Master Phung lowered the scroll, his parchment-dry throat clicking. “And within it rests the Heart of the Dominions. A massive, unstable toxin crystal. Disturbed, it could turn the islands to dust.” Zayar’s pupils contracted, his knuckles whitening on his carved cane. “A toxin crystal that could level the islands? And Myat led them straight to it? That foolish, grasping viper!” He slammed a fist on the heated jade, making the tea cups jump. “She would sink the islands for a handful of silver!” Tuyen stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips. The sudden noise had interrupted the perfect hum of the floor heating, and now her cheek felt cold. She burrowed deeper into the Silk-spider silk blanket, a faint lavender scent still clinging to the fibers from the Rot-Blight mist she'd inhaled. “Too… loud,” she murmured, batting at the air with a half-hearted paw. “And… chilly. Where’s the sun?” Zayar’s gaze snapped to her. He knelt instantly, his expression softening to worshipful adoration. “Forgive me, my tranquil Lotus. Your husband’s boorish outburst has disturbed your sage contemplations. You require warmth? Sunlight? It shall be yours.” He turned to Master Phung, his voice now a low, dangerous rumble. “The seat of the Venom Lords, Ixia, sits directly atop a volcanic vent. They bask in perpetual, artificial warmth. We shall bring the Lotus her sunlight there. And her peace.” Master Phung swallowed hard. “Lord Zayar, Ixia is heavily fortified. Its sky-harbors bristle with siege ballistas, and the Sunken Crypt itself is rumored to be impregnable, guarded by ancient wards. A stealth infiltration remains our sole hope.” Zayar merely smiled, a predatory flash of teeth. “Stealth? For the Lord of the Monsoon Fleet? And the tranquil, all-knowing Mistress of Poisons? Nonsense, Elder Phung. We shall not sneak in. We shall *arrive*. In broad daylight. With sufficient pomp to humble every self-proclaimed Venom Lord from the Jade Coast to the Obsidian Reefs.” He rose, pacing with renewed vigor. “Prepare the Grand Cerulean Litter. The one woven from deep-sea silk and crusted with trench-pearls. Have a dozen immune attendants carry it, padded with three layers of plush Cloud-moss. We will make an entrance they will never forget.” “And the harbor batteries?” Master Phung asked. “The venom mortars, the Sea-Wyrms below, the Sky-Scourges circling the thermals?” “My fleet will handle the wyrms and scatter the scourges,” Zayar said, waving a hand. “As for the harbor mortars…” He tapped an index finger against his lip. “My Lady,” he addressed Tuyen, whose soft snores were now the only sound in the room, “Your brilliant strategy for turning their observation posts blind during our crossing… truly inspired. How should we counter the southern gates, my Lotus?” Tuyen mumbled something about finding a “fluffy cloud” and “not so much… scratchy… leaf-stuff.” Zayar’s eyes gleamed. “Fluffy clouds! Of course! Elder Phung, contact my Admiral, Captain Roric. Instruct him to deploy the fleet’s new ‘Nimbus Sails.’ They generate a dense, localized fog bank capable of cloaking our approach and disorienting enemy fire. And the ‘scratchy leaf-stuff’ refers to the briar-lines strung outside the perimeter. Ingenious! We will send demolition sappers to sever the tripwires, clearing the path.” Master Phung stared, speechless. He had witnessed Tuyen’s “tactical brilliance” firsthand during the tea ceremony, but even he had to admit, the Nimbus Sails and remote detonation of Razor-Leaf traps were inspired. He bowed, a new deference in his posture. “As you command, Lord Zayar. The Mistress of Poisons’ wisdom is truly boundless.” *** The Grand Cerulean Litter resembled an airborne treasury, borne aloft on padded spruce poles by twelve hulking retainers whose shoulders bore the laden silk and freshwater pearls. Around them, the capital was a chaos of muffled alarms and bewildered shouts. Zayar’s Nimbus Sails had indeed worked, blanketing the sky-harbors in a thick, swirling mist that blinded the battery gunners. From the deck of his flagship, the ‘Ocean’s Embrace,’ Zayar watched with satisfaction as Captain Roric’s forces swept aside the last of the Sky-Scourges, their wings tangled in the misty currents. Inside the palanquin, Tuyen was oblivious. The Cloud-moss lining was indeed soft, and the rhythmic stride of the bearers proved remarkably soothing. She dreamed of sun-drenched beaches and warm, lapping waves, occasionally letting out a contented sigh. Zayar, seated opposite her on a cushion woven with gold thread, consulted with Master Phung, his ear perpetually cocked towards Tuyen’s soft murmurs. “The outer wards have been breached, Lord Zayar,” Master Phung reported, consulting a small, polished obsidian tablet. “The Razor-Leaf traps are neutralized. We have clear access to the Royal Enclave.” “Excellent,” Zayar whispered, careful not to disturb Tuyen. “And the next phase, my Lotus? Any further insights into the Ven-Lord’s inner sanctum?” Tuyen, half-dreaming of a particularly soft patch of sand, exhaled slowly. “Warm… sand… no… no tiny… prickles…” Zayar gasped. “No tiny prickles! Elder Phung, the Royal Enclave is notorious for its concealed pressure-plate traps, designed to release concentrated bursts of Barbed-Ash, a paralytic irritant! My Lady is warning us! We must disable them. Send a team of Arcane Sifters ahead, they’ll detect the resonance points.” Master Phung, already accustomed to Tuyen’s prophetic mumbles, nodded without question. “At once, Lord Zayar.” The gilded carriage glided unimpeded through the chaos, past the shattered outer gate, and straight toward the Sunken Vault—a cavernous maw of black basalt swallow-nested into the volcanic bedrock. The doors, once thought impenetrable, now hung ajar, twisted by what looked like a crude explosion. Zayar frowned. “Myat,” he growled under his breath. “She moves with a speed I did not anticipate.” They crossed the threshold into an echoing hall carved from cold basalt. The air carried a copper tang of suspended mineral vapor. Chill drafts swept the flagstones. Tuyen shivered, a tiny frown marring her peaceful sleep. The Cloud-moss was no longer enough. “The Heart,” Master Phung whispered, pointing ahead. A faint, malevolent crimson glow pulsed from the center of the vault. “She tripped the warding seals.” A pale haze hissed through the floor grates. Zayar stumbled, his knees locking as leaden numbness locked the sinews in his calves. He dropped to one knee, barely able to breathe. Master Phung gasped, clutching his throat, his robust frame crumpling to the cold stone floor. A potent neurotoxin, swiftly released and already overwhelming their immunity. Myat’s work. From the deep shadows near the altar, three figures stepped into view. Lord Viper, his face a sneering mask of triumph, and Lady Hemlock, her serpentine eyes alight with malice. Behind them stood Myat, her face flushed with vindictive satisfaction. “Fools!” Lord Viper’s voice boomed, distorted by the vault’s acoustics. “Did you truly believe you could stroll into Ixia and seize the crystal? Myat warned us of your route, and your gaudy carriage heralded your arrival directly into our jaws!” Lady Hemlock cackled, a dry, rustling sound. “The crypt's wards release the Viper’s Kiss, an aerial draught that stiffens the marrow. Even your conditioned blood cannot process this density. And as for your lazy bride… she will sleep her way to the executioner’s block!” Myat stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the glowing crimson crystal, then on Zayar’s struggling form. “This is what happens when you spurn your rightful bride, Zayar! Now, both the Heart and your pathetic kingdom will be mine!” She raised a hand, ready to claim her prize. The crimson glow from the Heart of Champa-Xan intensified, bathing the vault in a pulsating, angry light. The dim hush of the vault shattered into a glaring red haze. A long, exasperated sigh escaped Tuyen’s lips. Her eyes, the color of still jade, slowly fluttered open, fixing on the offensive glow. “Too… bright,” she grumbled, her voice thick with annoyance. “Why is it so… sparkly?”

Infiltration by Palanquin