Page 65 of Orc's Redemption

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.

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