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I meet the Al’fa’s gaze.

“It is clear there is something I am missing,” I say, my voice steady. “Before I make any proposal... I would know what it is.”

His eyes burn into me. Warmth suffuses my belly, sucking the moisture out of my mouth. His eyes are locked onto mine, boring in, interested and also interesting. I have never taken a lover. There wasn’t time even when such desires did arise. I know, of course, all about sex and loving, but my people always came first, not my own needs or desires.

Yet, despite that, I never would have considered in all my life what it would be like to make love to a Zmaj. Looking into his eyes, seeing his lips, the cool color of his scales, in this moment, I do wonder. The idea isn’t new, but it is fresh and strong. Oh so strong. I swallow. Hard. I must choose.

“It is clear,” I say speaking slowly, careful of my diction. Though I am fluent in the Zmaj tongue, it is a bit difficult for my tongue. “That there is something I am missing. Before I make any proposal, I would ask what that is.”

The Al’fa narrows his eyes, clenching his jaw and his right hand spasms, clenching into a tight fist. He shifts his focus onto his warriors.

“Leave,” he says, his voice level and calm but resolute.

The loudest of them leans in, ready to protest, but when he meets the Al’fa’s gaze he hesitates. It’s clear this isn’t a request, but an order. He stays, though, defying the Al’fa for a long moment. That alone tells me much. I know that the Zmaj rule by strength, but this would never happen in my court. Or wouldn’t have. My smallest of orders was always obeyed without question before the Shaman captured me.

The moment of defiance continues. Stretching beyond discomfort. The Al’fa doesn’t look away. Instead a slow smile spreads over his face. His tail rises, slowly, until the end curls over his the top of his head.

It’s so subtle I almost miss it, but the one opposing him pales. The edges of his scales shift in their shade, dulling. Finally his head drops. It’s not a lowering but more as if his neck can no longer hold its weight. His chin almost echoes as it smacks against his chest. He turns, silent, and the rest follow him out.

I watch everyone, judging their reactions to this development. Rosalind purses her lips. Zat’an is frowning deeply. Drogor seems indifferent, but then he is from the surface, not part of the culture of the Cavern Zmaj.

“You ask much,” the Al’fa says at last.

“I ask for truth and honesty, is that what passes for much amongst the Zmaj?” I ask.

Rosalind’s lips quirk into a half-smile. The Al’fa grunts.

“Clever. Maybe too clever,” he says.

“Do you propose to answer my question?” I counter.

His frown returns and he looks, again, at Za’tan. Something passes between them.

“One of my warriors is missing,” he says.

“I do not under—” I cut myself off as the only possibility of how this would connect occurs to me. “No…”

Rosalind is looking from me to him and back again. Then her eyes widen.

“He didn’t…” she gasps. “Who? Are you sure?”

Interesting. She didn’t know this either.

“I know what his intention was,” the Al’fa says. “He came and asked permission. I denied it. He then disappeared.”

“So he is captured or…” I don’t finish the thought. There is no need to put such negativity out into the world by giving it words. “Then we must act.”

“And what do you propose? A rescue mission?” Drogor asks.

“Yes. But not just for the two of them,” I answer.

The Shaman narrows his eyes. I hold steady.

“There are Urr’ki within the city who are ready to defy the Shaman. If we can reach them, if we can show them that they are not alone, they will fight. And with their aid, we can strike at the Shaman from within as well as without.”

A dangerous gamble. One I cannot afford to lose. The Al’fa considers me for a long moment.

“You offer much,” he says. “But you have no guarantees.”