Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SERIN
The shackles bite into my wrists like cold teeth, metal chewing at the raw rings worn into my flesh over days of captivity.
My legs tremble, muscles burning from hours of standing.
When they finally buckle, I sink to my knees with a gasp of relief that quickly turns to pain as bone meets stone.
The chains rattle, allowing me just enough slack to kneel and press my palms against the slick floor, but not enough to stretch out my cramping limbs or lie down.
I strain against the restraints, desperate to lie flat even for a moment, but the links hold fast. No doubt a deliberate cruelty.
The distinctive hiss of scales against stone makes me lift my head. He's coming back.
The iron-gray naga looms at the entrance to my alcove, his gargantuan frame blotting out what little light seeps in from the corridor beyond.
He’s broad and heavily muscled, each corded bicep and sinew earned rather than ornamental, his scales a dull, scarred iron that looks more like battle-worn armor than living hide.
Nick marks and filed-down edges; a testament to blades scraped too close.
His blunt, severe face is crowned by heavy brow ridges that cast his flat amber glare in perpetual shadow.
That gaze betrays no curiosity or malice, only cold calculation, measuring each heartbeat.
His short, thick fangs, one chipped at the tip, peek from a mouth that parts only for speech, unwilling to waste breath on idle threats.
His tail coils and uncoils with slow, practiced patience, never lashing or trembling, the posture of one accustomed to long, silent interrogations.
A faint tang of scorched metal and old stone hangs around him, underscored by a sharp antiseptic that reminds me of the bitter yarrow tincture our healer used to dab on our scraped knees. There is no chant, no flourish. Only the quiet promise that, for him, pain is purely utilitarian.
His voice scrapes against my eardrums, harsh and guttural. "Awake, human?" The naga's lips curl back, revealing sharp fangs that gleam wetly in the dim light, making my stomach clench. "Good. We have more to discuss."
I swallow, throat dry and raw from screaming. "I've told you everything I know."
"I doubt that." He slithers closer, looming above me, his vertical pupils contracting to thin slits as he studies my face. "Humans always hold something back. It is in your nature to lie."
In one scaled hand, he carries a short rod of dark metal that gleams with the promise of pain.
When he flicks his wrist, blue energy dances along the rod's tip with a sharp, insectile buzz that raises the hair on my arms. My body remembers its touch, muscles tensing involuntarily at the sight.
Each time he traces it through the air between us, my skin burns with phantom agony, as though my nerve endings are already screaming in anticipation of what's to come.
"Please," I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice. "I've told you about the worms, about my father's plans, about everything I overheard."
"Then tell me again." He lowers himself to my level, bringing his face close enough that I can smell the strange, spiced scent of his breath. "Where all did the worms place the explosives?”
"I don't know the exact locations." The words tumble out in a desperate rush. "Only that they're throughout Vessan-Kar. That is what was reported to my father through Captain Halvane.”
He tilts his head, his thick black braid falling heavily over one shoulder as he studies me, his amber eyes dissecting me like I'm an insect pinned to a board. "And the worms," he says, the braid swinging as he leans closer, "how many are there?”
"I don't know how many." I strain against the shackles. "You’re wasting time asking me questions while they plan to bring Vessan-Kar down on your heads. Have you reported my warning to anyone, or are you waiting until it’s too late?”
Instead of answering, the interrogator presses the rod against my hip.
A button clicks beneath his clawed thumb, and electricity courses through me.
White-hot agony locks every muscle tight.
My back arches, head slamming against the stone wall behind me.
The scream tears from my throat before I can stop it, echoing in the small space.
When he removes the rod, I slump forward, chest heaving, vision swimming with black spots. The smell of singed fabric and burned flesh fills my nostrils.
"When I ask questions, you answer them," he says calmly, as though we're having a pleasant conversation. "You do not reply with questions of your own."
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to sob. Instead, I focus on breathing. Deep inhales and slow exhales that carry pain away on puffs of air. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
"Now," he continues, "tell me about the Threadborn.”
I blink up at him, confusion momentarily overriding fear. “Threadborn?”
The rod touches my ribs this time, sending fresh lightning through my nervous system. My teeth clack together, nearly biting through my tongue. The taste of copper floods my mouth.
"Do not play ignorant with me," he hisses when the current stops. "Your sister Leira. The one who bears the Sovereign Flame's mark. The one who controls fire."
"I haven't seen her," I gasp, "not since she left Clavenmoor for Vessan-Kar. Please, I don't—"
"But you heard things," he interrupts, amber eyes narrowing. "In your father's study. From his officers. About her new... abilities."
I nod weakly, desperate to avoid another shock. "Only rumors. That she... that she burned a man. Turned him to ash with her hands."
The naga's expression shifts, something like hunger flashing across his reptilian features. "How? Describe it."
"I don't know how. I wasn't there." My voice cracks with exhaustion. "Captain Halvane mentioned it to my father. That's all I know.”
He hovers before me, his massive tail creating a living barrier between me and the alcove's entrance. "And where is she now? Where does the Sovereign Flame keep his human pet?"
“I don't know." I close my eyes, bracing for the inevitable punishment. "When I brought Lurok here, I was searching for her myself, to warn her about the worms before they set their plan into motion."
The rod touches my shoulder blade, holding there longer this time. White light explodes behind my eyelids. I hear screaming as though from a great distance, not recognizing my own voice. When awareness returns, I'm slumped forward, kneecaps digging into the cold stone floor.
"Disappointing," he murmurs. "I had hoped for more. Listen carefully, human," my interrogator hisses, leaning close again. "Your continued existence depends entirely on your usefulness. So far, you have been... marginally useful."
He traces the rod along my jawline, not activating it but letting me feel the cold metal against my skin. I fight the urge to flinch away, knowing it would only amuse him.
"When I return, I expect you to remember more details about your sister's abilities, about the Sovereign Flame's movements, about anything that might interest me.
" His forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air near my face.
He straightens to his full height, towering over my kneeling form.
"Think hard while I am gone, because your value diminishes with each passing hour. "
"Please," I whisper, gathering what little courage remains in my battered body. "What of Lurok... is he alive?"
The naga pauses at the entrance to the alcove, glancing back over his shoulder. For a moment, I think he might answer. Instead, he makes a chittering sound that I realize is laughter.
"Your concern for the traitor is... amusing," he says. Then he slithers away, leaving me alone with pain and fear and the steady drip of water from an unseen source.
I scramble to my feet and wrap my fingers around the cold links, following them to where they disappear into the wall.
The metal pin securing them looks ancient but unyielding, embedded deep in the stone.
I brace one foot against the rough wall and pull with everything I have, the chain biting into my palms. The pin doesn't shift even a hair's breadth.
My shoulders scream in protest, wrists bleeding where the cuffs have rubbed them raw.
"Save your energy."
A voice cuts through the silence like a blade. I whirl around, vision swimming, my heart slamming against my ribcage. There, where only shadows existed a moment before, coils a figure, as if conjured from the gloom itself.
"Basilyx lead is unyielding unless you wield the same fire element as your sister."
I recoil instinctively, chains rattling as I press my back against the cold stone wall, as the female naga glides forward.
Unlike my gray-scaled interrogator, she moves with fluid grace, her golden eyes narrowing as they meet mine through the tangled curtain of my dirty hair.
Her nostrils flatten as though my human scent offends her.
I meet her gaze, too exhausted for fear, too tired for defiance. Whatever new horrors she brings, they can hardly be worse than what I've already endured.
Without warning, she flicks her wrist, and something small arcs through the air. It lands with a soft clink at my feet. The key is metal worn smooth with age and use, a simple shape that promises freedom.
I stare at it, uncomprehending, certain this must be some new form of torture. Hope dangled before me only to be snatched away.
"Follow the rightmost tunnel," she whispers, her voice hushed but clear, devoid of the harsh contempt I've come to expect from my captors. "It leads away from the TrueCoil labyrinth and toward the surface."
She turns away, her russet scales flashing like liquid copper in the dim light as she glides toward the shadows beyond my prison.
"Wait," I call, my voice raw after days of screaming. "Why?”