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“You have lost, Hakti.”

The crowd murmurs, the tide of their respect turning, if only slightly, in my favor. Hakti drops to one knee, the scent of his frustration fills the air.

“I concede,” he grinds out.

Relief washes over me, though I keep my posture regal and controlled. The Al’fa is watching with renewed curiosity and something sharper behind the amber of his eyes. I offer a hand to Hakti. He glares, his shoulders tensing and for a moment I think he will refuse it. Then he raises his head and takes my hand.

“Well fought,” I say.

He grunts and rises to his feet. He is much taller than I am. He tightens his grip. Pain flares up my arm, white-hot, but I bury it beneath a mask of calm. My heart speeds up and my breath catches. Will he break the peace? Will he attack? His dark claws could rip my throat out long before the brothers could reach me.

I do the only thing I can. I hold his gaze and refuse to let hate into my heart. It feels as if the air around us is too thick to breathe. All eyes are on us, but I’m particularly aware of the Al’fa, leaning over the railing of the balcony but even so he is too far to stop Hakti if he decides to attack.

“Trust does not come easy,” Hakti says, his voice low. “But you have won. Do not betray us.”

“I will not,” I say. “Believe me when I say that I want no more war between our peoples,” I answer, pitching my voice so that it carries to hopefully every pair of ears that can possibly hear my message.

“We will see,” he says, letting go of my hand, but he bows, if only partially. “I hope this is true.”

A smattering of scattered applause and then the gathering disperses, people returning to their day’s activities and work. I look up at the Al’fa. Rosalind remains at his side, looking thoughtful. She nods, then turns and disappears but the Al’fa remains. When I meet his eyes, the distance between us seems to crackle, charged with something heavier than duty alone.

The brothers come to my side, silent and waiting. The Al’fa frowns, then makes a gesture indicating I should join him. I give a nod every bit as subtle as his and then walk to the tunnels. Dilacs grunts as the brothers fall in with me, staying close.

11

RANI

“Queen, we cannot trust him,” Khiara says.

“I know,” I murmur, the words bitter on my tongue.

Khiara falls silent as I lead us through the dimly lit halls toward the Al’fa’s quarters. The corridors, usually bustling with Zmaj and humans alike, are eerily empty. Usually, they bustle with Zmaj and humans alike, handling the daily workings of the compound.

“Why?” Dilacs asks as I step into the antechamber of the Al’fa’s room.

Even the desk—usually staffed by a human clerk—stands abandoned. A thick leather curtain seals off the inner chamber, heavy and unmoving, like a sentinel guarding the secrets within. I stare at it, half-expecting it to whisper secrets if I wait long enough. It doesn’t, of course, but the moment gives me a chance to collect my thoughts.

“I understand how you both feel,” I say, turning to face the brothers. “Believe me, I feel the same. You are both warriors and have pushed this down for so long you may not recognize it, but I do. We feel fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of betrayal. Fear of failure. I feel it burning in my blood—and I know you do too.”

“Hmm,” Khiara murmurs, stroking his thin beard. Dilacs opens his mouth to protest, but his brother stops him with a glance.

“Fear is natural,” I continue. “It is right. Weshouldbe afraid. The fate of our species rests in our hands.” I pause, dropping my gaze, cold racing over my skin, my stomach knotting painfully. “But we are Urr’ki. We fight. We survive. We do not give up.”

As one, the brothers slam their fists against their breastplates, the sound sharp as a battle cry, saluting my words. The admiration burning in their eyes is as sweet as oxygen. I drink it in, stoking my own fires. They bow and I dip my head in acknowledgment. Silently they move to either side of the door which I turn to face.

I step forward. Dilacs lifts the leather curtain, holding it aside. Torchlight slides across the stone floor, slipping free of the confining leather. I give him a smile and duck through, entering the Al’fa’s realm. Here he has the home advantage, but I am Queen of the Urr’ki, I will face my opponent and I will get what I want. What I must have. This alliance cannot fail.

The leather falls with a rasp, closing the space. The air is thick with testosterone, its musk mixing with the pitch of the burning torches, but weaving in with those two dominant smells is something sweeter that reminds me of a pungent fruit.

The Al’fa is on the far side of the table that holds the model of his compound. He leans over the table, both hands on the edge as he studies something. He doesn’t look up at my entrance. I wait, knowing this too is part of the game. He doesn’t give me the respect of acknowledging me first, expecting me to speak. This is a game I will win.

I move closer without a sound, studying the model alongside him. I clasp my hands in front of me, shoulders squared, head held high—even as I bend to see. The scale and details of the model are impressive. I have nothing to compare.

Had. Not have. Everything I once had—the city, the power—stolen by the Shaman. Now this Zmaj is my one, best hope.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, breaking the silence at last. “you are more dangerous than I thought.”

For the first time, the sands shift beneath my feet—not pulling me down, but lifting me higher.