Page 5 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
Halvane's hand moves to his side, where I know he keeps a slender dagger strapped against his ribs. "We're not alone," he says, voice barely above a whisper.
I hold my breath, pressing myself flatter against the metal duct. My heart pounds so violently, I'm certain they must hear it echoing through the ventilation system. Sweat beads along my hairline, threatening to drip through the slats and betray my position.
"The walls have ears in this house?" Halvane's voice hardens as his eyes systematically track across the room, pausing on air vents, curtains, and shadowed corners.
“It’s an old house shuddering with age.” Father's expression doesn't change, but I see how his shoulders tighten beneath his tailored jacket. "My staff are loyal."
"Are they?" Halvane moves with deadly purpose now, silent as he approaches the wall directly beneath my hiding spot. His gaze travels upward, locking onto the ornate air-duct grate.
I freeze, not daring to move, not daring to breathe. His eyes narrow, focusing with predatory intensity on the very spot where I lie pressed against cold metal. For one terrible moment, I'm certain he sees me, that our eyes meet through the slats, that he recognizes the fear in mine.
Father crosses the room, placing a restraining hand on Halvane's arm. "Likely just the house settling. These old walls creak with every change in temperature."
But Halvane doesn't look away from the vent. His eyes remain fixed, searching the shadows behind the decorative ironwork. "Perhaps," he says, the word hanging between them like a blade about to fall.
Chapter Two
SERIN
Iinch backward with agonizing slowness, distributing my weight evenly to prevent the metal duct from groaning beneath me. Halvane's gaze remains fixed on the vent, his eyes cold and searching like a predator who's caught the scent of prey but can't quite pinpoint its location. Each movement I make is calculated, deliberate, and the product of weeks of practice navigating the house's forgotten skeleton.
All those childhood years spent trailing after Leira through forgotten passages and hidden tunnels had prepared me for this. Her lessons in stealth during our secret games now serve a serious purpose of intelligence gathering.
When I'm far enough from the grate that the light from the room no longer touches me, I allow myself to move a fraction faster, careful to keep my breathing shallow and silent. The duct widens at a junction, allowing me to turn and crawl properly rather than slide backward. Dust tickles my nose, and I press my sleeve against my face to stifle an impending sneeze. The last thing I need is to announce my location with an echoing explosion of sound.
I take the left passage, mapped over weeks of exploration. These ducts honeycomb the house, a remnant of an ancientheating system, replaced but never removed. I found and memorized them in those desperate days after Leira left.
The memory washes over me as I navigate a tight corner, my hands and knees now moving with practiced confidence despite my racing heart.
After she took my place. Father spoke of her only in political terms:the offering,the treaty seal.Nevermy daughter.NeverLeira.
It had only been a couple of days after she left, and I had stood outside his study, fist raised to knock, when I heard General Thorne's voice filtering through the heavy oak door.
"The worms confirm the detonation was successful. The Serpent Crown has fallen."A pause, thick with satisfaction."Prithas Varok ascends as Sovereign Flame."
My father's reply rolled in as cold as a winter storm."And what of the offering?”
"She survived.”
My knees buckled at those two words. Shesurvived, and I slid down the wall, my breath escaping in a shuddering gasp. But survival wasn't enough. I hungered for every scrap of information about my sister, about her life in the depths of Vessan-Kar, where no human was meant to tread.
That night, I found a small grate behind a tapestry in my room. Curiosity had me pry it open, revealing the forgotten ductwork. Through trial and error, I mapped the system, learning with skinned knees and bruised elbows to move silently. I discovered which passages led where and, most importantly, which vent reached Father's study and the High Council’s chamber.
Others called me soft-spoken and timid, but Leira saw the quiet observer. "You see things others miss, Serin. You listen while others talk. That's its own strength."I never believed her until necessity forced me to use it to gather scraps about her fate.
I pause at another junction, listening intently. The house around me creaks and sighs as evening slides toward night. From somewhere distant, I hear the muffled voices of servants preparing the dining room for the evening meal. No sounds of pursuit. No urgent orders to search the passages.
The vertical shaft looms before me, a two-story drop that connects to the cellar level. This is always the most dangerous part. I edge forward, peering down into the darkness. The metal handholds I discovered on my third exploration are still secure, though slippery with dust. I swing my legs into the opening and find the first hold with my bare foot before transferring my weight.
Climbing down in near-darkness demands absolute focus. My feet probe blindly for each rung, testing its strength before I commit my weight. Halfway down, my foot slips, and for one sickening instant, I dangle by my fingers, legs flailing in emptiness. I swallow a cry, muscles taut as I reclaim the rung.
The thought of Leira pushes me onward. Leira, whom Father discussed her murder as casually as changing dinner plans. She might be developing strange powers. She needs to be warned.
At the shaft's bottom, I enter a horizontal passage to the wine cellar. Here, the ducts, older and brick-built, replace metal. I step more confidently, knowing this stretch rarely carries sound. The exit lies just ahead, through a grate behind a line of dusty, unmoved casks.
With practiced fingers, I loosen the simple latch and ease the grate open, wincing at its soft creak. The cellar beyond is dim, illuminated only by what little light filters through narrow ground-level windows. I slip through the opening and land in a crouch on the packed earth floor, immediately closing the grate behind me.
The air down here smells of damp stone and aged wine, with undertones of the root vegetables stored in the adjacent room.I brush dust from my clothes, my hands coming away gray and grimy. My knees sting from crawling, and my palms bear the imprints of metal grating.
