Page 54 of Craving His Venom

She closes her eyes, tears slipping free. “And I have you.”

We linger in that fragile embrace, bracing for the dark night that threatens to swallow us. Though I stand at the brink of losing all I once claimed—title, lands, ancestral honor—I cling to the singular light we carry: the unborn child stirring possibility in her womb, and the quiet vow in our hearts that refuses to be crushed.

15

MIRA

Istand at the edge of a clearing beyond Vahziryn’s estate, the early sun still trapped by the jungle canopy so that only a few beams stab through. My pulse hammers with a nervous energy. Talli, the strange and wry jungle witch, circles me slowly, her staff tapping the moist ground. Her presence both unsettles and reassures me—she has a way of knowing secrets I’d rather keep hidden, yet she has pledged her help. Crick leans against a mossy tree, arms folded. He’s come to escort me, or to protect me, or perhaps both.

Ever since Vahziryn returned from the High Nest with the council’s ultimatum, the mood in his domain has been grim. He has a fortnight before final exile. After that, the council will claim everything, leaving us homeless in the outside lands. I should be wracked by despair, but my frustration burns hotter than heartbreak. If we quietly accept their demands, we’ll be forever banished. And once my child is born, I’ll have no place in Nagaland. My child—ours—would grow up rootless, condemned before drawing a first breath.

Vahziryn wanted me to remain hidden, safe from the council. But I can’t bear waiting like some helpless piece on a board. I’mcarrying a life that should exist without fear. So I made a choice: to return to the capital, to stand up before those who deny our bond. I won’t cower while they tear apart everything we built. If Vahziryn wages a war by politics, I’ll fight on my terms—through public defiance, through raw truth.

Talli stops her circling, narrowing dark eyes rimmed with green tattoos. She’s tall, half-wrapped in vines, her skin tinted with the hue of the jungle’s damp air. “You’re certain of this path, child?” Her voice resonates with an ancient timbre, as though she’s older than the twisted trees around us. “Challenging naga law is no small matter. They’ve hammered it into tradition for centuries.”

My tail of nerves—my battered, anxious heart—almost makes me waver. But I inhale the humid air, my palm settling over my lower belly. The morning sickness has mostly subsided for now, replaced by a swirl of determination. “I’m certain,” I say quietly. “I can’t hide when they want to brand my child an abomination. If my presence disrupts their illusions of purity, so be it.”

Crick steps forward, letting out a resigned sigh. “Then we’ll do it right. You’ll need an escort to the High Nest. I know the roads, the guard checkpoints. Talli can help keep the scouts off our trail.”

She raises her staff. “My potions can create illusions of smell, to fool naga senses. Just long enough for us to slip close to the capital. But once you confront them publicly, there’s no more hiding.”

A tremor slips down my spine at the thought of standing in that grand chamber, facing the sneers of the council. I picture them in their lavish seats, ready to condemn anything that doesn’t fit their laws. Fear threatens to surface, but so does a quiet fury. Vahziryn is facing exile alone, tearing himself apart. I won’t let him shoulder all blame. I plan to stake our claim openly, even if it defies reason.

I hold Talli’s gaze. “Help me get there unnoticed, and I’ll do the rest.”

She nods, extending a small pouch of herbs. “Chew these if your sickness returns on the journey. The child in your womb draws strength from you, but it also steals some of your vitality. Don’t faint in the middle of your big stand.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “Thank you, Talli.” Pocketing the herbs, I glance at Crick. “Let’s go.”

We set out, slipping through the winding paths of Vahziryn’s estate. I can’t say goodbye to him; if I do, he’ll forbid this. I left a note, explaining I must do this on my own terms. Even as sorrow grips me at the thought of his reaction, I press forward. My footsteps feel lighter than they should, perhaps because my resolve is the only thing keeping me upright.

Crick leads the way through a tangle of red-barked trees at the far edge of the property, avoiding the main gate. Talli trails behind, occasionally muttering incantations under her breath. She sprinkles crushed leaves that swirl in the air, leaving behind a faint shimmering that dissipates like smoke. If it works, the naga scouts posted along the roads might sense only the wind or the passing of small animals.

The journey to the capital is grueling. We travel mostly by night, resting in hidden hollows during the day. My stomach churns occasionally, forcing me to pause and breathe, but Talli’s herbal remedy dulls the worst of the sickness. Twice, we spot naga patrols weaving through the jungle. Once, a pair of orcs passes a distant clearing. Each time, Talli hushes us and activates her illusions. We slip by undetected. My chest pounds with every close call, but we persist.

After days of cautious travel, the High Nest’s silhouette rises in the distance, its towers piercing the sky. The roads leading there are well-trodden, patrolled by council loyalists. My pulse climbs as we near the outskirts. Talli covers us in one final swirlof shimmering dust, instructing us to keep quiet. We bypass the gates at dusk, scaling a side ridge that overlooks a lesser-known path. Crick pries open a rusted grate, leading us into a disused aqueduct that empties near the city’s lower quarter.

We emerge in the capital’s labyrinthine streets after nightfall, passing through alleyways lit by flickering lanterns. The city hums with activity even at this hour—merchants hawking goods, guards patrolling, naga of every caste flitting about on unknown errands. I tug my hood lower, sensing the stares. A human strolling these streets is a rarity, especially unescorted by a master.

We find a cramped inn near the city’s fringes, dark and unremarkable. Talli haggles for a single room with her potions, and the innkeeper’s eyes glaze over, a sign of mild enchantment. Soon, we slip into a dusty chamber with a narrow bed and a battered table. Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me, but the knowledge of what I must do keeps me awake.

Crick paces, arms folded. “Tomorrow, the council convenes at mid-morning to finalize decisions about territory reassignments. They might finalize Vahziryn’s exile and confirm Velna’s rise if she’s pressing for that.” He gives me a searching look. “That’s your best chance to interrupt them all.”

My throat is dry. “Yes. I’ll reveal the pregnancy to the entire council, leaving them no option but to hear me out.”

He glances at Talli, who rummages through her satchel of herbs. “You’re certain you want to do this?”

I think of Vahziryn, how he once shielded me from every threat, how he bleeds inside at the prospect of losing everything for our child’s sake. “I have to,” I say quietly. “He shouldn’t fight alone.”

Night’s hush stretches across the cramped room. Talli dozes in a corner, staff laid across her lap. Crick volunteers to keep watch, leaning by the door. I lie on the bed, an odd swirl ofdread and excitement twisting my insides. My child stirs faintly, or maybe that’s just my nervous heart. I murmur a silent vow: tomorrow, I’ll stand before the council. Let them see me not as a cringing servant, but as a mother defending her unborn child.

Sleep eventually finds me in ragged snatches. Dawn creeps over the rooftops. We take a sparse meal in the inn’s dim common room, ignoring the innkeeper’s suspicious glare. By mid-morning, we slip from the inn and head deeper into the High Nest’s heart. The wide boulevards climb toward the council’s grand building, a structure carved from pale stone that rises in ornate spires. My palms sweat, remembering how Vahziryn once described it as a lair of hypocrisy.

Crick leads the way, shoulders tense. Talli trails behind me. We attract stares, but no immediate challenge. My hood remains low until we near the grand steps leading up to the council’s hall. Guards flank the entrance, warily eyeing the lines of naga dignitaries streaming in. The day’s session must be a formal tribunal, open to certain spectators.

Standing at the base of the steps, Crick turns. “Are you sure you want to do this alone? Talli and I can escort you inside.”

I swallow hard. “If you both enter, they’ll see it as an invasion from outside forces. Let me go first. If I fail, or if they move to arrest me, then do what you must.” My voice shakes, but I lift my chin. “I’m the one carrying the child. Let them confront me directly.”

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