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“No, I don’t,” I protest as my fingers encounter a tangle so tightly knotted that I’ll probably have to cut it out.

He moves much faster than anyone as badly wounded as I know he is should be able to. He’s on his knees, right in front of me, grabbing onto both my arms and gently pulling my hands down. Then his hands cup my face and he leans in close. So close his cool breath passes over my skin. He smells earthy, a heady musk scent that makes my head spin.

“Elara,” he says and my heart skips again as he breathes my name. “Do not, ever, argue with me.” I blink resistance rising from the very core of who I am but then I see his smile. “About how I see you.”

He adds the last and it blasts away my instinctive resistance to his statement.

“You can’t order me,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees. “But you can’t tell me what I think or what I see, either, human. And you are… gorgeous.”

His lips brush mine, a jolt of electricity snapping through me so hard I gasp — and then the heavy knock slams into the cell door, ripping the moment away like a cruel hand.

15

RANI

Ido not belong here.

Heat smothers me, thick and suffocating. The underground chamber is carved deep into the mountain’s stone, its smooth walls slick with moisture and lined with flickering torches.The smell of smoke, sweat, and raw fury fills my lungs with every breath.

Four Zmaj warriors cluster together, casting baleful glances at Khiara and me. Their twitching tails rasp against the stone, a grating sound that fills the chamber. Their eyes burn with hatred and their bodies are taut with barely restrained violence. They shout over one another, their voices crashing against the stone walls, reverberating with their fury as they demand the Al’fa act.

“They crept in like vermin!” one snarls, slamming his fist against the table. “They should be hunted down and flayed!”

“A season’s crops—gone! Four warriors lie with the healer, scarred by the explosives they left behind!”

The second warrior’s shout is so loud it makes my ears ring.

“They dared to strike at our home, our people!” another growls, his scaled hands curling into claws. “What more proof do we need? The Urr’ki understand only one language,” he says, glaring at Khiara and I, “blood.”

Murmurs of agreement rumble through the room. This is a rising storm ready to break. Somehow I must find a way to defuse this before it undoes all my work. The timing on this is so bad that I have to wonder if the Shaman somehow knows what I am attempting to do. One way or another it is a definite setback.

The Al’fa stands at the head of the table, rigid as stone. His scales gleam under the torchlight, his presence radiating control—just barely. Perhaps I am coming to know him better than others, but I see his anger and frustration. It’s in his stance, the stillness, which in him is more dangerous I’ve found than when he is raging.

Silence means he’s thinking. Calculating. He’s too angry to lash out—he’s hunting for weaknesses instead. He stands with his arms folded across his broad chest and allows his warriors to vent their rage. His eyes do not meet mine. Not yet.

I clasp my hands in front of myself to keep them steady. I must not fidget, must not reveal the turmoil churning inside or the way my pulse hammers in my throat.

I knew the attack would shake the fragile truce between the Al’fa and me. But seeing the depth of his peoples fury, feeling the raw hunger for vengeance filling the chamber… It’s worse than I imagined.

Hope slips from my grasp like sand through my fingers. Fool. I should have known better than to dream the Zmaj would ever consider an alliance. Their hate for my kind runs so deep, there is no reasoning with it. What do they care about the Shaman’s growing madness? They cannot see the threat that he represents, they see our green skin, our tusks, and that is it. To them we are little more than animals.

All my words, all my efforts, cannot alleviate generations of war and bloodshed so easily. And now, with an Urr’ki raiding party striking deep into their territory, I see the truth. They will never trust me. Yet, despite all this, I have to find a way through. Because if the Al’fa declares war, if he sends his warriors storming into Urr’ki territory with fire and steel… he will not only doom my people, he will doom his own.

Za’tan stands at the Al’fa’s left as usual, frowning, his one good eye glaring balefully at me as his tail lashes across the stone floor. My stomach tightens into a hard knot. I know what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth.

“We must retaliate,” Za’tan says, his voice measured, but the rage behind it sharp as any blade. “These are no longer skirmishes. They are penetrating our compound with impunity. They use their hidden tunnels to attack when and where they please while we act in a defensive manner. We must go on the offense.”

A chorus of agreement follows from those gathered.

“We cannot let this stand!”

“Their treachery has no end!”

“Blood for blood!”

I clench my jaw. Fools.