Page 33

I rise and position myself with the firepit between me and the door, hands clasped before me. I move so that the light of the flames cast exactly right, casting my face partly in shadow. I must appear to be austere and aloof.

“Enter,” I say.

The leather door pulls to one side and to my surprise Rosalind steps through. She ducks to enter, then straightens to her full height. Gray streaks her temples, fine lines etch the corners of her eyes and mouth. Having recently given birth, she carries the weight of motherhood, both on her body and in her eyes.

Her dark eyes take in everything, but her expression is unreadable. She moves with a measured grace, but I see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders and the tension in her stance. She moves to stand opposite me with the firepit between us. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows over both our faces. For a moment, neither of us speak. The silence stretches, weighted with unspoken calculations.

“Queen,” Rosalind greets, her tone formal and clearly guarded.

“Lady General Rosalind,” I say, inclining my head and using her formal title to show respect.

“You asked for this meeting. Speak your terms,” she says, crossing her arms while carefully watching.

Straight to business. I expected no less. I lean forward slightly, letting the firelight catch in my eyes.

“Congratulations are in order. I hear you have recently welcomed a child.” A flicker of something wary and protective crosses her face, but she does not otherwise react. I continue keeping my voice smooth and deliberate. “Motherhood changes everything. I know this, even if I have never borne children of my own. It makes you think differently. Plan differently. Every action is weighed not just against yourself but against the future of your bloodline.”

Rosalind’s expression hardens.

“My child is not a bargaining chip.”

I offer a faint smile, even as her iron will becomes unmistakably clear. This is a gamble and I know it, but I need them both — desperately. My people will not survive without their help. Knowing the Shaman’s end goal, I also know that none of us are likely to survive at all if we don’t work together.

“I would not dare imply such a thing. But I have some understanding of you. I know you think beyond yourself. You are not merely a mother. You are a leader. You are considering the legacy you will leave behind, not just for your own flesh and blood but for every human who follows you.”

She says nothing, but the sharpness in her gaze and the tightening of her jaw tell me she is listening. I press on.

“You see the bigger picture. You understand that alone, none of us will survive what is coming.”

She shifts her weight. It’s subtle, but I have spent a lifetime learning to read body language as well as decipher words. For all the good it did me with the Shaman, that notwithstanding, I know what I saw.

“And what is it you think is coming, exactly?”

I exhale slowly. She’s giving me a chance. One I cannot waste. I meet her steady gaze with my own then lower my head, both in an act of diplomacy and in reaction to the shame that swells in my chest.

Here I am, the Queen who begs. My father would be livid.

“The Shaman’s grip on my people is absolute,” I admit, though it pains me to have to say it. “The moment we move against him, it will be a full-scale war. Not just a skirmish. Not a battle of isolated resistance. A war that I know will determine the future of Tajss itself.”

Rosalind’s fingers drum lightly against her arm.

“And you believe the Zmaj and the humans combined can win such a war? At what cost?”

“United, wecanwin — but not as we are now,” I say, shaking my head. “If we act now, we’ll lose. I would plan to strike with precision rather than brute force. I believe that with careful planning we may be able to fracture his control before the battle ever begins.”

She nods slowly, thoughtful. I let her have the moment to think and strategize. At last she sighs and shakes her head.

“And what, exactly, would you ask of me?”

“I’ve made my position very clear, but time is moving fast. The pressure to act builds and builds, but still we debate and talk. Every step forward comes with a half-step back.” I drop my head and hands, stripping away the last of my defenses — laying bare the soul of a Queen who has failed. “My people suffer. Their pain is mine. My mistakes led them to this and all I am seeking is a chance to right my wrongs.”

Rosalind inhales sharply as pressure builds behind my eyes. My head aches as my shoulders tighten. I swallow hard, forcing composure back over my body like I am donning a robe, or placing on armor. The façade is, after all, my armor.

“I see,” she says, her voice so tight it’s barely a whisper.

She moves around the fire, coming closer until she is standing right in front of me. She reaches out, offering her hands. I take them and in that moment something at least akin to friendship passes between us. She tightens her hands on mine then lets them go and takes a step back.

“Thank you,” I say, though it feels as if my heart is a lump in my throat and it’s hard to get the words past it.