Chapter 7 Vaxan
~Vaxan~
They said you couldn’t go home again.
I suppose that phrase applied to beings who held fond memories of their upbringing, and those involved—namely, parental figures.
In my case, there was no such nostalgia to be had.
Just a feeling of misalignment.
Perhaps a way to describe it was that nails on a chalkboard sensation—me being the chalkboard, of course.
Stepping foot back in the Basilisk Dominion, particularly the Crown Palace, was nothing more than political puppet theater to me.
In spite of it all, I was actually smiling at Zayn walking beside me, as I held his hand.
Since we’d arrived at the mammoth subterranean labyrinths of black marble and yellow-and-green veined stone, he’d been looking all around in awe.
The regal, cathedral-like curved halls that resembled the interior of a serpent’s coil.
The bioluminescent minerals and alchemical fire orbs that cast a warm subterranean glow.
The walls resonating with the energy he’d recognized as being that which charged the Sunveil enchantments that were infused in an object that each Basilisk wore on their person.
He’d called the Basilisk Dominion “giant, polished, and super aristocratic.” I’d also warned him to refer to the tunnels as passageways, or he’d find himself on the receiving end of a great deal of attitude.
My people didn’t like to think of themselves as residing underground like burrowing prey, but as choosing to craft a majestic and regal kingdom in a safeguarded space. Semantics being what they were.
We reached the heart of the labyrinth deep beneath the Dominion’s primary city, walking the last passageway that would bear entry to the Throne Room of the Crown Palace.
The ceiling curved overhead with a luminous mural depicting a collage of previous impressive battles won by our people. The dark stone floor was glossed and reflective. Gold veining ran in parallel lines along the floor and walls, marking a processional path straight ahead.
As we passed on by another guard wearing an armored breastplate and bracers—a moss green with yellow serpentine markings—standing rigidly against the wall, Zayn gave her a smile and a chin lift.
I’d explained to him that they couldn’t respond, and were to remain effectively motionless, but he continued to do it anyway, being his exuberant charming self.
“What you’re about to hear in here is a political game I’ve been playing to protect us. Things aren’t what they seem, and they can’t be in front of the High Empress and Emperor Consort.”
“You mean your parents?”
“Sure.”
His eyes darted around, before coming back to me. “Are you positive they can’t hear what we’re saying? You know, with Basilisk supernatural hearing being what it is?”
“So long as you remain holding my hand, not a single syllable will be registered.” I was using vibrational resonance to create an imperceptible vortex around us that captured sound waves from any words spoken, and distorted them beyond us.
“Usually you use the regular auditory reduction spell,” he pointed out. “I didn’t know you could do this.”
“Only here. I’m using the makeup of the walls to see to it.”
“That’s really fucking cool, Vax.”
“Why, thank you, my darling little Ifrit.”
He chuckled, just like I’d wanted, needing to take some of the tension away and put him at ease before things… intensified.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “And, just so you know, whatever lies or half-truths you’ve told them, I’ll never doubt that your loyalty lies with the four of us. You don’t need to justify it to me, or warn me.” His eyes sparkled at me. “I’m here for you. Here with you, all right?”
“I know you are, Zayn.” I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. It means a great deal to me.”
I looked him over again. He’d put on a dress shirt just for this—a black and pink marble design, along with a pair of black studded leather pants.
He’d even asked me to style his hair for him more like mine—rigid and without a single hair out of place, not his usual wild and more mussed look.
I’d told him that he didn’t need to perform for them—that was my curse only to bear.
I hadn’t wanted him to feel like he needed to tone himself down.
But he’d insisted that he wanted to “make an awesomely good impression.”
“And just so we’re clear, I do get what it’s like. You and me… we have this shit in common.”
“What’s that?”
“The thing we both play off.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Our parents. That it hurts deep in our bones that they can’t love us the way we need.”
I swallowed.
He nuzzled against me and breathed at my ear, “But fuck all that now that we have each other.” He eased back, grinning. “Am I right?”
A smile spread over my face. “Fuck it, indeed.”
His eyes flashed. Oh no.
He blinked and shook his head to himself. “Shit, sorry. It just really turns me the hell on when you say the word ‘fuck’. It’s so rare and raw, and fucking—”
I pressed my hand to his mouth. “Understood. But I need you to take it down, or I’ll be slamming you up against the nearest surface, tearing your tight little pants off and sinking so very deliciously deep inside you.”
He panted against my hand, his expression blazing.
And then he licked my palm.
Licked me.
As we were walking along in this… hell place… toward what was going to be a considerably trying verbal sparring session ahead.
That was it.
I called my serpentine tongue forth and delivered a slow, hot lick along his jaw.
I pulled my hand from his mouth, smirking at him.
“Seriously? Bringing out that sexy fucking forked tongue when you want me calm? Don’t you think that’s an overreaction to my slight little—”
“Please. There is no such thing as ‘slight’ with you and you know it.”
He chuckled, then brushed a kiss over my forehead, communicating that he was returning to restrained civility, and holding back the rest.
I was sure it would be forthcoming. As soon as we were alone. Correction: the split-second that we were alone.
I drew in a centering breath, while settling my tongue, just as we reached the stone ring opening carved from bedrock. Within were a pair of mammoth interlocking arcs shaped like curved fangs. In their resting state, as they were currently, they met in the middle, fangs crossed.
With a flick of my citrine magic, the fangs coiled back into the walls with an irritating grinding sound that even had Zayn wincing.
We made our way through the opening into the Throne Room itself.
The floor sloped down a little as we walked in, making the thrones at the far end feel even higher.
It was an elongated oval-shaped chamber, a long axis running from the entry to the throne dais.
A vaulted ceiling carved in interlocking rib-like arches ran overhead.
The black mirror-polished floors had gold veins running along them, directing the path onward to the throne area.
And there they were, upon a platform cut from vibrationally-shaped rock, shrewd eyes fixed on us as we drew closer, our footsteps echoing hauntingly through the space.
Norla and Syde Canor.
Seated upon the dark rock thrones, the backs carved like a serpent’s flared hood, the legs carved like coiled tails.
Norla was situated on the right throne facing us, and covered in black leather much like me, a pair of pants etched with raised serpentine markings and a long cloak with a rigid collar done up tightly.
Her hair was just a couple of inches longer than mine, yet a mousy brown.
A crown of thorns encrusted with jewels sat atop her head.
Syde occupied the left throne. He had silky black hair similar to me, yet his was long, falling in waves down his back. He was clad in a pair of loose moss-green pants and a black robe with yellow veins all over it. His crown was far less opulent and shorter also.
“High Lord Heir,” Norla greeted me, as we reached them. A smile would have been too much for her.
Then they both scrutinized Zayn beside me, our joined hands also.
I dropped the auditory safeguard and returned, “Ruling Sovereigns.”
“Son, this is highly irregular,” Syde spoke, gesturing at Zayn.
Son? Hmm, he was nervous.
Interesting.
Norla sat forward. “You are breaking protocol in several different ways. Ways that you seem intent on displaying to our people by approaching through the popularized entrance used by the commoners, instead of merely teleporting in.”
“Oof… commoners, that’s nasty phrasing right there,” Zayn commented, and it was all I could do to fight a smile.
“You are referring to my display of modernity, openness, collaboration, and accessibility to our people? Is that what you intend to demonize?”
“Fine,” was all she said, before sitting back, the signal for me to proceed.
I gestured at her, and told Zayn, “High Empress, Norla Canor.” I directed him to Syde next. “Emperor Consort, Syde Canor.”
The way they stared at him, really bringing forth the intimidation, had Zayn moving to bow. I pressed my hand to his chest and shook my head. “No.”
Norla studied our interaction with a calculated expression, noting me stroking Zayn’s cheek in reassurance to silently convey that he hadn’t made a misstep—it was them pushing him toward taking that action. It was what they did.
“Mr. Riene,” was all he got from her as a greeting.
“Nice meeting you,” he told them sweetly, and with far more politeness than they deserved.
They both gave a slight nod, clearly not sure what to make of him.
Then Norla told me, “In regard to the deference protocol, you are in a different boat, Vaxan.”
“I think not. I don’t believe standing on ceremony for this particular meeting will serve any party well.”
Syde arched an eyebrow. “You wish to speak plainly?”
“Openly without being constrained by ceremonial restrictions.”
He eyed Norla for her permission and she gave a barely there nod.
He twirled his hand. “Fine. As you wish, then.”
“Very good,” I responded.