Page 25 of Orc’s Redemption (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #35)

25

RANI

T he air inside the cavern is too still.

I watch the torchlight dance over cracked rock walls, held by one of the Zmaj scouts. We’re close to the city. So close I can feel it in the stone. The pulse of my people, the Urr’ki. Their presence hums beneath the stone, alive even if I cannot reach them. I cannot enter my home. Not yet.

The Zmaj scouts who agreed to escort me linger at the edge of the shadows, speaking in hushed tones. They don’t trust me, which I understand. Why should they? I am the face of the enemy they have fought all their lives. To them nothing has changed and I still am.

I draw my cloak tighter around my shoulders and lower myself onto a flat rock to wait. The silence between us would be almost unbearable, but I am used to it now. The Shaman taught me to be at peace with it. All the time I spent alone in my dark cell with nothing but my own thoughts. The only choices I had were to come to terms or go insane. Knowing my people needed me was an anchor that kept me from choosing the latter.

“You were royalty?” one of the Zmaj asks, breaking the silence at last.

He has copper scales and a voice like gravel. His expression is skeptical, but not cruel, only curious.

“I was,” I answer.

He glances at his companions, then back at me.

“You don’t look like a queen.”

That makes me smile, at least faintly.

“Good. Queens are often assassinated,” I answer, meeting his curious eyes which still carry hints of an accusation, but of what I am not sure. That earns me a low grunt of approval from the other one.

“Clever. And dangerous.”

“I am both,” I say, keeping my voice even.

He studies me for a moment longer, then nods. The silence returns, but it’s different now. Not hostile. Wary.

Khiara be safe .

The thought creeps in and wraps around my mind like a vine. I know he’s capable. Smart. Swift. Loyal. None of which changes how much I dislike sending him alone. I hate that I’m sitting here, unable to act, waiting for something I can’t control.

He slipped away hours ago, vanishing into the maze of tunnels beyond this cavern. There’s an old entrance to the city that only the inner guard would know. A passage I once used to sneak out when I needed space, freedom, and unobserved air. Janara would know it too. If he’s still alive. If he hasn’t been corrupted.

I clench my jaw. No. Janara will be loyal. He has to be.

The Zmaj move to the edges of the cavern, leaving me alone. I don’t blame them. Ours is a temporary truce, for now, and nothing more. Though I do wonder what they think of me. If they see the weight on my shoulders. The ache that never leaves. The loss that haunts every breath. I stare at the dark opening down which Khiara walked. Waiting. Hoping.

I miss my people.

Not the throne. Not the power. Those things were nice, but they never drew me to them. The responsibility that came with them far outweighed the moments of pleasure I might take in them. The thing I miss most of all is the sense of purpose. The knowledge that I was doing what I must to protect them.

And I failed. Not because I was wrong, but because I was outplayed. Which is worse. I should have seen what the Shaman was doing, but I didn’t. He was more patient than I gave him credit for. But Janara… he never bent. Never wavered.

He once told me that he would follow me into fire if I believed it was the path to freedom. I never asked to test that loyalty, but I desperately need it now.

A rustling sound catches my ear. I rise to my feet, letting the cloak fall away from my shoulders. The Zmaj heard it too, standing alert with weapons drawn and eyes narrowed.

The darkness and shadows swirl and then a figure emerges followed by another and then another. Khiara steps forward first, his hands raised to show they are empty and he poses no threat.

“My Queen.” His words tumble out in a rush. “I found the General. He recognized and followed the signs.”

Relief threatens to collapse my knees. I hold steady. Janara steps into the firelight. He seems taller than I remember, though I know it must be the weight of memory tricking me. His presence is exactly the same, commanding, coiled, controlled.

He stares. His dark eyes studying, judging, and for a moment, we say nothing. His gaze softens—barely, like a crack forming in a wall of stone—then he drops to one knee, bowing his head.

“My Queen. You look tired,” he says, his head bowed.

“I am, my General. Now rise.”

He looks up, meeting my gaze and a ghost of a smile touches his lips. He stands as I commanded.

“You’re also alive, thank the roots of the mountain. That’s what matters.”

The Zmaj step forward, tense. I lift my hand, hoping they will obey the simple gesture, since I have no real command over them. Janara’s eyes dart from me to them, narrowing. The old hatred burns in his eyes, but instead of acting he clenches his jaw.

“Let him speak,” I ask, “please.”

Janara’s eyes flick from one of the Zmaj warriors to the next before he gives a curt nod.

“We came quickly. Khiara’s message was… strange. And dangerous.”

He glances at the two warriors beside him. I recognize both. Once they were members of my personal guard.

“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.

“You trust him?”

“I… trust that he wants to protect his people. The same as I do.”

He studies me, reading between the lines. “But you’re also unsure.”

“Of course I’m unsure. I’m also running out of options and we can’t afford to do nothing,” I say, lifting my chin.

His eyes harden and he frowns deeply.

“There’s a rumor in the city that the Shaman plans to execute another group of dissidents. He’s doing that more and more. Feeding them to the machine. It will be within the next handspan.”

My stomach twists. I know well the sounds those put on the infernal machine make. The pain and torture that it puts them through to sacrifice their blood to the Paluga is beyond belief.

“He’s escalating,” I say. “Why?”

“He’s scared,” Janara says. “He knows the people are restless. The Resistance has recently had to act. He’s tightening his grip in response.”

“I need something to bring back to the Al’fa,” I whisper. “Something real. Proof that there are still those in the city willing to fight for me. That an alliance is possible . ”

Janara hesitates. His eyes search mine, then reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a small, battered emblem. I recognize it instantly. My sigil. The seal I once wore around my neck when addressing the Council of Elders. The silver is dull, the chain broken, but it’s real . He presses it into my hand.

“This survived. Passed from hand to hand through the underground. When people see this, they remember what you stood for. Who and what we were. It is one of the few things that can pull most of them from the despair that rots their souls.”

Emotion swells, sharp and sudden. I close my fingers around the emblem, its familiar weight grounding me, tethering me to the girl I used to be.

“I don’t deserve this,” I whisper.

“Maybe not,” he says. “But the people need a symbol. And you’re it.”

I nod once, sharp and quick, before the tears can come. Janara turns to leave.

“I’ll spread word that you live. That you’re working with the Zmaj.”

“That will make you a target.”

He grins, wild and fierce.

“Good. My Queen, I have lived all my life to serve.” He shrugs and then shakes his head. “And I’ve been getting bored.”

Khiara chuckles. I step forward, touching his arm.

“Thank you.”

He pauses, then cups my shoulder briefly.

“Come back soon. With strength,” he says, pausing to look over me again and shaking his head. “Gada. Even with the Zmaj. I will make sure we are ready.”

And then he vanishes into the shadows with his companions, just as swiftly as they came. The cavern is silent again. But it feels different now. Not just a place of hiding. A place of hope. I turn back to the fire and meet the Zmaj’s gaze.

“You heard?”

They nod.

“You have allies,” one says. “That matters.”

I hold the sigil tighter and lift my chin.

“Yes,” I say. “And now… we fight together.”