Page 13 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"I have to go," she whispers, her voice tinged with urgency. "I'll bring more food and water as soon as I can slip away."
I stare at her, hating the helplessness that floods my veins. This fragile human female is my only lifeline in hostile territory, my only source of healing and sustenance. Without her, my chances of survival are near zero.
"Halvane," I hiss, the name tasting like rot on my tongue. "He is dangerous."
"I know." She glances toward the door, anxiety clouding her features. "That's why I need to be there. To hear what he and Father discuss." Her hand reaches out, hovering uncertainly before lightly touching the bandaged wound on my forearm. "Rest. Heal. I'll come back as soon as I can."
Before I can respond, she rises and slips through the door, pausing only to whisper a final instruction, "Block the door with something heavy until I can return."
Then she is gone, her silhouette briefly outlined against the deepening twilight before the door closes with a soft click. I lie motionless, listening to the fading echo of her departure, suddenly aware of how vast and empty this small shed feels without her presence.
I drag myself from beneath the table, wincing as fresh pain shoots through my dislocated shoulder. With considerable effort, I manage to slide a heavy sack of soil to block the door. The action feels symbolic. A barrier between myself and a world that would gladly see me dead.
Serin’s scent lingers in the close air of the shed, a ghost of something floral and warm that catches in my throat. I inhale deeply, allowing it to fill my senses before sinking back against the wall. Vulnerable. Alone. Dependent on the return of a creature whose kind I have hated for centuries.
Yet as darkness settles fully over my temporary sanctuary, it is not hatred that coils in my chest, but something far more dangerous. The first fragile tendrils of something I dare not name curl around a heart that should know better than to trust a human. Her absence feels hollow, an unexpected emptiness that unsettles me deeper than any of my physical ailments.
I close my eyes, conserving strength, calculating odds of survival that grow more complex with each passing moment.The path forward remains unclear, obscured by pain and necessity and the troubling possibility that not all humans deserve my contempt.
Chapter Five
SERIN
My heart races. I slip through the manor's back entrance, every shadow seeming to watch me with accusatory eyes. Rusty patterns of dried blood, Lurok's blood, darken the pale green fabric of my sleeves like a damning confession written across my skin. I press myself against the wall when I hear voices from the study. I hold my breath until they pass. The floorboards beneath my feet creak. I dart across the main hall, past the drawing room, toward my chambers at the far end of the west wing.
Five minutes, I had said to Lina. I have five minutes to erase all evidence of what I've done, of the monster hiding in our garden shed. Of the bargain I struck with Lurok that will change everything.
My bedroom door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it, drawing in deep, shuddering breaths. At first, the familiar space—my floral bedspread, the weathered bookshelf, the desk where I've spent countless hours sketching plants from the garden—should have been a comfort. But in this moment, each detail feels foreign. An ache of disbelief rises as I realize how unchanged things look, even as everything inside me has shifted.
I cross to my washstand in three quick strides, pour water from the ceramic pitcher into the basin, and plunge my hands into its cool embrace. The water clouds instantly with blood. I scrub with frantic intensity, watching crimson swirls disappear down the drain. Not my blood, but naga blood. The enemy's blood, except he doesn't feel like an enemy anymore. Just wounded and afraid, like me.
My nails scrape against my skin as I scrub harder, yet I can still feel the cool silk of his silver scales beneath my fingertips, all mesmerizing and terrifyingly beautiful. Even more unsettling was the deep baritone of Lurok's voice as he told me of my sister, how every word had vibrated through my bones.
The mirror above the washstand reflects a stranger. My face is flushed with exertion, eyes too wide. Hair escapes its pins in wild, dark tendrils. I look guilty, terrified, and nothing like the quiet, obedient daughter my father expects at his table tonight.
"Compose yourself," I whisper to my reflection, just as Leira taught me before formal events. "Shoulders back. Chin level. Eyes soft."
I practice the transformation, watching tension melt from my features. As I shift from panic to calm, I take in what everyone else sees: serene, not troubled. This is the side Father knows. A docile girl, nothing like her fierce sister. The quiet one. The forgotten one.
The perfect spy.
My hands still tremble as I pull the soiled tunic over my head and step out of my loose-fitting pants, letting them pool around my ankles before kicking them aside, then reach into my wardrobe for fresh garments. I chose a modest pale blue dress with long sleeves that falls to mid-calf. The one Father nods at approvingly without truly seeing. I cinch it with the worn leather belt Leira gave me last winter, and keep on the soft-soled shoes that make no sound when I move.
I twist my hair into a simple knot at the nape of my neck and secure it with pins. Each ordinary motion feels surreal after pressing my hands against scaled flesh, after tending the wounds of a creature I've been taught to fear all my life.
A naga.
A real, living naga in our garden shed. Not a monster from childhood stories, but a wounded being with an icy gaze that followed my every movement. His voice rumbled like distant thunder when he spoke of the Threadborn Prophecy.
I sit heavily on the edge of my bed. First comes guilt over what I've done; then determination for what I plan to do, both feelings dizzying. I've harbored an enemy combatant. Relief and doubt intermingle as I remember tending the wounds of a creature who would have killed me without hesitation had my sister not freed him from that cage first. Anxiety prickles as I recall requesting to journey into the heart of naga territory, into Vessan-Kar itself. Now, resolve settles in: I'll go, guided by a warrior who still clearly despises humans, even if he begrudgingly accepts my help.
And yet, what choice do I have? Halvane's cold voice echoes in my memory,Strike now, while they celebrate their prophecy's fulfillment, and we eliminate both their ruler and his queen in one swift operation.
My fingers curl into the bedspread, knuckles whitening. They're going to murder my sister. They're going to collapse an entire underground city. How many hundreds will die? Warriors, yes, but also children, elders, innocents caught in a war they didn't choose.
And Lurok. Strange how quickly my fear of him fled. Pain flickered across his fierce features when he spoke of betrayal. His massive form contracted with each gentle touch of my hand against his wounds. There was reluctant trust in his cool gazewhen he told me of the tunnel collapse, and how he'd sacrificed himself so Leira and two others might escape.
I press my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind my lids. Leira would know what to do. She would already have a plan, actions mapped out with military precision. She wouldn't be sitting here, trembling at the thought of dinner with Father and Captain Halvane.
