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The chamber is silent, save for the low crackle of the brazier in the corner. The Al’fa watches me with a predator’s stillness, his sharp amber eyes gleaming with unreadable intent. I know better than to mistake his quiet for hesitation. This is a test. He is waiting for me to overreach, to reveal weakness, to show that I am asking for more than I can give.

I will not.

I lift my chin.

“My people are not your enemies,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “The Shaman is. And if he is not stopped, it will not only be the Urr’ki who suffer.”

The Al’fa tilts his head slightly, considering me.

“You assume the Shaman will turn on us next,” he says. “Yet he has not left his city. It isyouhe hunts.”

I fight the surge of frustration. Of course he sees it that way. The Zmaj trust nothing beyond their own kind. But I have to make him see — this isn’t just about me.

“You think he will be content to rule the Urr’ki alone?” I arch a brow. “No. He wants dominion over all who dwell beneath the sands. The Zmaj are merely the next step in his ambition. He already moves against you. He has spies. You’ve already seen he has ways of reaching places without you seeing.”

The Al’fa’s jaw tightens, but he does not deny it. I press on, taking the opening I see.

“If we wait, we hand him the advantage. I am offering you something better. A chance to strike first.”

He leans forward, bracing his hands on the long stone table between us. The firelight carves the hard planes of his face into something almost inhuman. Uncompromising. Unshaken. But not uninterested.

“And in return, you want me to send warriors into the heart of our enemy’s city for a single human and one reckless Zmaj?”

“No,” I say, refusing to flinch. “I want analliance.”

The silence stretches between us. Then, he laughs. A low, rumbling sound, more amused than mocking.

“You think like a Zmaj,” he says.

I do not know if it is a compliment or a warning. The Al’fa turns away from me, pacing to the far end of the chamber. His tail arcs slowly behind him, measuring his thoughts.

“You ask me to gamble my warriors on faith,” he muses. “To risk lives for people who have been our enemies for generations.”

“You asked me for proof,” I say, stepping closer. “Letmeprove my words.”

He stops, turning and his gaze snaps to me.

“How?”

I do not hesitate. There is only one way I can prove anything. One that Khiara and Dilacs will hate with all that they are, but this is the risk I must take in order to save my people.

“A small force, not an assault. A raid, such as he has done to you,” I say.

“And what would that prove? I know my people can raid yours. We have done it often enough.”

“This time will be different,” I assure him.

“How?” he asks. “My warriors have done many missions, all of them successful. Do you forget, Urr’ki Queen, that I am the one winning this war between our species?”

As skilled as I am there is no way to keep the frown off my face. He doesn’t miss it, his eyes narrow but instead of the knowing smile I would expect, he also frowns. For a heartbeat, I almost think I see regret in his eyes—but what do I truly know of him?

The Zmaj are cold-blooded, all know this, they do not experience life and emotions the way we do. It is as likely this is a front, a manipulation, as it is anything.

“Your words are harsh,” I say, my mouth dry but I school my face as a lifetime of training takes over, a mantle but more an armor. “But they are also true. My people have lost the war. We both know how this would end if we were to continue. But the Shaman changes everything.”

“So you say,” he says, staying close. So gada close. “And I admit the reports are disturbing. But it doesn’t change anything. What difference does this make? What do I gain by putting my warriors at risk? How will you prove your people will stand beside mine?”

“I will go with them. Allow me to return to my city. I will bring you proof that the Urr’ki will rise against the Shaman. Then you will have your proof and then we will fight together.”