Chapter 1
Chapter One
SERIN
Ipress my cheek against the cool metal of the vent, holding my breath.
Dust tickles my nose. Father's study sprawls below me, all polished wood and leather-bound books.
The evening sun cuts sharp rectangles across the floor.
This isn't the first time I've wedged myself into these narrow passages, but my heart still hammers against my ribs.
It feels like it might betray my presence.
The metal groans softly as I shift my weight.
I freeze, counting heartbeats until I'm certain no one has heard.
Through the slats, I watch Captain Garren Halvane stride into the room. Each step is deliberate and measured, like he's stalking prey. Even from here, I see the hard line of his mouth and the hunt in his eyes as he scans the room. My stomach knots at the sight of him.
My knees protest against the hard metal.
Pins and needles jolt up my calves. I've lingered too long, but I can't leave yet.
Not when they might finally say something useful about Leira.
My sister—brave, fierce—took my place as the offering to the naga.
She strode willingly into darkness, sparing me from the fate our father devised.
The thought of her tightens my chest. For over a month, she's been gone, surviving among scaled monsters in their underground city, Vessan-Kar.
The scant news that reaches me drips through Father's cold indifference.
A cobweb snags in my hair, and I ease it free without a sound.
Dust lines my fingers, my palms, and works its way under my fingernails.
The air in here is stale, tinged with metal and brittle paper from the study below.
I sip shallow breaths through my mouth, fighting the urge to sneeze, though my lungs sting for air.
Captain Halvane paces before Father's desk, hands locked behind his back.
His uniform is pristine, a silver serpent pierced through the eye, glinting at his collar.
His boots gleam, catching blades of afternoon light on the floorboards.
His face might be handsome if not for the eyes.
Cold. Calculating. He seems to constantly measure the space between himself and everyone else, calculating how quickly he could cross it with a blade.
I've heard the whispers among the staff.
Halvane executed three naga prisoners after extracting their secrets.
He wears their fangs in a pouch at his belt.
In the last years of the Sundering, he led the Iron Vanguard, a strike unit famed for swift, surgical raids.
Their assaults left naga caverns as silent as graveyards.
That kind of silence only falls when none remain.
Not even the young survived. The memory of those whispers churns my stomach.
Father looks up from his papers, his quill pausing mid-stroke.
The weak setting sunlight catches in the silver at his temples, making him appear older than his fifty-seven years.
Where Leira inherited his sharp features and storm-gray eyes, I received our mother's softer countenance, her warm hazel gaze.
Sometimes I wonder if that's why he finds it so easy to look through me rather than at me.
"Captain," Father acknowledges, resuming his writing. "I trust you've had a pleasant journey from the eastern garrison?"
"Pleasant is irrelevant, Lord Valen." Halvane's voice carries the perpetual edge of someone who finds most conversation beneath him. "I bring reports. They require your immediate attention."
My fingers grip the metal slats tighter.
Eastern garrison. General Thorne commands there.
From scraps I've gathered at Father's high council meetings, human forces have been quietly amassing near the border of naga territory.
Not for defense, despite the peace treaty's promises.
For something else. Something Father shares only in private with his military advisors.
Something to do with Leira.
I close my eyes briefly, picturing my sister as she was the morning she left. Chin high, eyes glittering with defiance and unshed tears as she embraced me one final time. Don't worry for me, little sister, she'd whispered. I'm stronger than they know.
She is. She's always been the brave one, the clever one. I faded into the background. Pressed myself small against the walls. Hid in shadows. But what if strong isn't enough against whatever Father and these men are planning?
Captain Halvane drops a leather folio onto Father's desk with enough force to make the inkwell jump. "These arrived by courier this morning. General Thorne believes you should be made aware immediately."
Father's eyebrow rises a fraction. The closest he ever comes to showing surprise. "The General sent you rather than a simple messenger? The situation must be dire indeed."
"More than dire." Halvane leans forward, knuckles pressed against the desktop, and even from my hiding place, I can see how his lips curl back from his teeth in what only technically qualifies as a smile. "It's an opportunity. One we cannot afford to waste."
Something in his tone drives me back from the vent, though there's nowhere to shrink in this tight shaft. Hunger snarls in his voice, the same keen edge as Father's hawks before they strike. My breath knots in my throat, raw with fear.
"Spit it out, then," Father says, setting down his quill and leaning back in his chair. "What has our esteemed General discovered that warrants such urgency?"
Halvane straightens, squaring his shoulders as if preparing to deliver a battlefield report.
"The naga leader, Varok, has displayed abilities beyond what we anticipated.
And your daughter..." His voice drops, forcing me to strain to hear his next words, ".
..appears to be developing similar capabilities. "
My heart stops. Then resumes at double speed. Leira? What abilities? What are they talking about?
Father steeples his fingers, his expression deliberately neutral. "Elaborate, Captain."
Halvane's lips curl into something too sharp to be a smile. "With pleasure." He begins to pace again, the floorboards creaking beneath his immaculate boots. "It seems the prophecy the scaled devils have been muttering about for centuries may not be entirely fabrication after all."
Father scoffs, but Halvane continues undeterred.
"Our operatives within their city report that Sovereign Flame Varok’s powers are growing. And more concerning..." He pauses, turning to face Father directly. "So are your daughter's."
I press closer to the vent, dust floating around me like snow. My breath is held so tightly my lungs burn. What powers? What have they done to Leira?
Captain Halvane reaches for the folio, flipping it open to extract what appears to be a report.
"General Thorne believes we must accelerate our timeline.
If the naga truly possess elemental abilities, and if your daughter is somehow accessing them as well.
.." Halvane’s voice hardens. "We cannot afford hesitation. "
Father's chair creaks as he leans forward. "Show me."
As Halvane spreads documents across the desk, I shift again, trying to see better. The metal groans softly beneath me. Both men glance up, and I go completely still, my pulse thundering in my ears.
After a moment, they return to the papers, and I allow myself to breathe again, shallow and careful. I must hear what they're saying.
Halvane's finger stabs at the field report, his voice dropping to a hush tinged with reluctant awe.
"Our scout was in position at the Ashland border, arrow nocked, poison glistening on the tip.
Perfect shot at Sovereign Varok's back. Then your daughter—" He breaks off, making a fluid gesture with his hands that somehow conveys both beauty and horror.
"She sensed him somehow. Turned and unleashed... not ordinary flame. Witnesses describe it as a white-hot column, pouring through the air like water, seeking our man in his hiding place. Nothing remained but ash.”
The air in the vent suddenly seems too thin.
I press my fingertips to the cool metal, anchoring myself as vertigo threatens.
Leira, conjuring fire? Burning a man to ash?
Absurd. I've seen her burn her fingertips on candle wicks, curse at hot kettles.
Those same hands braided my hair and pressed cool cloths to my fevered forehead, now channeling flames like some ancient deity? Impossible.
Halvane's eyes narrow as he points to Thorne's report.
He recounts, "The naga's scales flared like molten metal.
Gold, then white-hot, in seconds. Our men couldn't meet his gaze.
He raised his arms. Fire scythed across the eastern garrison, as precise as a surgeon's blade.
Tents incinerated. Weapon caches exploded in sequence.
" His voice tightens. "Most disturbing was his control.
He deliberately spared our soldiers, razing everything else. Power, not mercy."
Father leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. "Parlor tricks," he says dismissively.
"Parlor tricks?" Halvane repeats with barely contained contempt, his fingers drumming against the leather folio.
"With respect, Lord Valen, what your soldiers witnessed was no illusion.
The fire came from not only the naga's hands, but from his very scales.
One moment our men were standing their ground, and the next they were retreating, running for their lives.
" His voice drops, and I strain to hear him through the metal slats.
"General Thorne has never been easily rattled, but this display has. .. unsettled him."