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He narrows his eyes and grimaces. Za’tan huffs, shaking his head. The group of warriors look at each other in clear confusion, having no idea what we’re talking about. I notice all of them. I watch them all, cataloging every glance, every hesitation. Each tells me something. Each might become leverage.

“Only if you are still in contact with the Urr’ki,” the Al’fa says.

His words are carefully measured. His eyes boring into mine, but no matter how devoid of emotion he sounds, the threat is very real. Khiara growls and the leather of his armor creaks as he shifts his weight, one hand dropping to where a weapon would be in any other circumstance.

“I am not, you know this,” I say, holding his steely gaze.

“Then how do you know?” Rosalind asks.

“Because I listen,” I say, “and more importantly, as I’ve told you repeatedly, I know the Shaman. I understand how he thinks. You sent the humans into his domain and he’s lost those who have returned here. He will use her as bait. A way to weaken your unity and to fracture any possibility of an alliance.”

The Al’fa’s jaw tightens and he darts his eyes to Za’tan then to Drogor on his other side. The two advisors shift uncomfortably. There is something I am missing. I know it as much as I know I will draw my next breath. My next words are a gamble, a guess at what that look means. The risk is great. If I play this wrong it could set them against me.

“Unless I miss my guess, she is not just a human,” I say. “She is a symbol of your bond with them. If she dies, what happens to that bond?”

There is a murmur of unease. The Al’fa’s gaze sharpens as he looks to his advisers. The group of Zmaj opposite him grumble disagreement. I’m not right. Not exactly, I see that, there is something I’m missing.

I keep a frown off my face, but my heart is racing in anticipation and as much as I hate to admit it, fear. Fear of saying the wrong thing, of destroying the one chance I have to save my people.

“You think he is holding her out as bait,” Za’tan says at last. “To what end? How would doing that fracture any alliance?”

It is an astute question and I am not surprised that it comes from him. Za’tan is full of bravado, much like the Al’fa, but he is also smart.

“I do not know for certain,” I say, pursing my lips. “I cannot because I am not there. But as I said I know him. I have had a lot of time to think about what he is doing, what his goals are, and to understand how he rose to power. That gives me insight.

I propose that he is trying to goad you, the Zmaj, into attacking. Before you’re ready. He must, by now, suspect I am here. And he very well knows that I am, by far, his greatest weakness.”

“Then why are you alive?” Drogor asks, speaking up for one of the first times.

I allow a smile to play across my face.

“Because,” I say, “if he killed me, I would become a martyr. Killing a Queen, no matter how you go about it, would become known. Someone would slip and it would come out. Instead he kept me captured. Those who rescued me,” I turn my eyes momentarily to Khiara, “say that he led my people to believe I was very ill and that was why I wasn’t seen in public.”

I can’t take my eyes off the three Zmaj at the head. The Al’fa, his second Drogor, and Za’tan all know something I do not. It needles at me. It’s important. I can feel it, but what is it? I wait and I watch, trying to figure it out.

“What is it you propose?” the Al’fa asks at last.

I hold my tongue. Three paths before me and which one I choose could be the choice that either saves or dooms my people.

I could ask him to confirm the alliance, but with the antagonism of the warriors in the room, they would never support it. That would not allow him to handle his people on his own terms, bring them into an agreement and could very well push him away from any alliance at all.

I could propose a rescue mission. A small op with one or two of my Urr’ki to lead it with the sole intent of saving Elara.

Or I can ask what it is I’m missing. Dangerous. Admitting I do not know something is antipathy to everything my father ever taught me. He would see it as weakness. A King, or a Queen, always knows everything before anyone else. At least in appearance.

In truth, as I know all too well, we are often the last to know. But one does not let that be seen. Our people follow us, they depend on us, they need us to appear to be more than we, inside ourselves, are.

A Queen is a symbol, not a person.

Our people do not follow the woman; they follow what she represents. Strength. Certainty. Hope.

Three paths stretch before me, each littered with risks.

I could demand the alliance now and risk alienating them.

I could propose a rescue mission and gamble on their mercy.

Or I could admit what my father would have called unforgivable weakness: ignorance.