ILLYRIS | xv. "DON'T BE A BYSTANDER." A REQUIEM FOR THE DRAGONBORN
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SERAFINA CELTIGAR PRIDED herself on two things— her incredible battle skill and integrity and keeping Theadora Valaryen alive and healthy. Sera was taught to swing a sword since she could hold one. In fact, she had been a far better fighter than her beloved Rhaeon Valaryen.
Women were never allowed into the ranks of the Valoqar even if she was the most qualified. Like every other female Celtigar that came before her, she was thought to become the handmaiden to her liege or their children. Serafina was never meant to be a mother or a caretaker at that; everyone knew it. Raising a child that she held a lurking, wicked shred of resentment for destroyed her. She always looked at Thea like the sister she was supposed to have through marriage, but was forced to raise on her own. Perhaps that was the strongest form of love she could muster.
Still, Sera had high hopes in any future Thea would find herself in. Her own selfishness had been ingrained in her nurturing and the Valaryen girl was as determined to exact revenge on those who wronged her and take back her home just as much as Sera was. On the other hand, she took notice of her sister's intelligence. She had her eyes set on MIT, though the discussion of college never came up.
That explained why Sera was staring at none other than Tony Stark.
She heard the knock, reading over the most recent news about Illyris and Spider-Man's involvement in the ferry accident. The outpour of theories, rumors, and information doubled the next morning and she was desperately trying to find any notions of Thea's identity exposed. Her first instinct when she heard the knock was to grab a dagger. Of course, Sera was able to fight her way out of a problem as well. It was cleaner anyway.
The door opened and the sole face that appeared caught her by surprise. As far as faces went, that one was good. It was undoubtedly handsome, incredibly animated, fairly well-kept, and nothing short of charming. Also somewhat narcissistic, rakish, borderline wicked, and battle-worn.
Very, very battle-worn.
Tony Stark himself was a man who had seen more than the average human mind could comprehend. He prided himself on having a way with women but the subtle glare the fire-haired woman was firing at him made Tony shift in his seat uncomfortably. The influence and charisma oozing from him weren't enough to sway Sera's suspicions— not just for his unexplained visit but for the slender briefcase seated next to his leg.
Sera's eyes were daunting like an impending storm. Her fingers itched for a knife, anything to lodge in Tony's chest. If the enemy of her enemy was a friend, then the friend of her enemy was a hell of a lot worse.
Finally, without breaking intense eye contact, Sera called out over her shoulder, "Theādora, emi iā raqiros. Māzi kesīr."
"Māzis! Who is it?" Thea's voice hollered from her bedroom, devoid of the lively spark that usually laced her tone.
