Chapter 4 #2
Every instinct rebels at the command. Naga do not cower.
We strike or retreat with dignity. We do not hide beneath furniture like vermin.
But my battered body offers no alternatives.
I cannot fight or flee. With a hiss of frustration that sounds pathetically like surrender, I drag myself backward, scales scraping against the rough wood as I pull my coils into the shadows beneath the sturdy worktable.
Serin shoves the satchel of medical supplies after me.
Her movements are quick and efficient despite the tremor in her hands.
I barely manage to tuck my tail beneath the table's edge when the door creaks open, spilling late evening light across the dusty floor.
Serin straightens with remarkable composure, brushing dirt from her knees as she turns to face the intruder.
From my hiding place, I see only the lower half of a human female: practical shoes, a long skirt, hands that bear the marks of regular labor.
"Lady Serin?" The newcomer's voice carries the deference of a servant, though tinged with genuine concern. "What are you doing out here in the dark? Your father sent me to find you."
"Lina." Serin's voice lifts with false brightness that sounds painfully forced to my ears, though the servant seems to notice nothing amiss. "I was just checking for some potting supplies. For the garden project I’m planning."
"At this hour? With no lamp?" Suspicion edges into the servant's tone. My muscles coil tighter, ready to spring despite my wounds if this human female steps closer to my hiding place. "Your hands are filthy, and there's blood on your sleeve. Are you hurt?"
"Oh! No, I—" Serin glances down at her stained clothing, momentarily flustered. "I pricked my finger on one of the old tools. It's nothing."
The servant, Lina, shifts her weight, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. "Well, whatever you're doing will have to wait. Your father wants you for dinner. Captain Halvane is dining with us tonight. You're going to be late, and he's in one of his moods.”
My scales prickle at the name. Halvane. The human called the Harbinger in my lands. The captain, whose arrival heralds only destruction and death.
Serin moves casually to place herself between the servant and my hiding place, a protective gesture that surprises me. "Tell Father I'll be along directly. I just need to put some things away."
I hold my breath as Lina takes a step forward, her skirt swishing against the dusty floor.
The air feels thick with tension, pressing against my scales like physical weight.
If she discovers me, I have no doubt she will scream, and within minutes, this shed will swarm with armed guards eager to claim a naga's head.
"Lady Serin, you know how your father gets when kept waiting. And with an important guest..." The servant's tone carries a hint of warning.
"Five minutes, Lina. Please." Serin's voice softens, becomes almost pleading. "I need to clean up. I can hardly appear at dinner looking like this."
For one excruciating moment, I think Lina will insist on waiting, will help Serin put things away, and discover the wounded predator curled beneath the worktable.
My claws dig into the wooden floor, muscles tensing despite the protest of my wounds.
If discovered, I will not die without taking at least one human with me to the afterlife.
Lina sighs, the sound heavy with resignation. "Five minutes. Not a heartbeat more, or I'll be the one feeling your father's displeasure."
"Thank you." The relief in Serin's voice mirrors my own.
The door creaks again as Lina departs, her footsteps receding into the distance.
Only when the sound has completely faded does Serin crouch by the edge of the table, her face appearing in my limited field of vision.
Concern etches lines between her brows, shadows deepening beneath her eyes in the dimming light.
"I have to go," she whispers, her voice tinged with urgency. "I'll bring more food and water as soon as I can slip away."
I stare at her, hating the helplessness that floods my veins. This fragile human female is my only lifeline in hostile territory, my only source of healing and sustenance. Without her, my chances of survival are near zero.
"Halvane," I hiss, the name tasting like rot on my tongue. "He is dangerous."
"I know." She glances toward the door, anxiety clouding her features. "That's why I need to be there. To hear what he and Father discuss." Her hand reaches out, hovering uncertainly before lightly touching the bandaged wound on my forearm. "Rest. Heal. I'll come back as soon as I can."
Before I can respond, she rises and slips through the door, pausing only to whisper a final instruction, "Block the door with something heavy until I can return."
Then she is gone, her silhouette briefly outlined against the deepening twilight before the door closes with a soft click. I lie motionless, listening to the fading echo of her departure, suddenly aware of how vast and empty this small shed feels without her presence.
I drag myself from beneath the table, wincing as fresh pain shoots through my dislocated shoulder. With considerable effort, I manage to slide a heavy sack of soil to block the door. The action feels symbolic. A barrier between myself and a world that would gladly see me dead.
Serin’s scent lingers in the close air of the shed, a ghost of something floral and warm that catches in my throat. I inhale deeply, allowing it to fill my senses before sinking back against the wall. Vulnerable. Alone. Dependent on the return of a creature whose kind I have hated for centuries.
Yet as darkness settles fully over my temporary sanctuary, it is not hatred that coils in my chest, but something far more dangerous.
The first fragile tendrils of something I dare not name curl around a heart that should know better than to trust a human.
Her absence feels hollow, an unexpected emptiness that unsettles me deeper than any of my physical ailments.
I close my eyes, conserving strength, calculating odds of survival that grow more complex with each passing moment. The path forward remains unclear, obscured by pain and necessity and the troubling possibility that not all humans deserve my contempt.