Page 13 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)
13
RANI
I watch the flames flicker, weighing the few remaining options left to me. In any other battle, I would have acted without hesitation. But I have never faced anything like this.
We lost the war with the Zmaj long before I was smart enough to admit it. If I had accepted it in the first place then the Shaman would never have been able to grab power. He manipulated me as much as he has all my people. I see it now, so clearly. That is the hard-earned value of time. The chance to reflect on every choice, every mistake.
My father, the former King, used to say that experience unexamined was experience wasted. I don’t think I ever understood that before my arrest by the Maulavi. They were my Maulavi — until the Shaman corrupted them from within.
I blink, leaving my eyes closed for a moment longer just to experience the brief moment of peace that comes with the darkness. I believe the humans and Zmaj are willing to help — but belief is not certainty. Rosalind is resolute and stern. I believe I understand her, but I must be cautious. Understanding is not trust. Trust takes action. Words, no matter how pretty or how much they line up with what I want to hear, do not change things.
The flames crackle and shift, casting wavering shadows on the walls of my dimly lit chamber. Their movement is hypnotic — a dance of destruction and renewal. Fitting, since my people stand on the edge of both.
I exhale slowly, clasping my hands together as I wrestle with the weight of my decisions. I should have seen the Shaman’s deception earlier. The signs had been there. The whispers, the fear in the eyes of those who once stood beside me. I had been too focused on maintaining the illusion of strength, of sovereignty, that there was hope for my people.
Blindly, I denied reality and only now do I see my failures. It was etched into every scarred wall and every haggard, battle-worn face of my people. The Urr’ki who remain are not the proud first born we once were. Now we are puppets, our strings jerked by the very man I once trusted most.
I tighten my grip until my nails bite into my palms. The Shaman’s influence must be severed, but I cannot do it alone. The Zmaj will not act unless they see a future in which they benefit. The humans are every bit as wary. Their leader, Rosalind, is cautious and pragmatic. She is my best hope and my greatest obstacle. I need to understand her better. I feel our goals are in alignment, but I need to be certain.
There is a soft knock at my door. My body tenses instinctively before I force myself to relax. It will be one of my guards. This morning they have been standing guard outside, giving me these private moments.
I carefully school my features into composure, I cannot let them see the doubts that plague me. They must see only the Queen. Cool, calm, collected and most of all in control. It doesn’t matter that I am anything but in control, as long as they think I am. That will suffice to give them the confidence to carry on, despite the incredible odds we face.
I rise and position myself with the firepit between me and the door, hands clasped before me. I move so that the light of the flames cast exactly right, casting my face partly in shadow. I must appear to be austere and aloof.
“Enter,” I say.
The leather door pulls to one side and to my surprise Rosalind steps through. She ducks to enter, then straightens to her full height. Gray streaks her temples, fine lines etch the corners of her eyes and mouth. Having recently given birth, she carries the weight of motherhood, both on her body and in her eyes.
Her dark eyes take in everything, but her expression is unreadable. She moves with a measured grace, but I see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders and the tension in her stance. She moves to stand opposite me with the firepit between us. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows over both our faces. For a moment, neither of us speak. The silence stretches, weighted with unspoken calculations.
“Queen,” Rosalind greets, her tone formal and clearly guarded.
“Lady General Rosalind,” I say, inclining my head and using her formal title to show respect.
“You asked for this meeting. Speak your terms,” she says, crossing her arms while carefully watching.
Straight to business. I expected no less. I lean forward slightly, letting the firelight catch in my eyes.
“Congratulations are in order. I hear you have recently welcomed a child.” A flicker of something wary and protective crosses her face, but she does not otherwise react. I continue keeping my voice smooth and deliberate. “Motherhood changes everything. I know this, even if I have never borne children of my own. It makes you think differently. Plan differently. Every action is weighed not just against yourself but against the future of your bloodline.”
Rosalind’s expression hardens.
“My child is not a bargaining chip.”
I offer a faint smile, even as her iron will becomes unmistakably clear. This is a gamble and I know it, but I need them both — desperately. My people will not survive without their help. Knowing the Shaman’s end goal, I also know that none of us are likely to survive at all if we don’t work together.
“I would not dare imply such a thing. But I have some understanding of you. I know you think beyond yourself. You are not merely a mother. You are a leader. You are considering the legacy you will leave behind, not just for your own flesh and blood but for every human who follows you.”
She says nothing, but the sharpness in her gaze and the tightening of her jaw tell me she is listening. I press on.
“You see the bigger picture. You understand that alone, none of us will survive what is coming.”
She shifts her weight. It’s subtle, but I have spent a lifetime learning to read body language as well as decipher words. For all the good it did me with the Shaman, that notwithstanding, I know what I saw.
“And what is it you think is coming, exactly?”
I exhale slowly. She’s giving me a chance. One I cannot waste. I meet her steady gaze with my own then lower my head, both in an act of diplomacy and in reaction to the shame that swells in my chest.
Here I am, the Queen who begs. My father would be livid.
“The Shaman’s grip on my people is absolute,” I admit, though it pains me to have to say it. “The moment we move against him, it will be a full-scale war. Not just a skirmish. Not a battle of isolated resistance. A war that I know will determine the future of Tajss itself.”
Rosalind’s fingers drum lightly against her arm.
“And you believe the Zmaj and the humans combined can win such a war? At what cost?”
“United, we can win — but not as we are now,” I say, shaking my head. “If we act now, we’ll lose. I would plan to strike with precision rather than brute force. I believe that with careful planning we may be able to fracture his control before the battle ever begins.”
She nods slowly, thoughtful. I let her have the moment to think and strategize. At last she sighs and shakes her head.
“And what, exactly, would you ask of me?”
“I’ve made my position very clear, but time is moving fast. The pressure to act builds and builds, but still we debate and talk. Every step forward comes with a half-step back.” I drop my head and hands, stripping away the last of my defenses — laying bare the soul of a Queen who has failed. “My people suffer. Their pain is mine. My mistakes led them to this and all I am seeking is a chance to right my wrongs.”
Rosalind inhales sharply as pressure builds behind my eyes. My head aches as my shoulders tighten. I swallow hard, forcing composure back over my body like I am donning a robe, or placing on armor. The facade is, after all, my armor.
“I see,” she says, her voice so tight it’s barely a whisper.
She moves around the fire, coming closer until she is standing right in front of me. She reaches out, offering her hands. I take them and in that moment something at least akin to friendship passes between us. She tightens her hands on mine then lets them go and takes a step back.
“Thank you,” I say, though it feels as if my heart is a lump in my throat and it’s hard to get the words past it.
Rosalind inhales deeply, holds it, then lets it out slowly.
“I respect your desires,” she says. “The three of us want to take care of our people. My mate, Visidion, wants the same too and he speaks for most of the surface Zmaj that came with us, but not all. The rest are more of a fractured alliance, following as long as they can be brought to understanding.”
“I did not realize that,” I say.
She gives a tight, almost grim smile.
“I do not like to reveal too much too fast,” she says. “I am sure you understand.”
I nod and though I do not let my concerns show on my face, it does create a worry. I thought the surface Zmaj, as a whole, were united. The brothers had told me that there were surface Zmaj among the ones we’ve been warring with for generations, but I did not have them separated as a distinct group, much less finding out there are further breakdowns within their ranks.
This could either become a problem or, possibly, an opportunity — if I cannot push an alliance through with Rosalind and the Al’fa.
“I understand,” I say. “Thank you for the trust.”
Rosalind gives a half-laugh, half snort.
“Queen Rani,” she says and I meet her eyes, “I am not a fool. I know you well enough now, I think, to realize you are already calculating how to use this to the benefit of your people. If we are to form an alliance then let us form one based on honesty.”
I pause, debating how to best answer. It seems to me there are two clear paths forward, one in which I continue playing a game of innuendo and possibilities, and one in which I offer trust. If trust is what I seek, then if I do not offer it, how can I expect it back?
“Agreed,” I say. “You are correct, but I am truthful in that I see, now at least, that there is no hope for the future if this war continues. That is even if we set aside whether or not he manages to awaken the Paluga, which I pray he does not.”
“You believe it is real?” she asks, her eyes narrowing and studying me for every reaction.
“I do. Very much. You may see it as myth, but the histories of my people, oral and carved into our mudrosti tell of it. At the end of each world the Paluga awakens. It is a catalyst for the ending and the beginning.”
“Mudrosti?”
My smile is grim. She is sharp, latching onto every clue I give. I must watch my words more carefully when dealing with her. Trust must be offered and earned.
“Mudrosti is a tradition of my people. Each of us carves the events of our lives onto a piece of wood then, at our deaths, they are collected and added to the halls of memory. An ongoing, living history for us to learn from.”
Rosalind nods then runs her hands through her hair and sighs.
“That sounds beautiful. My own people used to have methods of storing our histories. Written, but all that was lost when we crashed onto Tajss.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” I say.
“It is what is,” she says with a shrug. “I cannot change the past and my focus is on the future. “To that end, what would you ask of me in this newly forming alliance of ours?”
“The Al’fa,” I say. “He is… mercurial. Smart, strong, but I have been unable to get him to commit. Every day that passes puts us at greater risk. Risk that the Shaman will succeed in awakening the Paluga. I know there is a resistance in the City that is loyal to me, but how long can they avoid being wiped out by the Shaman’s forces? We need to act. Sooner than later.”
Rosalind nods along then remains silent when I finish. She purses her lips, recrosses her arms over her chest, and her fingers drum.
“You want me to pressure Drogor,” she says at last. It is not a question, and I do not pretend to deny it.
“Drogor is his second. He holds sway over the Al’fa. If he believes an alliance is of the greatest benefit, he will push the Al’fa to accept it.”
Rosalind exhales, glancing toward the fire. For a long moment, she says nothing. Then, softly, she murmurs, “You assume I can manipulate Drogor so easily.”
“Can you not?” I ask, watching her closely.
She tilts her head, considering. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet but firm.
“Drogor acts on his own. He is new to my group, having only joined us in the past solar year. There is no mistaking he is different than the rest, the experiments that were done on him left him changed. His thinking is different than the other Zmaj. He values strength, stability, and his treasure. I can nudge him toward our side, but it will require more than words.”
“What does he want most?” I nod, the wheels already turning.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” she says with a wry smile.
“Then we must find the answer.”
Rosalind rises to her feet, her expression thoughtful.
“I will see what leverage I can find. But understand this, Queen, if I determine the risk outweighs the reward, I will not move forward with this.”
“That is fair,” I agree, inclining my head.
She lingers for a moment longer, as if debating saying more. Then, with a sharp nod, she turns and strides toward the door. Before she leaves, she pauses.
“You said something earlier. That I think beyond myself.”
I meet her gaze, waiting for more. I am not sure what she is thinking or where this is leading. When she doesn’t answer I express my agreement.
“I did.”
Her lips press together and the lines on her face become more prominent. They don’t mar her beauty, if anything they make her more stunning, but I recognize the weight. It is not dissimilar to what I myself feel almost all the time.
“You’re right. I do. And that’s why I will never make decisions based on personal sentiment. Not for my child. Not for myself. I think of all of us — Urr’ki, Zmaj, human alike. I do this not because I am a mother, but because I am a leader.”
With that, she steps out, leaving me alone with the fire once more. I watch the flames dance, my mind already shifting to the next move. Rosalind is right. This is not about personal sentiment. This is about survival. And I will do whatever it takes to ensure my people have a future. Even if it means playing every piece on the board to its fullest potential.
Even if it means sacrificing what little of myself I have left.