Page 45

MIRA

T he day of the tribunal arrives in a haze of jittery dread and determined resolve.

I wake in the same cramped chamber where the council has confined me, heart hammering even before consciousness fully claims me.

My dreams were turbulent—scenes of the council dais looming, of Vahziryn reaching for me while serpentine shadows tried to yank me away.

I sit up on the thin cot, cradling my still-aching body.

My stomach turns, but I force the nausea down, reminding myself of the child in my womb who needs me calm and focused.

Sunlight trickles through a barred window, casting stripes on the floor.

Outside the city hums with an undercurrent of tension, as though the entire High Nest braces for confrontation.

Word must have spread that there would be a public hearing.

I sense a crowd forming even now—nobles drawn by scandal, merchants seeking gossip, a restless populace yearning for a show.

The council thrives on spectacle, and we’re about to give them one.

I stand, resting my hand over my abdomen as another wave of nerves surges. The child feels like a quiet presence within me, giving me strength. I whisper a silent promise: I’ll fight for us. No matter the cost.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

I cross the cramped space, footsteps echoing on cold stone.

When I pull it open, Talli stands outside, staff in hand, her eyes grave.

She’s tall, with sinuous limbs partly covered in vine-like tattoos, hair coiled up in a messy knot.

Behind her, Crick waits, arms folded, half-blood scales glinting in the dim corridor.

A single guard lingers near the intersection, pretending not to notice us. Likely Talli or Crick bribed him again.

Talli’s voice emerges low. “They convene soon in the main hall. The entire nest will have eyes on you.” She lifts her staff slightly. “Are you ready?”

My throat feels dry, but I nod. “I have to be,” I answer, stepping into the hallway. Crick gives me a small, encouraging nod. His mismatched scales and the scar on his chin speak to a life of conflict, but his loyalty has never wavered. We walk together, each step echoing in the hush.

Vahziryn is supposed to wait in a separate holding area.

The council wants to ensure we don’t coordinate a surprise.

As if we haven’t already declared our love before the entire city.

I ache to see him, to feel his steady presence coil around me in silent reassurance, but I can’t.

We must enter the hall from different sides, like two defendants in a monstrous trial.

When we reach a large archway, the guard from earlier blocks Talli and Crick from proceeding.

Talli gives me a swift look, her expression hinting at quiet pride.

Crick rests a hand on my shoulder, leaning in close.

“Show them you’re not afraid,” he murmurs, voice firm.

“We’ll be right here if things turn dire. ”

I manage a tight smile, then push forward alone.

The corridor soon opens into the council’s grand chamber, a circular arena lined with tall columns.

Colored light streams in from stained-glass windows overhead, painting the floor in swirls of blue and gold.

Rows of naga fill the perimeter, whispering among themselves—nobles in fine robes, lesser officials with simpler garments, some half-bloods on the edges, curiosity burning in their stares.

At the center, the dais stands raised, where the councilors perch on carved seats shaped like serpents.

Lady Velna sits to one side, elegantly robed, her green scales glinting.

She levels a disdainful glare at me as I enter, chin lifting in faint triumph.

She believes she’s orchestrated our downfall.

I force myself to hold her gaze, refusing to shrink.

My heart leaps when I spot Vahziryn across the chamber.

He stands tall, black scales and broad shoulders tense with coiled energy, arms folded over his chest. The faint lamplight picks out the sharp angles of his face and the reflective gleam in his golden eyes.

Though stoic, I sense an undercurrent of worry in the flick of his tail.

He inclines his head a fraction, a silent greeting.

I respond with a brief nod, chest flooding with warmth.

Even separated by a sea of onlookers, we stand together.

A herald in elaborate robes steps forward, banging a long staff on the floor. “The council convenes to address the matter of Vahziryn’s alleged violation of naga purity laws and the presence of his human consort, Mira, carrying a half-breed child. Let all bear witness to this tribunal.”

A rustle of movement sweeps through the crowd. My limbs tremble, but I move to the center of the floor, lifting my chin. Vahziryn mirrors me from the opposite side. Our gazes lock, bolstering my courage.

Silver-Scaled Councilor stands, addressing the assembly.

“Vahziryn has already forfeited his territory and rank, accepting exile. Yet the issue of the child remains. The mother insists on challenging our laws, claiming the unborn life should be recognized. We, the council, find this ridiculous, but we agreed to a public hearing.”

Murmurs and hisses ripple, some outraged, others intrigued.

My pulse races. I think of the child’s fluttering presence in my belly, drawing in a shaky breath.

Then I speak, forcing my voice to carry across the hush.

“You condemn us without truly hearing our plea. This child is not an abomination. I stand here to prove that our union—our bond—is not a violation, but something your laws fail to encompass.”

Velna rises, tail flicking in agitation. “Your bond is nothing but a stain on naga honor. You dare to claim otherwise? Show us how you intend to prove your union is legitimate under ancient law.”

An older councilor with jade-green scales nods. “Yes, what more can you say? You’ve defied the simplest of traditions. The child’s existence is a threat to our race’s identity.”

My throat tightens with fury. “A threat? Are you so fragile that one half-breed child shatters your entire society? I refuse to accept that cruelty is your only path. If your laws have a space for new forms of bonding, let us stand on that ground.” I recall a snippet Vahziryn told me about archaic rituals once, how there was a deep tradition of venom sharing for those deemed worthy.

Velna sneers. “You spout nonsense. Our laws demand rigorous rites for a union to be recognized. You have not performed them. And to attempt them now is laughable—you cannot possibly endure the venom challenge.”

The venom challenge. My heart pounds in recognition of that term.

Vahziryn mentioned it once as a near-forgotten rite, something only done in myth or ancient practice.

But it’s a legitimate path, if horrifying.

My gaze snaps to him, and I see the flicker of alarm in his eyes.

He must fear for me. Still, I step forward, the crowd parting around me.

“Then let me do it,” I say, voice resonating with the hush.

“If your law demands a venom rite to sanctify our union, I claim that right. Show us you truly abide by your ancient codes. If I survive, you must accept me as his mate. If not...” My words falter, dread crawling up my spine. “Then so be it.”

A stunned silence grips the hall. Even the council appears taken aback by my boldness. Velna’s lips twist, eyes widening. She tries to speak, but Silver-Scaled Councilor hushes her, intrigued.

“Do you realize the venom challenge kills nearly any outsider who attempts it?” he asks, voice dripping with cold cynicism. “You gamble with your life and that of the unborn child.”

My knees threaten to buckle, but I recall the raw devotion in Vahziryn’s eyes. The child stirs inside me, a silent plea that we refuse to live in shame. “I do,” I whisper. “I choose it anyway.”

A tumult of whispers surges among the audience.

Some appear horrified, others enthralled by the possibility of such a spectacle.

Jade-Scaled Councilor regards me with a calculating stare.

“If you fail, we rid ourselves of this half-breed scandal. If you succeed... well, ancient law might force our hand to acknowledge your bond. A cunning gamble.”

Vahziryn storms forward, tail lashing. “No,” he growls, glaring at me. “I won’t let you do it. We can find another way.”

My heart twists at his protest. I meet his gaze, voice trembling but firm. “This is the only way to break their condemnation, the only way they’ll stop calling our child a crime. If you truly want our union recognized by their archaic rules, let me try.”

He inhales sharply, anguish carving lines into his face. “I can’t watch you die,” he whispers, tail coiling around my waist in an almost pleading gesture. “It’s too dangerous, especially while you carry the baby.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I hold steady. “I love you. I love our child. We either stand openly in their laws, or we remain fugitives forever. This is my choice.”

Velna snorts, crossing her arms. “How touching. But will the council truly allow such an ancient rite? The venom challenge is near-forgotten, and we have no guarantee it still stands.”

Silver-Scaled Councilor lifts a clawed hand.

“The law stands. We cannot deny a challenge if one is declared, even if we consider it a relic. Let the record show the human woman requests the venom rite.” He eyes me with a grim look.

“So be it. You drink his venom in front of us all, and if you survive, ancient law compels recognition of your bond. If you perish, the matter is resolved.”

My insides churn, terror thrashing. This is more public than I ever wanted—my potential death turned into a spectacle. But I recall Talli’s confidence in me, the child’s unwavering presence, and the vow I made to Vahziryn. I nod, swallowing my fear. “I accept.”