Chapter 5
Chapter Five
SERIN
My heart races. I slip through the manor's back entrance, every shadow seeming to watch me with accusatory eyes.
Rusty patterns of dried blood, Lurok's blood, darken the pale green fabric of my sleeves like a damning confession written across my skin.
I press myself against the wall when I hear voices from the study.
I hold my breath until they pass. The floorboards beneath my feet creak.
I dart across the main hall, past the drawing room, toward my chambers at the far end of the west wing.
Five minutes, I had said to Lina. I have five minutes to erase all evidence of what I've done, of the monster hiding in our garden shed. Of the bargain I struck with Lurok that will change everything.
My bedroom door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.
At first, the familiar space—my floral bedspread, the weathered bookshelf, the desk where I've spent countless hours sketching plants from the garden—should have been a comfort.
But in this moment, each detail feels foreign.
An ache of disbelief rises as I realize how unchanged things look, even as everything inside me has shifted.
I cross to my washstand in three quick strides, pour water from the ceramic pitcher into the basin, and plunge my hands into its cool embrace.
The water clouds instantly with blood. I scrub with frantic intensity, watching crimson swirls disappear down the drain.
Not my blood, but naga blood. The enemy's blood, except he doesn't feel like an enemy anymore. Just wounded and afraid, like me.
My nails scrape against my skin as I scrub harder, yet I can still feel the cool silk of his silver scales beneath my fingertips, all mesmerizing and terrifyingly beautiful.
Even more unsettling was the deep baritone of Lurok's voice as he told me of my sister, how every word had vibrated through my bones.
The mirror above the washstand reflects a stranger. My face is flushed with exertion, eyes too wide. Hair escapes its pins in wild, dark tendrils. I look guilty, terrified, and nothing like the quiet, obedient daughter my father expects at his table tonight.
"Compose yourself," I whisper to my reflection, just as Leira taught me before formal events. "Shoulders back. Chin level. Eyes soft."
I practice the transformation, watching tension melt from my features. As I shift from panic to calm, I take in what everyone else sees: serene, not troubled. This is the side Father knows. A docile girl, nothing like her fierce sister. The quiet one. The forgotten one.
The perfect spy.
My hands still tremble as I pull the soiled tunic over my head and step out of my loose-fitting pants, letting them pool around my ankles before kicking them aside, then reach into my wardrobe for fresh garments.
I chose a modest pale blue dress with long sleeves that falls to mid-calf.
The one Father nods at approvingly without truly seeing.
I cinch it with the worn leather belt Leira gave me last winter, and keep on the soft-soled shoes that make no sound when I move.
I twist my hair into a simple knot at the nape of my neck and secure it with pins. Each ordinary motion feels surreal after pressing my hands against scaled flesh, after tending the wounds of a creature I've been taught to fear all my life.
A naga.
A real, living naga in our garden shed. Not a monster from childhood stories, but a wounded being with an icy gaze that followed my every movement. His voice rumbled like distant thunder when he spoke of the Threadborn Prophecy.
I sit heavily on the edge of my bed. First comes guilt over what I've done; then determination for what I plan to do, both feelings dizzying.
I've harbored an enemy combatant. Relief and doubt intermingle as I remember tending the wounds of a creature who would have killed me without hesitation had my sister not freed him from that cage first. Anxiety prickles as I recall requesting to journey into the heart of naga territory, into Vessan-Kar itself.
Now, resolve settles in: I'll go, guided by a warrior who still clearly despises humans, even if he begrudgingly accepts my help.
And yet, what choice do I have? Halvane's cold voice echoes in my memory, Strike now, while they celebrate their prophecy's fulfillment, and we eliminate both their ruler and his queen in one swift operation.
My fingers curl into the bedspread, knuckles whitening. They're going to murder my sister. They're going to collapse an entire underground city. How many hundreds will die? Warriors, yes, but also children, elders, innocents caught in a war they didn't choose.
And Lurok. Strange how quickly my fear of him fled.
Pain flickered across his fierce features when he spoke of betrayal.
His massive form contracted with each gentle touch of my hand against his wounds.
There was reluctant trust in his cool gaze when he told me of the tunnel collapse, and how he'd sacrificed himself so Leira and two others might escape.
I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. Leira would know what to do. She would already have a plan, actions mapped out with military precision. She wouldn't be sitting here, trembling at the thought of dinner with Father and Captain Halvane.
But Leira isn't here. I am. If Lurok speaks true, she now wields fire from her fingertips. She shares the Sovereign Flame’s elemental power through some mystical bond.
That bond has turned my practical, skeptical sister into something even battle-hardened soldiers like Halvane and Thorne are concerned about.
A gentle knock at my door makes me start. Lina's voice filters through the wood. "Lady Serin? Your father is asking after you."
"Just finishing," I call back, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the storm inside me. "I'll be right down."
I rise, smoothing my skirt with hands that no longer shake.
In the mirror, I'm the picture of demure femininity, exactly what Father expects to see.
I practice my placid smile, the one that doesn't reach my eyes but passes for politeness.
I take slow, measured breaths until my racing heart steadies.
No one looking at me would guess the rebellion stirring beneath this calm exterior, or would imagine that I plan to smuggle a naga warrior through forgotten tunnels beneath Valen House.
No one would suspect that timid Serin intends to journey into the heart of enemy territory to warn her sister of impending slaughter.
I lift my chin, watching my reflection harden with newfound purpose. Let them underestimate and overlook me. My silence has always been my armor, and now it will be my weapon.
"For Leira," I whisper to my reflection. "And for Lurok."
Then I turn away, open my door, and step into the hallway with measured steps that betray nothing of the fire burning inside me.
My heartbeat feels too loud in my chest, as if Father might hear it when I enter the dining room.
Captain Halvane's presence makes the air itself feel dangerous.
The moment is taut, like that instant before lightning strikes.
I pause at the threshold. Smooth my dress.
Check my reflection in the gilded mirror.
Nothing betrays me—not a flush to my cheeks, or a tremble to my lips.
"Ah, there she is," Father announces without warmth when I enter. "Captain Halvane, you remember my younger daughter."
The dining room glows with candlelight, flames reflected in polished silver and crystal goblets.
The long mahogany table could seat twenty, but tonight there are only three place settings clustered at one end.
Father at the head, Halvane to his right, and my place across from the Captain, as if I've been positioned specifically to be studied.
Halvane rises with military precision, offering a shallow bow that never reaches his eyes. "Lady Serin. A pleasure to see you again." His scar pulls his smile into something that resembles a wolf baring its teeth.
I curtsy as expected, lowering my eyes demurely.
"Captain Halvane, it's been some time." My voice sounds normal to my ears, soft and unassuming, though beneath my skin, my pulse hammers through my veins like water rushing through a breaking dam.
I wonder if he can smell Lurok's blood on me despite my careful washing, if he can somehow sense the betrayal brewing beneath my placid expression.
"Please, be seated," Father says, gesturing impatiently. His attention has already shifted back to Halvane, as if my arrival was merely a brief interruption to matters of actual importance.
I slip into my chair, arranging my skirts with practiced care. A servant appears silently at my elbow, filling my wine glass with the deep ruby liquid Father favors. I thank her with a small nod, but she's already moved on.
Father raises his glass. "To continued cooperation between our forces, Captain."
Halvane lifts his own. "And to swift resolution of our mutual concerns."
Their glasses clink; mine remains untouched. The wine gleams in the candlelight, red as blood stains I scrubbed from beneath my fingernails minutes ago.
The first course arrives. A pale, creamy soup with delicate herbs floating on its surface, releasing wisps of steam that carry the scent of lemon and thyme. "I trust nothing new to report from the eastern garrison?” Father inquires as I lift my spoon, though my appetite has fled entirely.
"Aside from what we’ve already discussed," Halvane replies, stirring his own soup with methodical precision, watching herbs swirl in the creamy liquid, "I did encounter a patrol reporting missing weapons crates at the southern and western locations.”