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Chapter Twenty-Four

Z exx ascended the winding ramp that curled around the interior of the tower, his footfalls silent despite the formal Crestek boots he'd reluctantly grown accustomed to wearing. Even with foot coverings, he could tread without making a sound due to years of silent hunts on the sands.

The morning light streamed through the arched windows cut into the stone, casting alternating patterns of light and shadow across his path. He’d grown accustomed to the presence of more shadow than sun, although he often longed to feel the suns’ rays beating on his back.

What a strange turn his life had taken. A Dothvek warrior finding happiness within the cold stone walls of the Crestek city, in the arms of their chancellor no less.

He paused at a window, gazing across the city toward the distant shimmer of sand on the horizon. He should have been counting the days until he could return home, should have been resenting every moment trapped within these walls—yet he found himself content in a way he'd never experienced before.

Guilt shadowed that contentment like a sandstorm hiding the suns. How could he find such joy among a people he'd been raised to view as enemies? People who had oppressed and demonized the Dothveks for generations? Weren’t the Cresteks the ones responsible for the illness that killed so many of their females? Hadn’t their greed and desire for comforts made them weak, and hadn’t that weakness damaged both their peoples?

But as much as his ire still flamed when he thought of the damage they had done, the Cresteks were no longer faceless enemies to him. They were individuals, some he'd grown to respect, others he still distrusted. K’Nar, with his pinched expressions and perpetual air of disapproval, yet fierce loyalty to Linnea. The old scholar who'd eagerly questioned him about Dothvek healing techniques, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. The market vendor who'd pressed extra pastries into his hands when he'd passed through the market square, whispering that her son had been one of the guards saved by Dothveks during a sand serpent attack near the eastern border.

And then there was Linnea—the woman who had transformed from enemy to lover so completely that he could hardly remember a time when he hadn't craved her touch, her scent, her smile.

He continued up the ramp, adjusting the formal tunic that still felt confining despite the tailor's efforts to accommodate his broader frame. As he approached the level where the council chamber was located, the murmur of voices reached his ears. The council meeting must have ended; he'd timed his arrival to catch Linnea alone afterward.

But these voices were low, conspiratorial. His warrior's instincts flared, and he slipped silently into a recessed doorway several paces before the chamber entrance. From here, he could hear but remain unseen.

"—diminished considerably since the reception," one voice was saying, a voice he recognized as belonging to Advisor Vellen, one of Linnea's security council members. "The common people seem pacified by the barbarian's charm."

"For now," replied a raspy voice—Councilor Taal, the agricultural minister. "But a week of peace hardly constitutes a success. It's time to pay more coin for some disruption."

He tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for a blade that wasn't there. These were Linnea's trusted advisors, speaking of deliberately undermining the peace?

"Agreed," Vellen said. "This time the protest needs to make more of an impact, something the chancellor can't simply ignore. Once she imposes stricter sanctions and shows her true colors, we can make the case that she's just as oppressive as past chancellors."

"And have her removed from power," Taal finished, satisfaction dripping from his words. "The council would have no choice but to act."

Zexx’s blood ran cold as their meaning became clear. These men weren't concerned about protecting the city from threats; they were orchestrating their own chancellor's downfall.

"She's been impossible since taking power," Vellen continued, his voice dropping even lower. "A female giving orders as if she has any right to lead. Her brother was bad enough, but at least he understood how to properly deal with sand barbarians."

"I've seen how she looks at that Dothvek," Taal muttered. "Always finding excuses to have him close. Do you think there's something between them?"

"If there is," Vellen replied, "it would be the perfect weapon against her. Even those who support her would turn if they knew she was bedding the enemy."

“Especially all the high-born females who want to bed him themselves.” A crude, rasping laugh. “They would rip her to pieces without us lifting a finger.”

Every muscle in his body tensed, primal rage surging through him. He wanted nothing more than to step from his hiding place and confront these traitors, to make them answer for their treachery with Dothvek justice. His fingers curled into fists so tight he felt his nails cutting into his palms.

But attacking them would only confirm their beliefs about his people being savage and violent. It would play directly into their hands, giving them precisely the ammunition they needed against both him and Linnea.

He remained frozen in the shadows as their footsteps moved away, continuing up the ramp and eventually fading from hearing. Only then did he release his breath, a wave of nausea washing over him as their words echoed in his mind.

They were deliberately sabotaging the peace, paying for protests, planning to use them to force Linnea into heavy-handed action that would turn her people against her. And worse—they suspected their relationship and planned to use it as a weapon.

He stepped out from the alcove, his body feeling strangely disconnected as he continued toward the council chamber. The stone walls that had begun to feel almost familiar now seemed threatening again, closing in around him like a trap. How many other Cresteks in positions of power harbored the same hatred? How many others plotted against their own chancellor? Who else was in on the plan?

The chamber door was partially open when he reached it, voices drifting out as the last council members departed. He waited until they had passed, nodding mechanically in response to their respectful acknowledgments, before slipping inside.

Linnea sat at the head of the long table, sunlight sifting through the high windows and turning her dark hair to silk shot with gold. She was reviewing documents, her brow furrowed in concentration, and for a moment he simply watched her—this woman who carried the weight of an entire city on her shoulders while traitors whispered in her shadow.

When she finally looked up and saw him, her face transformed, lighting with a smile that made his chest ache. How could he tell her that her own advisors were conspiring against her? That he was being eyed as a potential weapon against her?

"Ambassador," she said, the formal title at odds with the warmth in her eyes. "Is something the matter?"

He crossed to her, placing his palms on the cool surface of the table and leaning forward. "Linnea," he began, his voice rougher than he intended. "There's something you need to know."