35 A Serpent
A Serpent
Elijah stood in the King’s war chamber. These past nights, his dreams had been filled with dark creatures and pits of fire, and now they clung to his waking mind, refusing to relinquish their grip.
The table before him swam in and out of focus, the map of Caerthalyn shifting and warping as if the streets were alive. Shadows twisted across the stone walls, the torches blazing so bright his eyes watered.
Someone was speaking, but their voice came from far away, muffled under the pounding in his ears. Perhaps the tremors had damaged his hearing. That roar of wind had been so loud, louder than any sound ought to be.
Not too loud for us. The whisper curled around his thoughts.
“My King?”
The words came to him from beneath a haze. He blinked hard, forcing his vision to sharpen. Lord Halden Rourke was staring at him.
“Demons are in the city, Your Grace,” the Royal Commander said. “You must give the order to mobilise the Guard.”
Elijah nodded. The motion drove spikes of pain through his temples, sharp enough to fog his vision again. “Which one?”
“Both, Your Grace.”
Black dots swarmed at the edges of his sight. The whispers grew clearer, overlapping Rourke’s voice.
They will fail you. As she did.
Vaelira’s face flashed in his mind, lit by her own fire as she watched the flames devour his father.
Elijah slammed his fist into the stone table.
Pain jolted up his arm, dull and distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
Blood welled from the split skin, running dark over his knuckles.
He watched as it trickled down his wrist.
The doors swung open, and footsteps echoed. Lord Emeric Lereaux entered, his hands clutching something against his chest. His shadow stretched across the chamber floor, writhing across the flagstones like a serpent.
He turned to Elijah, a broad grin spreading across his face. His voice was warm, but the words seemed to echo twice, once off the walls and once from within.
“There will be no need for that.”