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The silence that follows is heavy. Drogor’s voice cuts the stillness.

“What do you propose, Queen? What price for your cooperation?”

The Al’fa watches me intently, waiting. I press my hands flat against the table.

“Return me to my throne, and we will stop the Shaman, together, then we will forge a new path. A path towards peace between our peoples. We will end this generational war.”

“And what guarantee do we have of your loyalty?” Za’tan snorts.

“Survival is my loyalty,” I say quietly.

“And survival means abandoning old grudges,” Rosalind adds, giving me a sidelong glance.

For a moment, there is stillness. Then the Al’fa stands, towering over us all.

“You will remain here. As our guest, and our captive,” he says. “If you speak true, prove it. Bring me proof of your influence. Drogor, Za’tan, you will both watch her closely.”

Za’tan’s expression is clouded with suppressed anger, Drogor’s unreadable. Rosalind’s gaze lingers on me with a flicker of intrigue. As we all stand to leave, Rosalind catches my arm subtly, guiding me away from the chamber. The Al’fa notices but says nothing. Guiding me to a quiet side corridor, Rosalind leans in as we continue walking.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she murmurs.

“Aren’t we both?” I reply.

Rosalind smiles faintly, no warmth behind it.

“Perhaps. But I see opportunity. We are not so different, you and I. We both want our people to survive.”

I study her carefully. “And how far would you go to ensure that?”

“Far enough,” she says. “But we’ll need each other. I have some influence with Drogo and the Al’fa listens to him, but Za’tan is harder. He will never trust you.”

“Yet you would?”

“I trust necessity,” she says after a momentary pause.

We reach a junction where guards wait to escort me.

“Follow me,” Rosalind says, eyeing the two guards at the junction.

One of them is a cavern Zmaj, recognizable by the duskier scales and the dark claws, while the other is a ‘surface’ Zmaj, part of the group that came with the humans. I don’t know when they or the humans showed up. Having been a prisoner of the Shaman for so long any reports Urr’ki scouts brought of that happening never made it to me. One thing I am certain of is that the surface Zmaj are tightly allied with the humans. Which is helpful as it keeps the number of factions vying with each other to three instead of four. Less helpful in that I’ve seen no leader among them that isn’t firmly under Rosalind’s control, leaving me with no leverage to use against her.

I nod agreement. Rosalind exchanges a glance with the surface Zmaj and something brief but loaded passes between them. He says something too soft to hear to the other Zmaj and then leads the way.

Rosalind and I follow the two Zmaj. Vapas follows in our wake, softly grumbling. We don’t go far before Rosalind speaks.

“Here,” she says.

The two Zmaj stop. The cavern one growls, looking at the other, but nothing more. Rosalind steps through the leather door. I follow in her wake. Vapas is on my heels, but I stop and look over my shoulder at him.

“No,” he says, reading my intent before I speak.

“I will be fine,” I say, placing a hand on his arm.

He stares at my hand for several heartbeats and for a moment I’m not sure if he’s going to agree or not. At last, with a growl, he steps back and posts himself before the door.

The chamber Rosalind selected is small and quiet. It’s tucked behind the main hall, a perfect place for private meetings and secret deals. There is no mistaking the message. This is no accident. She has pulled me aside where no advisors or warriors will hear, leaving the Al’fa behind to stew in his own stubbornness.

The room looks as if it has been used for storage. A heavy, scar-scored table anchors the small, dim chamber. A single torch flickers in the wall sconce, casting shadows across the rough-hewn stone walls. Crates are stacked along the wall behind the work table.