Page 106 of Orc's Redemption

I study them. This strange, fragile, powerful thing they’ve built between the three of them. Z’leni, born in fire and taught to hate finding peace with a Zmaj? And Elara, human, yet more than human now. They are symbols of what we’re fighting for. Of what might be possible.

“I’ll have maps drawn,” I say softly. “And a guide to take you partway, then turn back.”

“I know the way,” Z’leni says without hesitation.

I look at his bold determination for a moment before nodding.

“May Tajss carry you,” I whisper.

Elara steps forward and catches my hand. Her fingers are cold, but her grip is firm.

“I saw what he’s doing,” she says, her voice hoarse. “It’s worse than you think. They’re not just dying. They’re being broken.”

Her eyes fill, but the tears don’t fall.

“We’ll stop him. Even if we die trying,” I vow, pressing my hand over hers, binding us both to it.

“Tell them goodbye. And you two… don’t die,” I say, shifting my attention to the warriors. “We will still need you after this.”

They nod once then the three of them stride from the chamber side-by-side with Elara between them. They don’t look back. Not even once.

I swallow hard and turn back to the war table, to finish what must be done.

38

ELARA

Ilean against the cool stone wall, watching Ryatuv and Z’leni. Their voices bounce off the stone walls of the Zmaj armory. They try to keep their voices low and clipped, but there’s no mistaking the edge in Ryatuv’s voice or the cold, calculated responses from Z’leni. The fight is the same one they’ve been circling for hours, days even. Tactics. Timing. Risk.

Me.

I don’t know whether to laugh or scream.

They’re planning a mission that will probably get them killed, and yet somehow, I’m the battleground they’re fighting over. My fingers twitch against my side, curling into a fist. I bite the inside of my cheek to stay silent and keep myself from interrupting them again. It hasn’t done any good so far and I don’t see any reason to think it will now.

“...we hit the supports near the top—” Ryatuv says.

“No,” Z’leni cuts in. “That would cause a collapse. A panic. More death.”

“And what’s your plan?” Ryatuv snaps, quieter than before, but barely suppressed fury is laced through every word. “Walk in and pray the Shaman hands it over? Maybe if we ask really nice he’ll agree.”

I step toward the door before I hear more because I don’t need to. The lines are clearly drawn between them. Duty versus belief. Instinct versus calculation and I’m the bridge stretched too thin between the two men.

Stepping into the corridor outside, I see her—Rosalind. I blink in surprise that she left the planning meeting for the main assault. Why is she here?

She strides down the corridor, urgency in her step, and something brittle behind her eyes. She’s tired, which is no surprise. We all are and most of us don’t have a newborn child to keep us awake as well. The tension in her jaw and the tightness in her shoulders—that’s something else.

“Elara,” she says, voice low and grim, motioning me toward a side alcove.

I follow her without a word. There’s no time for ceremony. The moment we’re out of view, she turns to face me, sharp and direct.

“There’s something we didn’t account for. Someone else we have to help. She’s alive.”

It takes me a second to understand. “Who?—?”

“Annalise,” Rosalind says. “She’s still in the Urr’ki city and she’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” I breathe, my chest tightening.

---