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His lips quirk in a gesture almost resembling amusement. Za’tan pushes off the wall, stepping toward me.

“Luck is for fools who believe in chance.”

“And you do not?” I ask, arching a brow.

“I believe in outcomes,” Za’tan says, his gaze sharp. “And I know how to wager on the right ones.”

I search his face, looking for the meaning behind his words. Za’tan plays his own game and I am not sure he is as loyal to the Al’fa as he says. I do know that he feels no loyalty at all to me. He seems to serve only his own purpose.

But for now… that is enough.

“I will return,” I say.

Za’tan inclines his head. “Then I look forward to seeing if you survive.”

I don’t look back as I pass the barriers. The tunnels leading back toward the Urr’ki city twist and sprawl like veins through stone. Shadows writhe across the rock, shifting with every flicker of our torches.

Khiara stays at my side, letting the Zmaj scouts range ahead. I am impressed by them. They move like ghosts, silent and fluid, their movements precise. They do not speak and it’s very clear that they do not trust me. That is fine. Trust is not needed. But understanding? That, I can work with.

Hours pass in near silence. The air thickens as we near the outer tunnels bordering my city. No, the Shaman’s city. It hasn’t been mine for a long time now.

The lead scout halts suddenly, raising a hand. I stop instantly. My nerves coil tight.

“What is it?” I murmur.

He does not answer. Instead, he crouches low, pressing a hand to the rock. His slitted nostrils flare as he scents the air. Then?—

A whisper of movement, not sound. I barely have time to react before the attack comes. Figures emerge from the darkness, swift and silent. Urr’ki warriors, my people.

“Stop, by my command,” I say, standing straight and square, but they rush in.

Right then I know that they are not mine. These are loyalists. The Shaman’s reach is longer than I thought.

I twist away just in time, a blade hissing through the space where my throat had been a breath ago. Khiara moves like a force of nature. There are three and the odds should be against him, but he moves blindingly fast.

Two attackers fix on him, while the Zmaj scouts vanish into the dark, coldly observing as commanded. I draw the blade at my own side, facing off with the third. Combat training was something my father insisted I do. I never enjoyed it, but even so I was competent.

The warrior lunges, a blur of movement. I block his strike, using his momentum against him. A sharp twist, and I drive my knee into his ribs, sending him staggering back. I drop low, sweeping his legs from beneath him. He crashes to the stone with a curse.

A flash of steel—too close—and pain rakes across my arm.

I grit my teeth, twisting to avoid a deeper cut. Blood seeps into my sleeve, warm against my skin. Khiara roars and the one who had broken free of the fight with him stops. The point of Khiara’s blade protrudes from his chest.

The other one that was engaged with Khiara steps into sight, driving his blade at Khiara’s side. Khiara tries to move, twisting, but he’s not going to be fast enough. The attacker is taller than the others, broader. His eyes gleam in the dim light.

I step around Khiara, swinging my blade as I do, knocking the incoming one aside, but it manages to scratch against Khiara’s armor. Khiara stumbles back, and the warrior I dropped surges upright. They stand side-by-side.

“We were warned you might come,” he sneers. “The Shaman sends his regards.”

I lift my chin, ignoring the sting of my wound. Khiara turns so we stand back-to-back. Blood drips from his blade.

“Then give him this message,” I say.

I move before he can react—one quick step, one sharp, precise strike.

My short-blade finds its mark. He gasps, his body going rigid as the blade sinks into the weak spot beneath his ribs. I step back, breathing hard as he crumples.

Silence follows. Then, the remaining warrior flees. If he gets away he will return to the Shaman and tell him that I am coming, which will ruin everything. I move to chase after him but Khiara is faster. A dagger appears in his hand and tumbles gracefully through the air, burying itself in the neck of the fleeing warrior.