[The Malika’s Pavilion—Night—Continued]
The word lingered in the air.
"...Poison."
For a mont nothing moved inside the pavilion. Even the fla beside the bed seed to shrink, its light trembling as if the night itself had heard the verdict.
Levin did not react imdiately.
His hand remained resting over his stomach, fingers slightly curled against the fabric of his robe. His face was calm—too calm—but the silence around him had grown heavy enough to press against the chest.
Naram slowly lowered his gaze again, his hands still trembling faintly above the black tal bowl.
"...Poison, Malika," he repeated, quieter this ti. "And not a common one."
Levin’s eyes lifted, "Explain."
Naram swallowed, forcing his voice to steady.
"The blood did not flow with the spell." He pointed toward the bowl, where the darkened glow still flickered weakly along the runes. "It resisted the reading."
He hesitated before continuing.
"That only happens when the blood carries a foreign essence... sothing that does not belong to the body."
Levin’s fingers tightened, "Can it harm the children?"
The question ca without hesitation.
Not Can it harm .
Not Am I in danger.
Only the children.
Naram lifted his head at once, as if he had expected that question before any other. The fear in his eyes softened slightly, though the tension in his face did not disappear.
"Nothing has been greatly hard yet, Malika," he said carefully.
He looked again toward the bowl, where the darkened blood still shimred faintly beneath the runes.
"If this poison had remained in your body for many more days... we might have seen the first fracture in the life thread."
Levin’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"...Fracture?"
Naram nodded slowly.
"In those who carry life, the blood binds the body and the unborn together. This poison does not strike like a blade... it eats slowly." His voice lowered. "It weakens the bond first... then the womb... and only then the child."
A faint silence followed.
"But," Naram continued quickly, bowing his head deeper, "We have not reached that point yet."
Levin’s shoulders loosened—only slightly. Naram placed his palm over his chest and bowed again, this ti lower than before.
"Malika... I do not know how this poison entered your dicine, and that sha alone is enough for to deserve punishnt."
His voice trembled, but he forced the words out steadily.
"Yet I ask... grant your trust once more." He lowered his head until it nearly touched the carpet. "I swear upon the Lord Urzan, I will cleanse this poison from your blood, and I will make certain the heirs recover their strength."
The tent remained quiet.
Levin watched him for a long mont without speaking, and then he exhaled slowly. "...I will trust you."
Naram lifted his head slightly in relief, but Levin raised a hand before he could speak again.
"But..." His tone changed, colder and sharper. "From this mont on, you will not speak of this to Malik."
Naram froze.
"...Malika?"
Levin’s gaze moved toward the jar of tablets on the table, then toward the dark bowl where the blood still smoked faintly.
"Do not inform him."
Naram hesitated, clearly troubled. "But Malika... the Malik must know. The issue concerns the heirs of Zahryssar. If the emperor learns that poison—"
"I said no."
The words were quiet, but they cut through the air like a blade. Naram fell silent imdiately. Levin stood slowly from the bed, one hand resting over his stomach as he walked a few steps across the pavilion. The lamplight followed him, throwing long shadows against the silk walls.
He spoke without turning back.
"...Every consort in Silthara Palace died from poison. Do you truly believe the enemy will stop now? This poison did not co from the road. It ca from inside Silthara Palace."
Naram’s breath caught.
Levin stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"And the one who placed it... must stand close enough to the Malik to reach his consort’s dicine."
The aning settled heavily between them.
Naram’s face paled.
"...You believe the traitor is soone closer to Malik?"
Levin nodded once. "Yes, and I want that traitor to believe... that his poison is working."
Naram blinked in shock. "...Malika?"
Levin’s lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "If the serpent thinks his fangs have struck true... he will not hide. So we will let him believe he is winning."
Naram hesitated.
"But Malika... this is dangerous."
Levin looked at him again, calm as stone. "Carrying the child of Zerat Karash was never ant to be safe."
The fla flickered harder.
Levin’s voice lowered one last ti. "Prepare the antidote."
Naram bowed deeply, "Yes, Malika."
"And rember..." Levin turned away, his shadow stretching across the silk walls like a dark banner. "Until I say otherwise...the Malik must know nothing."
Naram hesitated only a breath, then bowed once more. "As you command."
He gathered the bowl, the needle, and the powders and left the pavilion quietly. The curtain fell back into place, and the sound of the night wind returned, whispering against the tent like distant voices.
For a mont, Levin remained standing. Then the strength left his shoulders slightly, and he sat back against the pillows with a slow exhale, one hand resting protectively over his stomach.
The tent opened again.
"I heard everything—" Iru rushed inside, his face pale with worry. "Malika... Malika, are you—"
Levin raised a hand gently, stopping him before the words could finish.
"Everything will be fine, Iru." His voice was calm, though faintly tired. "We found it before I lost them."
Iru’s lips pressed together tightly, his eyes drifting toward Levin’s stomach before he bowed his head.
"...Yes, Malika."
He moved closer and adjusted the cushions behind Levin carefully, as if afraid even the smallest movent might cause harm.
"You should rest."
Levin leaned back slowly, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling of the pavilion where the lamplight flickered against the silk.
For a mont he said nothing, then, almost to himself—
"...I wonder what Zer is doing right now."
The wind outside grew stronger, rattling the torch stands around the camp, far away—in the heart of Zahryssar—The night was far less quiet.
***
[Zahryssar Empire — Silthara Palace — Throne Hall — Night]
The great hall of Silthara stood cold beneath the torchlight.
Tall pillars carved with ancient serpent sigils rose toward the shadowed ceiling, and between them burned rows of bronze braziers whose flas cast long, trembling light across the marble floor. At the far end of the hall, upon the raised throne of black stone and gold, sat Zerat Karash.
The Serpent Emperor did not move; his elbow rested against the arm of the throne, his fingers pressed lightly against his temple, golden eyes fixed on the figure standing below.
Cold.
Unreadable.
Dangerous.
Before him stood a young woman in traveling clothes, her head bowed low, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
Aelira Veyrhold, the silence stretched long enough to beco unbearable. Then Zerat spoke.
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
"You entered Zahryssar without a letter of arrival." Aelira flinched slightly. "You crossed the border without sigils."
His gaze hardened.
"You approached my capital without sending word to the court."
Each word fell like a stone.
"And yet... you stand in my hall as if this were a place you may visit at will."
Aelira swallowed, her voice barely steady, "I... I only wished—"
"Do not." The word struck like a whip; her head jerked slightly in shock. Zerat leaned forward slowly, his golden eyes narrowing.
"Do not insult by saying you ca to see your brother."
The air in the hall grew heavier.
"I am not foolish enough to believe that you would arrive the very day my consort leaves for Thalryn... without banner... without escort... without na."
His fingers tapped once against the arm of the throne. The sound echoed through the hall like a hamr on bronze.
His voice dropped lower.
"So I will ask you again."
He rose.
Slowly.
The long cloak behind him slid across the steps like a shadow of scales, and the torches flickered harder as he descended from the throne. Each step carried the weight of a ruler who had crushed armies without raising his voice.
He stopped only a few steps away from her; his gaze fell on her like a blade.
"WHY. ARE. YOU. HERE?"
Aelira’s shoulders trembled. "I... I ant no offense to Zahryssar, Malik—"
His eyes flashed.
"Do not speak of offense; speak of truth."
Silence.
She could feel the pressure of his presence like a storm standing in front of her. Zerat stepped closer. His shadow covered her completely as his eyes narrowed, "You ca without sigils because you did not wish the court to know. You ca without letter because you did not wish my consort to know."
His voice beca almost a whisper.
"And you ca without fear..." A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. "...which ans you believe you have a reason strong enough to stand in front of and lie."
The torches crackled; no one in the hall moved. Zerat tilted his head slightly.
"Speak carefully, Lady Aelira." His golden eyes glowed faintly in the firelight. "Because the next words you choose...will decide whether you leave this palace as a guest...or as a prisoner."
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