Page 12 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"The naga traitors detonated a device in the palace. Your sister had been invited to dine with the Serpent Crown. I learned later that our ruler, Naryth, was killed.” I flex my claws, remembering the chaos, the screams, the dust hanging in the air. "I had followed one of them, Jarik, suspicious of his movements. I tracked him through tunnels I thought collapsed during the war. He led me to the eastern border." My voice hardens. "That is where I saw General Thorne amassing an army. Dozens of human soldiers were establishing a forward camp, with supply crates marked with your father's insignia."
"I heard them mention something about the eastern garrison," she whispers, her voice shaking beneath the effort to stay calm. "Captain Halvane brought reports from there today. He kept saying they needed to accelerate the timeline." Her eyes meet mine, wide and filled with both fear and stubborn resolve. "They're planning something terrible. An attack on your city. They talked about collapsing tunnels, burying all of Vessan-Kar, including my sister." She presses trembling fingers to her lips as her voice catches. "That’s why I need your help to find her. I need to warn her."
The blood freezes in my veins. The humans would bring the mountain down upon us, erasing what remains of our civilization as thoroughly as they erased what once stood above.
"How soon?" I ask, urgency sharpening my tone.
"I don't know exactly. Halvane wanted to do it immediately, but Father said something about waiting for more intelligence from someone called Zela." Serin's fingers tighten around my tail, her human warmth startling against my cooler scales. "We have to warn your people. Warn Leira."
"We," I repeat, testing the sound of it. This unlikely alliance forged in a garden shed between a wounded predator and gentleprey. "You truly intend to journey to Vessan-Kar with me? To walk willingly into the domain of creatures you have been taught to fear?"
"Leira did," she says simply.
I study her face, searching for deception and finding none. Just that same openness, that same determination that reminds me increasingly of her sister. Perhaps it is a trait they share, this stubborn refusal to behave as humans should.
"Then we will have to travel soon,” I say, "before your father's plan can unfold."
The words have barely left my mouth when a sound slices through our hushed conversation—a sharp, deliberate scuff of footsteps on stone, closer and closer, each heavy step knotting tension in my stomach. Serin’s head whips toward the door, her face draining of color so quickly I can almost see her blood retreating beneath her skin. Terror flares in her eyes, flooding the shed with silent dread.
"Someone's coming," she whispers, voice tight with panic.
The footsteps draw nearer, each crunch of stone bringing discovery closer.
"Hide under the table. Now," she whispers urgently.
In the space of a single heartbeat, I calculate our vulnerability. I am too wounded to fight, and this small, wooden structure offers no secondary exit.
Every instinct rebels at the command. Naga do not cower. We strike or retreat with dignity. We do not hide beneath furniture like vermin. But my battered body offers no alternatives. I cannot fight or flee. With a hiss of frustration that sounds pathetically like surrender, I drag myself backward, scales scraping against the rough wood as I pull my coils into the shadows beneath the sturdy worktable. Serin shoves the satchel of medical supplies after me. Her movements are quick and efficient despite the tremor in her hands.
I barely manage to tuck my tail beneath the table's edge when the door creaks open, spilling late evening light across the dusty floor. Serin straightens with remarkable composure, brushing dirt from her knees as she turns to face the intruder. From my hiding place, I see only the lower half of a human female: practical shoes, a long skirt, hands that bear the marks of regular labor.
"Lady Serin?" The newcomer's voice carries the deference of a servant, though tinged with genuine concern. "What are you doing out here in the dark? Your father sent me to find you."
"Lina." Serin's voice lifts with false brightness that sounds painfully forced to my ears, though the servant seems to notice nothing amiss. "I was just checking for some potting supplies. For the garden project I’m planning."
"At this hour? With no lamp?" Suspicion edges into the servant's tone. My muscles coil tighter, ready to spring despite my wounds if this human female steps closer to my hiding place. "Your hands are filthy, and there's blood on your sleeve. Are you hurt?"
"Oh! No, I—" Serin glances down at her stained clothing, momentarily flustered. "I pricked my finger on one of the old tools. It's nothing."
The servant, Lina, shifts her weight, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. "Well, whatever you're doing will have to wait. Your father wants you for dinner. Captain Halvane is dining with us tonight. You're going to be late, and he's in one of his moods.”
My scales prickle at the name. Halvane. The human called the Harbinger in my lands. The captain, whose arrival heralds only destruction and death.
Serin moves casually to place herself between the servant and my hiding place, a protective gesture that surprises me. "Tell Father I'll be along directly. I just need to put some things away."
I hold my breath as Lina takes a step forward, her skirt swishing against the dusty floor. The air feels thick with tension, pressing against my scales like physical weight. If she discovers me, I have no doubt she will scream, and within minutes, this shed will swarm with armed guards eager to claim a naga's head.
"Lady Serin, you know how your father gets when kept waiting. And with an important guest..." The servant's tone carries a hint of warning.
"Five minutes, Lina. Please." Serin's voice softens, becomes almost pleading. "I need to clean up. I can hardly appear at dinner looking like this."
For one excruciating moment, I think Lina will insist on waiting, will help Serin put things away, and discover the wounded predator curled beneath the worktable. My claws dig into the wooden floor, muscles tensing despite the protest of my wounds. If discovered, I will not die without taking at least one human with me to the afterlife.
Lina sighs, the sound heavy with resignation. "Five minutes. Not a heartbeat more, or I'll be the one feeling your father's displeasure."
"Thank you." The relief in Serin's voice mirrors my own.
The door creaks again as Lina departs, her footsteps receding into the distance. Only when the sound has completely faded does Serin crouch by the edge of the table, her face appearing in my limited field of vision. Concern etches lines between her brows, shadows deepening beneath her eyes in the dimming light.
