Page 14

Rosalind moves to stand on the far side of that table and crosses her arms over her chest. Her gaze sharpens, calculation flickering in her weary eyes. She could be an invaluable ally or a terrifying enemy. I must navigate this carefully.

“You asked for this meeting,” I say, stepping inside. The leather door rasps shut behind me. “Is it because you tire of watching the Al’fa beat his head against a wall?”

“He’s not the only one.” Rosalind’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smile.

I remain standing, a portrait of regal composure despite the storm around me.

“Speak your mind.”

Rosalind leans against the table, exhaling as if removing a mask. She stares at her hands for a moment, then her fingers begin a slow, rhythmic drumming as she looks up, meeting my steady gaze.

“We’re not so different, you and I.”

“No?” I ask, arching a brow.

“We both know we can’t afford this war between our people. The Shaman is not only your enemy, he’s ours too.” She pauses, eyes narrowing. “And yet, here we are, entangled in the hatreds of the past.”

I glide forward, slow and deliberate, coming to the edge of the table so that I’m directly across from her.

“It is not posturing to protect one’s own.”

Rosalind tilts her head, studying me carefully. She purses her lips.

“Even if protecting them means watching them die underground while any hope of a future slips from your grasp?”

For a heartbeat, I say nothing. The truth of it cuts deep, but I refuse to let her see the wound.

“You believe me desperate,” I say at last.

“Aren’t we both?” she asks with a humorless chuckle.

The honesty in her voice surprises me. She is sharp and controlled, but beneath it I sense fatigue, the strain of leading a dwindling population, and perhaps even a hint of guilt.

“You see my position clearly,” I admit. “But you underestimate the danger. The Shaman will awaken the Paluga. I know many believe it to be a myth, but it will bring ruin on us all, not just my people.”

Her fingers strike the table harder, thumping one after another. I study her face. She is beautiful, for an alien. Pure skin, though she is showing signs of age. Worry lines at the corners of her eyes. Other lines around her lips that are telling signs she spends much more time frowning than smiling. But her eyes. Those are hard as the strongest of forged iron and are also filled with a canny intelligence.

“I’m aware. And I believe you, but belief doesn’t solve logistics,” she says after a beat.

“Then why ask for this meeting?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Because I’m running out of time and moves.” Rosalind straightens, coming around the table to stand before me. “Your people know the truth about the Shaman. The Al’fa won’t listen to me. He sees me as an interloper, a necessary evil at best. But you… you can reach him.”

“You credit me with influence I do not possess,” I say, shaking my head slowly.

“But you could,” she counters. “With my backing.”

The offer hangs between us like smoke. I study her, weighing the sincerity in her voice against the sharp glint of what I can only deem to be ambition. That is the thing I am not sure about. What is her goal in this? She clearly wants to protect her people, which is no different than the three of us, but I sense there is more. A bigger agenda she is working towards than that alone.

“And what would your backing cost me?”

Rosalind steps closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Mutual survival. You help me convince the Al’fa to mobilize against the Shaman, and I’ll ensure your people are not left to rot underground when this is over.”

It is a clever gambit. She offers nothing tangible, yet the promise is too tempting to dismiss outright. Still, I sense there is more.

“You speak as though the Shaman is the only threat,” I say. “But you fear the surface too.”