Chapter 8 Vaxan
~Vaxan~
“Holy shit. It’s packed like crazy,” Zayn whispered to me—for what good it did in a room full of Basilisks.
The Throne Room certainly was filled to the brim.
So much so, there were even two lines flowing out the door and beyond, through the passageways.
Rows upon rows of circular seating had been conjured specifically for this—three levels of the constructions—and still that hadn’t been enough to accommodate all those who’d taken the time to participate in Exigent Plebiscite.
The votes were being analyzed now. Fortunately, by two Senior Aides, and not my parents. I had been keeping a watchful eye.
Attention kept flicking to Zayn and me. Often, even zeroing in on us with a mixture of assessing airs, sparks of curiosity and intrigue, and warm smiles of admiration.
Through the cacophony of chatter and movement, Norla’s voice reached me with a wisp of her magic carrying it to my ear. “Vaxan.”
I turned toward her throne, and she flicked a black scroll over to me.
I snatched it from the air, holding it between Zayn and me as I scanned the yellow script.
The vote hadn’t been unanimous, but I hadn’t expected that. Our people were in a state of flux, so they wouldn’t all be of one mind where something of this nature was concerned.
But one mammoth surprise greeted me as I took in what had actually been achieved.
More than I’d hoped for.
“Whoa,” Zayn exclaimed. “Ninety-two percent of these thousands here are in your corner, Vax! This is major.”
It certainly was.
There was a prominent mention of Syde not offering his support. Most likely because I’d pulled rank on him yesterday. When those with fragile egos were challenged, they often responded in petty ways.
Norla, though, she had pledged her support. Our discussion had clearly affected her.
“This means what I think, right?” Zayn asked me.
“Yes. The process will happen shortly.” I caught Norla’s eye, registering a signal she was sending my way. “Actually, immediately.”
He tensed.
“I will be well,” I assured him. “You have my word.”
“Well, then I know it’s all gonna be fine, don’t I? Your word is solid as fuck,” he said, grinning at me, injecting levity. For me. He was reading my nervousness well.
Because I knew Norla all too well.
Yes, she’d pledged her support—because she’d had to in order to save face.
But she would ensure I paid for it.
This process could be done privately, where the vibrational resonance of our people would be directed at me and I’d absorb it.
But she would make it public. It had seemed initially that everyone had gathered due to the weight of this matter, this vote, but I’d been too focused on the results and hoping they were favorable to recognize that she could have had them communicate their responses via other means.
I was sure, though, that the general populace—outside of her guards and aides—didn’t realize that was her reasoning.
They really had come to support me, to support my strategy.
And my worry about having an audience that consisted of all our people was that during the agony of the process, I might falter, might not be able to hold steady the way they all knew me to.
I couldn’t show weakness. It would undercut everything.
Especially when I was under no illusions that I’d be able to use that power without consequences afterward—Norla and Syde would come for me.
I needed the support of the people to counter that effectively.
“Vax?”
I blinked. “Well. All is well.”
He laid his hand on my shoulder.
But he didn’t just touch me in an act of comfort—I felt his Ifrit heat pushing into me. Not in a harmful way for my Basilisk physiology, but definitely noticeable, nonetheless.
“What was that?”
He snapped his fingers and I felt him invoking an auditory reduction spell around the two of us. “Think of it like a painkiller.”
“Zayn, I know you wish to help me, but I told you no other magic can interfere with this process. That includes you pushing yours into me with some sort of pain-relieving enchantment.”
“It’s not just my magic. I made it so the spell will do its job, but will also be imperceptible to all this Basilisk vibrational resonance essence stuff that’s gonna come at you.
It won’t impact it. At all. I promise. I’ve been studying hardcore at Loxley Academy for three years, remember?
Win was my best friend and all that too before you and icicle came along. ”
“I… to hide such a thing…” Our eyes locked, and his sparkled as he saw the realization hit me. “Winter. His death magic.”
“Yep. It can make itself imperceptible if you prepare it that way. And it was. In this.” He held up his worry stone bracelet.
“Win imbued a spell in this for emergencies if I ever lost control and started consuming myself with my Ifrit fire. It was a big-time fear I had for a while back when I was all chaos and no calm.”
“Incredible,” I breathed. “You are incredible also.” I grasped his nape and dragged his lips to mine.
Startling us, cheers, whistles, and applause erupted from the crowd.
“Oops,” Zayn said, as we pulled back in our utter surprise.
“It’s all right,” I assured him, knowing he was worried it had undercut me, or some such thing, to have engaged in a public affectionate display.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, my darling little Ifrit.”
He smiled and dropped his auditory reduction spell, then stroked my bicep.
I was clad in my battle gear as with our arrival yesterday, and Zayn was also in the same outfit he’d come in—a little magic had fixed the damage we’d done to each other’s clothes last night in my Royal Chamber.
A reverberating hum traveled through the room—Norla’s royal call that demanded silence.
It happened swiftly, despite the sheer number of those present. They all knew well that the hum would intensify to the point of acute discomfort if she wasn’t met immediately with obedience. It ran on a Basilisk-specific frequency.
The moment silence settled, and those near the area by the thrones were ushered further back to the first row of conjured seating by the guards, the hum ceased.
It didn’t impact me—one such advantage of belonging to the royal bloodline—so I didn’t need to take any time to recalibrate my auditory perception.
That was why the sharp sound of chains clanging reached me like a blade through flesh.
I swung my head in that direction, and she shook them at me, beckoning me over much like the disrespect inherent in somebody crooking their finger at a person. Except in this case, there was more to it than merely disrespect—insidiously so.
I headed over, Zayn holding onto my shoulder.
I felt those intrigued glances, caught a few smiles from the crowd, but otherwise blocked it out, as I made my way toward the large empty space between the thrones and the first row of seating.
Norla handed the chains off to Syde, and then she called her magic and swept it over the centerpoint of the space. A large square tile materialized in the floor right at the site, and she slid it aside with a sweep of her hand.
It was a nexus of the restorative channels that ran beneath the entirety of the Basilisk Dominion.
Every few months, she’d flood them with her power to reinforce the lifeblood of the kingdom, strengthen the intricate architectural fortress that was the subterranean passageway network, also augmenting the protective protocols in the process.
When I was inundated with vibrational resonance from our people in a few moments, at the point of initial contact, there would likely be eruptions that would be harmful to them, yet bolstering for the restorative channels.
As we reached their position beside the nexus opening, Norla snapped her fingers at two of her guards, and they strode toward Zayn. “He cannot prove to be a distraction,” she told me.
“That you’d consider me so weak-minded as to be distracted while undertaking such a significant process insults me, ‘mother’.”
I hissed as the guards reached for Zayn.
Then a collective hiss rang out, coming from the crowd.
It was so fearsome that Zayn spun unsteadily, not taking his hand off my shoulder, though, his eyes flicking every which way.
But he calmed rather quickly when he saw the same as me—the people rising up, quite literally, serpentine eyes drilling into the guards. They did not like the idea of Zayn being manhandled. Of my Chosen being manhandled.
They were exhibiting protectiveness on our behalf, out of deference to me.
Norla signaled the guards to retreat to their respective positions.
And then I conjured a black leather chair with pink crystal legs just off to the side of Syde’s throne. A chorus of approvals rang out, and they intensified when I stroked Zayn’s hair and told him, “There you go, sweetheart.” I winked. “See you in a few moments.”
He hugged me to him, and there was definite struggle on his end, before he managed to release me, and make his way over to the chair.
As he sat down, Syde caught my eye, glaring and making his displeasure known.
I walked to him and snatched the chains. “Stay your hand. You’ll have your satisfaction all too soon with a front row seat to my suffering.”
He sneered, eyed Zayn sitting tensely on the edge of the chair, then moved to Norla’s other side.
That’s right, heel. ‘Father.’
I rounded Norla who stood rigidly beside the nexus opening, saying nothing as I took position, dropping to my knees where I was able to see the entire Throne Room.
I winked at Zayn in a bid to signal him to remain calm, as he was already in a crouched, readied position on the chair, literally very much on edge.
It was all right. He would hold. I trusted in it. He understood the stakes.
More than that, he had faith in me.
A great deal of it at that.
And it had been demonstrated so profoundly to me today that my people did also.
I steadied myself, then placed the chains down beside me.