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“I couldn’t enter the city without risk,” I say. “But I needed to see you face to face.”

“You could’ve sent a decoy.”

“I don’t have enough people to waste on decoys,” I reply flatly.

“Fair,” Janara huffs.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he crosses to me, slow, deliberate. Up close, he looks tired too, but the steel in him hasn’t given up.

“I’ve kept what loyalty I could alive,” he says quietly, “but the people are afraid. The Shaman’s hold is deep. If I act too soon, I lose them. I need something…more.”

I nod in understanding. My next words I choose carefully. I’m not only navigating the pitfalls of the Zmaj, but also those of my own people. The hatred between our peoples has gone on so long it’s burned into the cells that make up our bodies. It’s burned bright in our souls, but if I learned nothing else from my time in the dark, I have learned this.

We cannot win. The war is lost and all we’ve been doing is staving off the inevitable. It’s time to flip the table, but I’ll have to convince Janara that I’m right.

“I have it.”

He raises a questioning brow.

“You do?” he asks.

“I do,” I continue. “I need you to hear me out. And to trust me. Can you do that?”

Janara frowns and the two warriors with him shift their weight making their battered armor clink faintly. It’s a loaded question. By rights, I am still the Queen and they are sworn to obey me no matter what, but rights and what is are no longer the same. The Shaman has seen to that.

“You are my Queen,” Janara says, carefully not agreeing but also not denying.

I nod, accepting it as the most I’m going to get from him for the moment.

“Good,” I say, stepping closer. “I have the Zmaj. Not all of them. Not yet. But their Al’fa listens to me. There is a path to peace. To survival. If we move carefully.”

“The Zmaj!” Janara exclaims.

“I know,” I say.

“You cannot be serious,” he says, slipping into our tongue, the old language, meant for secrets and trust. “If they’re forcing you, my Queen, say the word. I’ll paint these cavern walls with their blood.”

“No, Janara,” I answer in our language too.

He blinks. Slowly, staring not at me but at the three Zmaj. They stand behind me so I cannot see them but I feel their glares. A blind fool could not miss the tension.

“My Queen,” he whispers. “Blink twice… it will be over.”

I carefully do not blink at all. He suspects they’ve learned enough of our language that I am still being forced to play along. Janara is smart, insightful, but also brash and brave. He studies my face then exhales sharply.

“I am not being manipulated,” I say, switching back to Zmaj.

His frown is so deep it accents all the worry lines on his face. They are deep, especially at the corners of his eyes.

“The Al’fa, you say?” he asks, eyes darting to Khiara at my side who nods.

“Yes,” I say. “We are discussing an alliance.”

“And peace?” he asks, his voice heavy with all the years of conflict and all the loss he and I have both endured.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, my old friend.”

His eyes widen at that, but it’s true and he senses it. He served my father, rising through the ranks of the royal guard until he was appointed as General shortly before his death. He has been at my side or close enough since I was born. He exhales slowly.