Page 19

M ara

A heavy cloud has hung over us ever since Emily disappeared. My friends try to act normal, but I see the worry in their eyes. Conversations don’t last as long, laughter is scarce, and every time someone approaches, we flinch, as if we’re expecting bad news.

None of us know what happened that night, not really. All we do know is that Emily is missing, and so is Vrok. And given what we know of him and the way he looks at us like we’re disposable, it’s hard not to assume the worst.

We should be talking about Emily, about what we’re doing to find her. But instead, the conversation tonight has shifted to something else entirely.

“I’m just saying,” Isabella says, while taking a seat at the long wooden table, “why not send someone to at least ask?”

Enosir’s head pops up. “Ask what?”

He’s the youngest warrior in the tribe, and he exudes the restless energy of someone with something to prove. He only earned the title of warrior recently, after passing a trial not long before we crashed here.

I glance at Haley, who’s sitting beside Draggar.

The expression on her face is cautious and hopeful.

We all know where this is going. We’ve been talking about this among ourselves ever since Isabella and I got back from the mission to find the other humans who crashed on Laedirissae.

And each day we hesitate, it feels more and more like we’re sitting on a ticking time bomb.

“To ask the other tribes if they’ll be our allies against the Pugj,” Isabella explains.

The table falls silent. It’s not the usual kind of silence—the bemused kind whenever we say or do something the Laediriians don’t understand.

This is heavy and charged with tension. Some of the gathered warriors pause mid-bite, others exchange wary glances. Even the elders at the far end of the table stop in the middle of their discussion about various tracking techniques and stare at us.

Enosir gapes at her like she’s grown a second head. “You want us to march up to the Icerii or the Silare and just… ask?”

“Yes,” Isabella says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it is. To us.

More awkward silence follows until finally, Sorrin releases a snort. “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

I nudge him in the side with my elbow and give him my best shut-up-before-you-blow-it look.

But he glances down at me with a unrepentant grin spread across his handsome face. “Well, it is.”

Morgan, one of the new girls, quirks a brow from her spot beside Isabella. “Is it?”

Sorrin gestures broadly, as if the answer is obvious. “The Icerii are as ruthless as they are unpredictable, and the Silare live in some of the most treacherous terrain on the continent. Neither are the kind to make friends.”

Draggar nods along before leaning forward. “The Anuriix have long survived without alliances, and there is no guarantee any of these tribes would even agree to meet with us.”

Morgan shrugs. “Maybe, but we’ll never know unless we try.”

It’s clear from their expressions that the warriors are resistant. This isn’t how they do things, but the way they’ve been doing things so far has resulted in them only surviving. With the threat of war creeping closer every damn day that passes, surviving isn’t enough anymore.

I take a piece of flatbread from the platter being passed around and put it on my plate before clearing my throat.

“Morgan’s right. If the other tribes knew about the Pugj’s plans, they might be willing to listen.

And if not…” I tear off a bite of warm, crispy bread and pop it into my mouth, chewing slowly. “Then we move on.”

A deep sigh comes from the head of the table where the chief of the tribe sits. The firelight casts shadows across Daggir’s weathered face as he leans forward, bracing his forearms against the table. His gaze sweeps over us.

Finally, he speaks, “You are asking me to risk warriors. To send them into territories where they may be slaughtered on sight for the possibility of aid.”

He’s not being dramatic. Just honest. Laedirissae is breathtaking. It’s wild and otherworldly in its beauty, but it’s a planet that straddles the line between ancient and futuristic. And its beauty is the kind that comes with claws. Sometimes literally.

It tests you, pushes you to the edge, and in doing so, it draws out strengths you didn’t know you had.

And the people who call it home? They’re no different.

They’re proud and fierce and loyal to their core.

This tribe welcomed us with open arms. They’ve fed us, clothed us, fought for us, and accepted us as members of the tribe.

But they’re also resistant to change. To anything that threatens the fragile balance they’ve fought to keep.

I glance around at the faces I’ve come to know so well.

Somewhere along the way, this stopped being just about survival.

I’m not just a guest here anymore. These people are my tribe now, too—the warriors, the elders, even the kids who tug at my hands and ask me to braid their hair.

I’m building a life with them, and I’ll fight for them just as fiercely as I would for my sister or the friends I arrived with.

But asking them to reach out? To trust again after everything they've lost? That’s not a small thing.

For a while, no one speaks. The only sounds are the crackling fire and the bright voices of the kids in the tribe at their own table, unaware of the tension simmering just feet away.

Then, Morgan clears her throat. “No offense, Chief, but didn’t you already send warriors out to look for Emily?” She meets his gaze without flinching. “That was a risk. And sitting here doing nothing is a risk, too. One that grows every day the Pugj are out there growing stronger.”

A few warriors shift uncomfortably. Someone mutters under their breath, but no one disagrees with her. I watch Daggir as his fingers tap idly against the worn wood of the table.

Morgan presses on. “All I’m saying is… what’s the harm in trying?”

The chief doesn’t respond right away. The tension tightens, winding through the gathered warriors like a coiled rope ready to snap.

Some glance at each other with unease flickering in their eyes.

Others stare down at their plates as if the food before them is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Even Sorrin shifts restlessly beside me.

Daggir’s gaze turns speculative. He’s weighing the risks, turning the idea over like a blade in his hands, testing its weight and its edge.

Seeing his hesitation, I speak up. “On Earth, forming alliances is how we’ve survived for thousands of years. There’s strength in numbers. And what’s the alternative? Sitting here and waiting for them to wipe us out?”

Draggar nods grimly, his arm tightening protectively around Haley.

“The humans speak the truth. The Tussoll and Pugj are growing bolder. They’ve started raiding our supply caches in the norther part of the territory, and our hunters report being stalked.

I’ve had to order the warriors not to travel alone anymore.

There have been too many skirmishes. If we do nothing, we invite destruction. ”

Finally, Daggir releases a heavy sigh. “The Silare and Icerii are fierce. They might even kill our warriors as soon as they set foot in their territories.”

Morgan shakes her head. “Not if we give them a reason to listen.” She glances around the table, meeting the gaze of each person gathered. A slow smile spreads across her lips. “This tribe can offer something no other tribe on the planet has.”

She gestures to herself, to me, and to the other women sitting around the table.

I meet her eyes and grin as her meaning becomes clear.

“I’m not saying we go in there and start—” She waves her hand vaguely.

“—offering ourselves up like sacrifices. But think about it. Every tribe on this planet is struggling. The Laediriian people are dying out. But you,” she points to Daggir, “and your warriors, you’ve got mates now.

You have hope. And there’s nothing more tempting than hope. ”

She spreads her hands in a gesture that’s part shrug, part sales pitch. “Think of it as a little sugar to sweeten the deal.”

The Laediriians are quiet as they exchange puzzled glances with each other. The translator chips in our heads usually do a decent job. Actually, more than decent. But Earth idioms? Those get tricky. Sometimes hilariously so.

Like when Aria, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was about to unleash, asked one of the warriors to give her a hand moving furniture around the medic hut.

The poor guy went pale, stared at his own hand like he was mentally preparing to cut it off, and then asked if she preferred his dominant hand or if the other would be sufficient.

He still keeps his distance from her.

Enosir frowns. “You wish to feed them?” His voice is tinged with alarm, probably at the thought of giving up any food. The guy does love to eat. “How will sweetened food make them ally with us?”

Isabella snorts, and I stifle a chuckle.

Morgan opens her mouth, probably to explain, but before she can say anything, Crystal leans forward, one eyebrow arched high on her forehead. “Maybe talk less and smile more.”

Morgan shoots her a dry look. “Not helping, Hamilton.”

Crystal just shrugs, completely unbothered. “Hey, you’re the one pitching intertribal diplomacy using metaphors.” She crosses her arms. “And it was Aaron Burr, by the way.”

Morgan looks like she’s debating whether to groan or strangle her.

“Besides,” Crystal adds, smirking, “better sugar than the time I told Warrix to bite me, and he asked me if it was an Earth mating ritual.”

That earns an actual snort-laugh from me, and a strangled sound from Morgan that sounds like muffled laughter.

But Crystal just shrugs. Her lips curve into a smile like she’s enjoying herself.

Finally, Morgan turns back to Enosir, shaking her head. “It’s an Earth expression. Sugar means something sweet, like an incentive. If they have the hope of one day having mates, they might be more likely to join forces with this tribe.”

The warriors still don’t look convinced, but I can see the idea taking root. They might not understand all of our strange humanish sayings , as they call them, but they understand leverage.

Daggir watches Morgan closely. “And you propose we send a party to these tribes with you among them?”

Morgan nods. “Yes.”

Immediate protests rise from the warriors and elders.

“She is human?—”

“Too dangerous?—”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Daggir silences them all with a withering look before he clears his throat. “They could take you captive.”

“Then we make sure they don’t,” I cut in. “Morgan’s right. The presence of women could make the tribes more inclined to listen. Besides, we wouldn’t send them alone. We’d send warriors with them.”

The chief exhales deeply as he rubs a large hand over his weathered jaw. Then, finally, after a long moment of silence, he nods. “Very well. We will send a party.” His sharp gaze sweeps over everyone. “Who will volunteer?”

Morgan lifts her hand. “I’m in.”

Isabella sighs. “What the hell. I’m in, too. I may as well earn as many Laedirissae travel miles as I can.”

The confused looks on the Laediriians’ faces only make her grin widen.