Chapter 5 #2
I keep my expression neutral, though my pulse quickens. Is Leira involved? I lift my spoon. The soup cools against my lips. I take a careful sip, the creamy liquid lingering in my mouth. I swallow slowly, hiding my interest.
"Odd," he says, lifting an eyebrow. "They are certain, or simply miscounted?"
Halvane's voice drops to a lethal purr, the sound of a blade being slowly unsheathed in darkness, "The serpents have been more active since the bombing. The treaty hasn't contained them as effectively as hoped."
Father's silverware scrapes against fine china. "The treaty was never intended as a permanent solution, merely a... strategy."
I stare at my plate, fighting to keep my breathing even. The treaty, my sister's sacrifice, was nothing but a tactical move in their eyes. Not peace, not even a genuine attempt at it. Just a way to buy time while they prepared something worse.
"Speaking of strategy,” Halvane says after the main course has been served, of roast pheasant with autumn vegetables I can barely taste. "How soon after Zela has spoken, shall we carry out plan B?”
"We'll need to coordinate with our assets inside," Father says, dabbing at his lips with a linen napkin. "Ensure they're clear of the collapse zones before detonation."
Father must be referring to the worms. The naga traitors Lurok spoke of.
I spear a roasted carrot, bringing it to my lips as if I'm only interested in my dinner, not in the casual discussion of mass murder happening across the table. Inside, I'm screaming. Outside, I chew thoughtfully, my face a mask of perfect indifference.
Halvane's lip curls with distaste. "Personally, I wouldn't waste the effort. They've served their purpose."
"Perhaps," Father concedes, "but I prefer to honor agreements when practical. Besides, several still provide valuable intelligence."
"And the timing?" Halvane presses, leaning forward slightly. "General Thorne believes we should move immediately.”
"As you have already said. But we both know General Thorne tends to exaggerate. As for Zela. I will hear what insight she has for me in the morning.” Father swirls the wine in his glass, studying the way light plays through the liquid.
“For now, since the General is so demanding of an answer.
Plan for the end of the week," he decides finally.
"Five days from now, unless you hear from me otherwise.
That allows time for our operatives to report any complications arising from the recent events, and for final reinforcements to reach the forward camps. "
Five days. The knowledge settles like ice in my stomach. Five days until they collapse the tunnels of Vessan-Kar, and bury my sister alive along with hundreds of naga.
Halvane's fingers drum once against the tablecloth, a gesture of disagreement too subtle for Father to notice, but clear to my watchful eyes. "The sooner we conclude this operation, the better. Five days it is."
I focus on cutting my pheasant into ever-smaller pieces, moving food around my plate while my mind races. Five days to warn Leira and somehow get Lurok, wounded and barely able to move, back to Vessan-Kar through enemy territory. It seems impossible.
As they continue talking, their voices fade to a distant hum in my ears.
I think instead of Lurok, bleeding in our garden shed, of the promise he made to guide me to my sister.
I calculate distances, trying to remember how long it took messengers to travel between our lands during the truce negotiations.
Too long, far too long for someone injured as badly as Lurok, following his tunnel that has already collapsed at one end.
Unless...
The memory surfaces like a bubble rising through dark water: Leira and I as children, crouched in the hallway outside our bedrooms, lifting the hatch hidden beneath the ornate runner.
The entrance to the scout tunnel we'd discovered by accident.
The way it had stretched into darkness, cool air flowing from its depths, carrying strange, earthy scents.
We'd dared each other to venture deeper, giggling nervously until fear drove us back to the safety of candlelight and bedtime stories.
That passage still connects to the network of tunnels leading to naga territory. To Vessan-Kar and Leira.
My fingers drum against my thigh beneath the table, my legs suddenly restless with the need to check the tunnel, to prepare supplies, to do something other than sit here while they plan mass murder. I scrape back my chair with more force than intended, gaining the attention of both men.
"I'm sorry, Father. I have a slight headache. May I be excused?"
He waves a dismissive hand. "If you must. We have important matters to discuss."
I rise, curtseying to both men. "Goodnight, Father. Captain Halvane."
Halvane nods, already turning back to Father before I've fully straightened. Just as well. Let them dismiss me, forget me, underestimate me. I remind myself that their indifference is my greatest advantage.
I walk from the dining room with measured steps, keeping my pace unhurried until I'm beyond their sight. Only then do I allow urgency to quicken my stride, my soft shoes silent against the polished floors as I make my way toward my bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I stand for a moment in the darkness, my back pressed against the solid wood. Dinner's revelations still churn inside me like poison. I close my eyes, willing my rising panic to lessen.
I don't light a lamp. Instead, I move to the window by memory, drawing the heavy curtains closed against any watchful eyes. The manor has too many servants and guards whose loyalty belongs to Father. Someone might report the light in my room burning unusually late.
I sit on the edge of my bed in the darkness, still fully dressed, and wait.
My ears strain for every sound of the distant murmur of Father and Halvane's voices as they retire to the study for brandy and further plotting, the soft footfalls of servants completing their evening duties, the rhythmic patrol of the Crownward Guards along the exterior walls.
The waiting is its own kind of torture, but I've always been good at waiting.
I sit quietly while the world moves around me.
The dinner conversation repeats in my mind, each casual mention of collapse zones and detonations making me feel ill.
I think of Leira, fierce and proud, walking into naga territory believing she was securing peace.
And Lurok, what must it be like to discover your own kind has betrayed you?
To wake in enemy territory, wounded and alone?
Strange how quickly he's transformed in my mind from fearsome monster to.
.. something else. Something wounded, yes, but also dignified. Proud even in his vulnerability.
The manor creaks and sighs around me as it settles for the night, each sound a question mark punctuating my racing thoughts.
Through my window, I glimpse the moon rising, casting silver light across the garden.
From here, I can just make out the dark shape of the potting shed where Lurok hides.
Is he sleeping? Or does he lie awake as I do, planning our next move and calculating the odds of survival?
I wait until the hall clock chimes midnight, until the final servant has retired, and the guards have completed their indoor sweep.
Only then do I slide out of bed and move to the washstand, where I left the tinderbox.
My hands are steady as I strike the flint, lighting a small lantern.
I adjust the flame to its lowest setting, just enough to see by without casting telltale light beneath my door.
The gentle glow illuminates my childhood bedroom: the bookshelf stuffed with pressed flower specimens and nature journals, the desk where I've spent countless hours sketching plants, the wardrobe filled with modest dresses in soft blues and greens.
Everything so familiar, yet suddenly foreign.
After tonight, I may never see this room again.
Lantern in hand, I slip into the darkened hallway, my pulse a thunderous drumbeat in my ears.
I freeze, listening for any whisper of movement in the shadows.
Nothing. Releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, I creep toward the ornate runner that stretches down the corridor like a river of hand-tufted roses and lilies frozen in midnight wool.
My knees press against the cold floor as I set the lantern down, its golden light barely kissing the walls.
With trembling fingers, I trace beneath the runner's edge until I find it, the nearly invisible seam Leira and I discovered so many years ago.
One quick tug at the depression in the baseboard, and the hidden panel lifts with a soft, betraying groan that seems to echo through the silent manor, revealing a hungry darkness below.
I hold the lantern closer, its light spilling into what was once our secret playground. The passage Leira and I discovered as children, the one we played in without Father's knowledge.
Cool air rises from the opening, carrying the scent of earth and forgotten things. I lower the lantern farther, illuminating rough stone steps descending into shadow. They look narrower than I remember, steeper somehow, though I've grown since I last ventured down them.
For a moment, fear clutches at me. The darkness below seems absolute, hungry, waiting to swallow me whole. I push the fear aside. Leira wouldn't hesitate. And neither will I.
I begin the descent, lantern held before me like a shield against the darkness.
My free hand finds the coarse rope dangling beneath the panel.
I tug firmly on the rope, guiding the trapdoor closed above me.
It settles with a soft thud, the attached runner falling perfectly back into place, concealing the entrance while dust motes dance in my lantern light.