Page 29

“I am but what I am,” I say softly.

He stares across the table with a calculating look. I wonder if he’s changing his initial thoughts about me. More, I wonder why it matters. That’s something I can’t put my finger on because as many times as I’ve negotiated deals, not once in my life has it ever felt like this. Probably it’s the stakes. Never before was the future of all my people on the line the way it is now. That must be it.

“So I see,” he says, blinking slowly.

Those eyes…

I smile, keeping it to a carefully controlled, small smile. I do not want to give too much assent to his gentle flattery, just enough that he will continue. Here, alone, he is much less bluster and bravado. I sense that we might, at last, have a real conversation if I avoid pushing him back to his alpha façade.

“You wished to see me?” I ask.

His eyes narrow knitting his brow. It pulls his horns down making them catch the torchlight and glint distractingly. He frowns, his lips parting as if he’s going to speak, then closing again. He turns his head and looks at the model then back to me.

“Come,” he says, turning and walking towards a door at the rear of the chamber. I hesitate, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped sismis. I have never gone beyond this room and if I follow him, I will be cut off from the brothers. I do not think that the Al’fa means me harm, but thinking such and ignoring the possibility are nowhere near the same. He realizes I’m not with him when he reaches the door, one hand gripping the leather. He looks over his shoulder but there is no anger on his face, only understanding. “Please.”

I hesitate a moment longer. This is the moment I must choose, but in truth I have nothing to lose. The Shaman will destroy my people if I don’t stop him and time is running out. Standing here stuck in indecision, afraid to go forward will not save them. The only chance I have is the Al’fa. Seeing it like this, there is no choice at all. I nod and follow in his wake.

A short hallway stretches ahead, leading to another door. One torch burns, throwing long shadows across the rough-hewn walls. The Al’fa lifts the next door, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter first. My pulse hammers in my ears. Still, I step under his arm and into the room.

The chamber is spartan yet dignified, with stone furniture draped in thick furs and heavy, woven textiles. A faint scent of leather and smoke lingers in the warm air. He enters and drops the door, turning to face me as he crosses his arms.

“You surprised me,” he says, his voice deep, but somehow soft.

I do not reply immediately. The adrenaline still lingers beneath my skin, but I will not let him see how deeply my hands wish to tremble.

“I knew I could not match Hakti in strength,” I say finally, voice quiet. “I chose where I could win.”

“And so you did. Clever,” he says as his lips quirk in amusement.

The compliment is unexpected and I hate the way my heart beats faster. He studies me in silence and the weight of his gaze unsettles me. I’ve stood before enemies and allies alike, but this feels different. There is no mockery in his appraisal, only open curiosity.

“Why?” he asks suddenly.

“Why?” I ask, though I know very well what he means. How could I not?

“You ask for more than help. More than alliance against a common enemy. Why? Why seek peace now?”

“Because none of our people will survive what comes next without it.”

His eyes narrow, considering. I sense the warrior in him weighing every word.

“And what do you think comes next, Urr’ki Queen?”

I take a breath, knowing I gamble every time I speak.

“The Paluga already stirs beneath our feet. The quakes are proof enough of that. The Shaman, if not stopped, will awaken it. When it does, the surface will be the only refuge. We will need each other.”

He remains silent, but I sense the flicker of something, acknowledgment, perhaps.

“You believe the old stories?” he asks, voice quieter.

“I have seen the signs.”

We stand in silence, the warmth of the chamber pressing in. He steps closer, enough that I feel how cool he is, as all Zmaj are. Cold-blooded and adapted to the surface of Tajss. Which makes me wonder how my people fair on a return to the surface? We have lived underground for so many generations, we might no longer be adapted to it.

“You are not what I expected,” he says.

Nor are you.But I do not speak, only nod, keeping my composure.