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Page 21 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)

21

RANI

A s soon as I exit the Al’fa’s chambers Za’tan is waiting. His glare is angry and disgruntled, which is nothing new for him, but it makes me wonder how much he heard and saw. Embarrassment flickers through my thoughts. I had believed I was alone with the Al’fa. What I said and did was for his eyes and ears only and most especially not for the one who most strongly opposes the alliance I so deeply need.

The corridors of the Zmaj stronghold, carved from raw stone, are dimly lit by the flickering glow of burning torches. The air is thick with the scent of heated metal, dust, and the primal musk of the Zmaj—a potent mix of sweat and fire.

The scent of him.

I walk with my back straight, my steps measured. I am, as always, aware of the eyes on me. The warriors who do not trust me. The ones who would rather see me dead than consider an alliance.

They do not speak. They do not need to. Their silence is a blade, sharp and unspoken.

I ignore them the same as I ignore Za’tan at my side, though his heavy footfalls echo against the cavern walls. He is not pleased, but then, I did not expect him to be, nor do I truly care except that he has the Al’fa’s ear. Though no longer the Al’fa’s second, his opinion remains respected—and dangerous.

“You kneel too easily,” he says at last.

I glance at him. “And you assume too quickly.”

His tail twitches once. A small sign of irritation.

“I assume only what I see.”

“Then you do not see enough.”

Za’tan stops walking. I go three steps further, hoping to avoid this conversation. I did not want him to see that and I am in no mood to discuss this with him. I did what I thought best for my people. As I always have.

And there was something more. Something dangerously exciting.

I push that thought away, locking it in the same box where I shove all such thoughts. There has not been, and most certainly is not now, time for them.

“What is it that I fail to see, Queen Rani?”

I turn, slowly, to meet his gaze unflinching. His one milky eye with its scars gives him an off-putting air, but I do not let it affect me. He is a warrior and he bears the scars of a lifetime of protecting and serving his Al’fa. I do respect him, even if we are at odds right now.

“The difference between submission and strategy,” I answer.

His expression tightens. The scars over his eye deepen as he frowns, shaking his head. His tail swishes across the floor, but with nervousness or anger, I am not sure.

“You call kneeling strategy?”

“I think,” I say, voice even, “that you are a warrior who measures strength only in battle.” I step closer. “War is fought with more than blood and blades. I think that you do not respect me because I did not answer challenge with combat. But tell me, Za’tan, what would it have served me?”

His jaw clenches. I press my advantage.

“I could have risked one of my people,” I continue. “Any one of them would have stepped on the sands gladly on my behalf. But what would that have gained? Blood does not make allies. As it is I have secured a degree of hope. I have given the Al’fa a reason to listen. I have made myself valuable.” I tilt my head. “And I did not have to draw a single drop of blood to do it.”

Za’tan exhales through his nose. It is not quite a sigh. Not quite a growl. Then, finally, he nods.

“Perhaps there is more to you than I thought.”

It is not an apology. It is not respect. But it is a step. And right now, I will take every step I can get. I smile, only a half-smile, more, would not be appropriate to the situation, and nod.

“Thank you,” I acknowledge. “I hope so.” He grunts, looks around, then gestures with one arm that we should continue. “You will escort me to my home?”

“Yes,” he says, after a moment’s hesitation. “I think it best.”

“For my protection, Za’tan?”

He looks around. We stand at the far edge of the arena, ready to begin our ascent up the spiraling ramp to the top where my room is located. Dozens of eyes watch us, surreptitiously or openly, it doesn’t matter. Some gaze in question, others in disagreement, and some, however few but prominent all the same, with disgust and hate.

“Yes,” he says, narrowing his one good eye as he casts a challenging gaze around the room.

“Then I thank you,” I say, meaning every word.

His eye stops on mine. Studying, questioning, and weighing everything. Finally, he nods, gestures again, and we walk side-by-side up the ramp.

* * *

“No,” Dilacs says, shaking with barely contained rage.

“Brother,” Khiara hisses.

“Enough,” Vapas says. “Do not be a fool. This is our Queen. It is not on us to second guess, but to follow.”

“You are all fools!” Dilacs yells, throwing his hands up. His human mate, Gweneth, dodges the wild gesture by deftly ducking his arm and placing her hand on his chest. He growls, but when he looks at her, his eyes soften. Still, his anger vibrates through the room. “My Queen, I will follow your lead, always. But you must see how dangerous this is. We cannot put you in reach of the Shaman.”

I watch them. My warriors and their human mates. The love they share between each other is beyond clear. A flicker of jealousy twists in my chest when I see the way they look at each other. I want someone to look at me in the same way. I, though, am the Queen. The looks I get are of quite a different nature.

Not when the Al’fa looked at me. Like he wanted to devour me. Or shove his ? —

I stop that train of thought fast. I cannot give myself over to base desires.

“Dilacs… all of you,” I say, keeping my voice carefully controlled and neutral. I look at each of my warriors in turn. So few, so much risk, and I keep asking more of them. I know they all would like nothing more than to stay with their mates. For them to be safe, but there is no safety as long as the Shaman lives. They know it as well as I do. “I know I am asking too much. Believe me, I do not do so lightly. But this is the only path I see.”

“What is it you ask of us?” Vapas asks.

“Khiara, would I be correct that you know the resistance best?” I ask.

He frowns, looks at the other two, half-shrugs, then nods.

“I think so, my Queen,” he says.

I nod, pursing my lips. This is a big ask, making me nervous. It’s foolish, but I always feel this way when sending one of my people into danger. I have never gotten used to asking them to for any reason, much less a mission as fraught with peril as this one will be.

“Then I will ask that you accompany me on this mission.”

Saylor gasps. It’s a soft sound, but in the heavy silence of the room, it has nowhere to hide. Her face pales and her hands convulse on his arm, but she doesn’t say anything. Yet my heart breaks for her. There is no denying how dangerous this will be, because it will be. Terribly so.

“Yes my Queen,” he says, with only the barest hesitation.

Only long enough to catch his mate’s eyes and place his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture.

“My Queen,” Dilacs says. His voice is so tight it sounds like it is on the edge of cracking. His hands are clenched into fists and his muscles tremble. “Please do not do this. It is too dangerous. We cannot… I cannot lose you.”

I smile and it is, for once, genuine. I walk closer until I rest my hand on the arm opposite the one Gweneth is clinging to. His eyes are moist, his jaw clenched. The worry lines on his face are as deep as fissures in the depths of the mountain.

“My brave warrior,” I say, keeping my voice soft, meant for him even though they all will hear it. “I appreciate you more than words. I know this is dangerous and I wish I saw any other path that would not force me to put myself or your brother in danger, but I don’t. We must forge this alliance with the Zmaj.”

He grunts, shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything. I step back from him, moving to where I can see them all in a single look.

“This war… it’s over. Our hope lies not in more conflict, but in the humans.”

I look at each of them in turn. Gweneth, Saylor, and Phoebe. The three women meet my eyes with their own, their eyes glistening with fear, but their faces resolved. They know it as well as I do.

“As you command,” the warriors intone as one. “We serve with the strength of the mountain.”

As one they strike their fists to their chests. The resounding thud echoes off stone walls. It is decided. I will be returning to my stolen city. If only for a little while. Long enough to make contact with the resistance and return with hope.