Chapter 21 #2
They keep a respectful distance from Leira, far enough to give the illusion of privacy, close enough that no threat could reach her without passing through them first. Each warrior carries a curved blade at the hip, and another sheathed along the forearm, the metal edges catching the light with predatory promise.
I try not to stare, but it's difficult when they glide through the corridor with such lethal grace, muscles rippling beneath polished scales, never fully stopping, only slowing to coil briefly before resuming their silent patrol, eyes sharp and alert as they track every shadow and movement around us.
Royal guard, she had said.
The realization lands quietly but firmly in my chest. Leira isn’t just Varok’s bloodmate. She’s naga royalty, and that makes me the ruler of Vessan-Kar’s sister-in-law.
Leira slows and gestures toward a carved doorway branching from the tunnel ahead. “That was our den,” she says.
I follow her gaze. The entrance is marked by two symbols worked into the stone. A stylized spiral flame and a fang split by a streak of lightning.
“Before Varok was crowned,” she adds softly. “We lived there for a short time. It belongs to Sareth now since he’s Prithas.”
Her expression shifts, something thoughtful passing through her eyes, not quite nostalgia but close.
It’s strange imagining my sister living here in these underground tunnels, in a place that feels so foreign and strangely alive.
The doorway looks no different from the others along the corridor, but something about the way Leira studies it makes it feel important.
A group of Talons passes us; their movements synchronized with practiced precision.
Even in what appears to be a routine patrol, they carry themselves with lethal grace, scales gleaming like polished armor in the glow of keh’shalin.
Each bears the same black markings flowing across their powerful frames.
Living calligraphy etched onto their muscular bodies.
I search their faces instinctively, foolishly hoping to glimpse silver scales and pale eyes.
None of them is Lurok. Of course not. He's probably placed himself as far away from me as he can get, back in the war chamber with Varok, planning strategies that have nothing to do with the human female he so thoroughly dismissed.
"Those are one of Sareth's squads," Leira explains, following my gaze. "They patrol the central districts. Security has doubled since the attack."
We continue past a wide alcove where artisans work with strange sheets of translucent material that’s something like glass but alive with movement.
Their scaled hands hover over shimmering panels embedded in the stone wall, coaxing threads of light to dance between their fingertips.
The substance pulses with inner radiance as it transforms from molten river to solid crystal under their touch, leaving patterns that glow like captured starlight against the dark rock.
"Serpentglass,” Leira says. “Communication devices. They're repairing them. Several were damaged from the blast that came from the market district."
Everywhere, I see evidence of the recent attack on sections of wall under repair, Talons stationed at key junctions, and civilians speaking in hushed tones. Yet the overwhelming sense is not of defeat but of determined recovery. Life continues, and the city continues to breathe.
"The market district was the only area they didn’t clear in time,” Leira says as we pass a side tunnel cordoned off with glowing markers. "It did damage to some of the tunnels, but the stone masters are already rebuilding. Varok says Vessan-Kar will be stronger than before."
I try to focus on her words, on the marvels surrounding us, but my mind keeps circling back to that moment in the Flame room. Lurok's cold voice. His dismissal of everything we shared. Just survival. Nothing more.
"—and these archives date back to before the Sundering," Leira is saying, gesturing to an imposing structure carved directly into the cavern wall, its entrance flanked by serpentine columns. "Some texts are so old even the Temple Guardians struggle to translate them."
"Mm-hmm," I respond, not really listening.
I should be captivated by all this, of a human seeing the legendary naga city, walking paths none of my kind have ever trodden until Leira.
Instead, I replay his words on an endless loop.
I do not love you, Serin. I cannot. How easily he erased everything that passed between us in the grotto, in the tunnels, in those terrible moments when the ash pit nearly claimed me.
"Serin?" Leira's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Are you listening?"
"Sorry," I say, forcing a smile. "It's a lot to take in."
Her eyes narrow. She knows me too well to be fooled, but she doesn't press. Instead, she points ahead to where the pathway begins a gentle ascent.
"The palace is just ahead," she says. "You'll be staying close to our chambers."
The tunnel tilts upward, its walls peeling back and the ceiling soaring as the pale blue-green veins of keh’shalin shift to a molten gold that pulses through the stone like living fire.
Ahead, a glare so bright and different from the familiar glow washes over my eyes.
Rounding the last curve, I halt, breath lodged in my throat.
Before me spreads the palace, no mere building but a crystalline forest born of the cavern itself.
Bone-white spires thrust skyward, their multifaceted surfaces catching the golden light dripping from clusters of ethereal flora clinging to the lofty vault.
Those blooms refract the glow into dancing rainbows that shimmer across walls of living stone.
Between the towering spires, channels of translucent mineral weave like veins, pulsing with inner radiance.
They braid through the floor in luminous streams, guiding our steps along shifting carpets of amber and jade light.
It feels less like walking toward a seat of power and more like tending a hidden, breathing organism.
We pass into a vast junction where several tunnels converge in a hall that’s as wide as a cathedral.
Overhead, stalactites hang like frozen flames, each glowing at its own tempo.
Below, the floor gleams like polished obsidian, mirroring every star-bright flicker above so perfectly that I’m certain I’m suspended between twin galaxies.
At the heart of this living palace, a colossal arch unfurls, crystal waves caught at their apex, through which I step, awed by how scale and light have merged to grow a monument more breathtaking than anything carved by mortal hands.
As we climb toward it, a strange pressure tightens in my chest, with nothing to do with my healing lungs.
The scale of it, the formality, the quiet authority of the place, make me suddenly aware of how small I am inside this world of ancient stone and scaled bodies. My humanness feels sharper here, like a flaw revealed under too-bright light.
And somewhere within this city, Lurok goes on with his life, having cast me from it as easily as shedding his scales. The thought twists something hot and vile in my gut.
"This way," Leira says, nodding to the Talon guards who flank the entrance.
They incline their heads respectfully to her—to the Threadborn, mate of the Sovereign Flame—and regard me with expressions I cannot read.
Do they see a hero who helped save their city, or just another fragile human intruding on their world?
We pass through the archway into a grand corridor that stretches before us like a river of polished obsidian.
The walls rise in smooth curves, embedded with veins of luminous minerals that pulse with a gentle rhythm.
Crystal formations thrust from the walls at intervals, their faceted surfaces refracting light into spectral cascades that spill across our path.
"The foundation crystal was set here nearly a thousand years ago," Leira explains, her voice taking on the quality of a tour guide. "Every Serpent Crown since has shaped the palace, guiding its growth from living rock."
I try to focus on her words, to appreciate the millennia of history and craftsmanship surrounding us.
But my mind keeps slipping away, back to the Flame room, back to Lurok's cold dismissal.
Just survival. Nothing more. I bite the inside of my cheek, using the small pain to anchor myself in the present.
Leira stops abruptly, turning to face me. "All right, what's wrong?"
I blink, startled by her directness. "What do you mean?"
"You're a thousand miles away. What happened?"
For a moment, I consider telling her everything, of the humiliation of confessing my feelings only to have them dismissed, and the crushing weight of his rejection.
But the words stick in my throat. Speaking them aloud would make them more real somehow, would force me to fully face what I've lost before I'm ready.
"I'm just tired," I say instead, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my face. "It's been a lot to process. You know, nearly dying, waking up in an underground naga city, learning our father was plotting mass destruction. My mind is still catching up."
Leira's expression softens, though skepticism lingers in her eyes. "Of course. I should have realized." She touches my arm gently. "You've been through more than anyone should have to endure, and I’m pushing you too hard. Sorry, I’m just so happy you’re here.”
I nod, grateful she isn't pressing further, though I know my sister well enough to recognize the temporary reprieve for what it is. She'll return to this conversation when she thinks I'm stronger, more prepared. For now, though, she lets it drop.
"We're almost there," she says, guiding me forward once more. "Your chamber is in the eastern wing, near ours. Varok thought you might appreciate the privacy."