silks and spiders

Chapter Seven – Silks and Spiders

The golden gates of Sunspire swung wide beneath a sky the color of ripe fruit, warm and cloudless. Music floated from the marble towers, and flower petals rained like confetti as the procession entered the capital.

Ysra Vaylen rode at the front in silver-stitched travel leathers, her golden hair pinned with snow-lilies. She tried to keep her back straight, her smile poised, her awe hidden—but everything about Sunspire overwhelmed the senses. It was nothing like the North. No ice. No stone. Just gold and glass and the scent of citrus and power.

Beside her, Alenra shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, staring at the painted walls and spotless streets with narrowed eyes.

"It's too clean," she muttered.

"It's beautiful," Ysra replied, voice low.

Alenra gave a sideways glance. "So is a viper. Until it bites."

Ahead, Prince Alric Marran waited on the steps of the palace, flanked by knights in armor more decorative than deadly. His smile was flawless.

"Welcome to Sunspire," he said, offering Ysra his hand as she dismounted.

She took it. Carefully.

"You shine brighter than the towers," he said.

Ysra blushed, but said nothing.

Behind her, Lord Ceyric greeted the court with the stoicism of a man who trusted none of it.

Queen Anys Marran descended slowly, every movement deliberate. Her dress was cut from obsidian silk, jewels like firelight sewn into the seams. She greeted Ysra with a small, close-lipped smile.

"Lady Ysra. The North has raised you well."

"You honor me, Your Grace," Ysra replied, bowing.

The Queen's eyes lingered—just long enough to suggest something unspoken.

She turned to Alenra and offered nothing more than a nod.

No words. No warmth.

Alenra didn't bow.

The palace was a palace in every sense. Carved balustrades. Mosaics of old kings. Perfumed air and whispering courtiers lining the galleries like vines climbing trellises.

Ysra was taken to her chambers—more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. Polished wood, golden silk, a dressing table with a dozen crystal perfume vials.

Alenra flopped on the bed with a grunt. "It stinks of rose water and politics."

Ysra stood at the mirror, adjusting her hair.

"He's different here," she said softly. "Alric."

Alenra sat up. "Colder?"

"No... Sharper. Like a knife out of its sheath."

"Still think this is what you want?"

Ysra hesitated.

"I think... I have to make it what I want."

Alenra stared. "Just don't forget who you are trying to be."

Night fell like ash over Varlund.

The ruined courtyard was filled with firelight. Serenya Dravari stood before her gathered followers—exiles, mercenaries, ruined knights. Some with swords. Others with only belief.

She wore a rough cloak, her face lit by flame. Behind her stood Maerys and Ser Lior Halvane. Near the broken gate, Garran Duskfall leaned against a column, arms crossed.

"I will not promise you a crown," Serenya said. "I will not speak of destiny or dragons or gods."

Her voice rang clear.

"I offer only this: I am the last blood of House Dravari. The throne was stolen. My family was murdered. My house was turned to ash. And I will take it back."

Silence.

Then Garran stepped forward.

"And what makes you any different from the last dozen rebels I've followed to the grave?"

Serenya met his eyes.

"Because I'm not asking you to die for me. I'm asking you to stand with me. Because if I fall—this fire dies forever."

She turned to the others.

"If you stay, you do so as soldiers of the flame. If you leave, I will not hunt you. But I will remember."

There was a moment of stillness. Then Halvane knelt again.

A moment later, a woman in scarred plate followed.

Then five more. Then ten.

And three left in silence.

Serenya watched them go.

Later, alone in the back chamber, Serenya knelt beside the dragon eggs. Maerys stood over her, arms folded.

"They listened," Maerys said.

"No," Serenya replied. "They believed."

The black egg—the one darker than obsidian—shivered.

Then it cracked. A thin, hairline fracture along the side. Barely there.

Serenya touched it with trembling fingers.

"They'll come for me now," she said.

Maerys smiled.

"Let them. The flame is waking."