. My thoughts scatter like broken glass. If Lurok isn't the traitor, then who? Nothing aligns, each new revelation only twisting the puzzle into something more unrecognizable.
"And Nirik?" Zaethir's voice carries a trace of something almost like regret.
"Your sentimentality is noted, but unnecessary," Miria replies coldly. "He made his choice when he refused to join us. The general does not tolerate divided loyalties. End him as well. The males are of no use to the general."
"I will check the eastern passage," Zaethir says. "The others should be arriving within the hour. Be ready to move the two females."
"Do not presume to instruct me,” Miria hisses. “I am the one who negotiated the deal with our enemy, not you.”
A moment of tense silence follows before Zaethir moves away. There's a sudden flare of displaced air as he slams something, a door or a gate, with enough force to rattle metal against stone. A heavy lock snaps into place with brutal finality.
I hear their voices fading, moving down what must be a tunnel, their words becoming indistinct echoes. Only when the last whisper of scales against stone disappears do I allow my eyelids to flutter open.
Darkness presses in, heavy and thick, broken only by the anemic glow of a single heartstone torch mounted on the wall outside what I now see is indeed a cell.
Bars of some dark metal, not iron but something heavier with a dull gleam that speaks of naga craft.
The shadows stretch and twist as the torch flickers, turning the cell into a nightmare of shifting shapes and false movements that set my already frayed nerves on edge.
No glow of keh’shali to chase away the darkness.
The walls of the chamber seem to lean inward, the high ceiling pressing down with the weight of the stone above.
My breath comes quicker now, fighting against the instinct to panic at being trapped in this cage.
The air tastes stale, tinged with minerals and something else, something rotten that coats the back of my throat.
I push myself up slowly, muscles protesting from my awkward position while I lay barely conscious. My head throbs, the remnants of the sedative still swimming through my blood. I raise a hand to my throat, fingers finding Emberyn’s familiar shape.
It lies cool against my skin. Not the warm, comforting presence I've grown accustomed to, but a dead weight of metal and stone.
The bond that usually pulses between Varok and me feels stretched beyond recognition, a single strand of spider web pulled so thin it might snap.
I close my eyes, trying to sense him, to send some signal through our connection, but there's nothing, just a hollow emptiness where his presence should be.
Wherever this place is, it's far from him. Far enough the bond itself has gone dormant.
I slowly rise to my feet, fighting against the lingering dizziness, and move to the bars to peer down the corridor, straining to see in the dim light. The heartstone torch casts just enough light to reveal what lies beyond my cell, a row of identical cages lining the opposite wall.
"Zara," I whisper, the name escaping on a breath as I spot her small form curled on the floor of the cage directly across from mine.
She looks impossibly tiny against the dark stone, her pale scales reflecting the meager light, hair spread like a fan beneath her head.
She doesn't stir at my voice, doesn't show any sign of consciousness.
I grip the bars tighter, pressing my face between them as far as it will go. "Zara," I call again, slightly louder but still cautious. The last thing I want is to bring our captors back.
No response. My heart hammers against my ribs. I force myself to take a steadying breath and continue my survey of the prison. Two cells to the right of Zara's; another figure is slumped against the wall. Larger, muscular, with jagged silver scales that catch the dim light.
Lurok.
Not the enemy after all. His head hangs forward, chin resting on his chest, but I can see the rise and fall of his breaths.
Movement from the cell to my right draws my attention. I shift my position, peering through the bars at an angle to see into the cage nearest mine.
"Nirik," I breathe, recognizing the rust-colored scales of my younger guard.
Unlike Zaethir, who always regarded me with barely concealed disdain, Nirik had shown genuine kindness.
He lies sprawled on his stomach, one arm outstretched as if he had been reaching for something when he fell.
His head rests at an awkward angle, and I spot a dark patch on his temple that could only be blood.
My throat tightens with something that feels dangerously close to tears. I swallow them back, refusing to surrender to hopelessness.
"Zara," I call out again, more urgently this time. "Zara, please. Wake up."
The small form across from me remains motionless.
I press myself harder against the bars, as if sheer will could narrow the distance between us.
She looks so vulnerable lying there, so painfully young.
In the weeks since my arrival at Vessan-Kar, she has become something precious to me, a bright spot in a strange and often hostile world, a reminder that innocence can exist even in the shadow of centuries of conflict.
"Zara, please," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I need you to be okay."
No response. Just the steady drip of water somewhere down the corridor, the occasional shift and groan of stone as if the cavern is settling around us, and the soft, maddening flicker of the heartstone torch.
I close my eyes, trying to think. Miria and Zaethir mentioned moving us before dawn. Time is running out, and I have no idea how to escape, or even where we are. My only connection to potential help is the bond with Varok and it lies dormant, Emberyn cool against my skin.
When I open my eyes again, I force myself to look more analytically at our prison. The bars appear to be metal but darker, almost opaque. The locks are mechanical rather than magical. A small mercy, perhaps.
The corridor stretches beyond the reach of the torch's light, fading into absolute darkness in both directions.
Underground, certainly, but where? Still within Vessan-Kar's network of tunnels, or somewhere beyond?
If Miria and Zaethir are working with General Thorne, we must be somewhere between the naga city and human territory.