Page 71 of Orc's Redemption

“If this doesn’t convince him... nothing will.”

I left with only Khiara at my side, slipping away before dawn to avoid notice. Now I return with a symbol and one last gamble; that the Zmaj Al’fa will listen when I speak. That he will remember that once there was peace. Before the generations of war. I do not know, for sure, that the Zmaj keep their history like we do. They are… alien and strange.

Exotic. Enticing.

I quickly bring those thoughts to heel.

Khiara and I raise our hands as the guards approach.

One mutters something I don’t catch; the other stares at me with wide, distrustful eyes. Khiara stiffens when a guard pats him down, bristling like a coiled predator.

When the Zmaj steps toward me, Khiara growls low in his throat.

“She is a Queen,” he warns, voice like stone cracking.

“She will not be armed,” the guard retorts coolly.

“I’m expected,” I say, cool and even.

That’s not true. No one knows I’m coming, yet at least, but the guard hesitates, looking at the three scouts who accompanied us. The leader of that group shrugs and gives a half nod. He looks back at me frowning, then shrugs too.

“Fine,” he says. “If she stabs someone it’s not my fault.”

“It will be fine,” the scout says. “The Al’fa sent her on this mission.”

“Well enough, go,” the guard says, turning his back and resuming his station.

The scouts lead the way. Khiara and I follow. It’s late. The Zmaj mimic day and night much as we did in the city, extinguishing the overhead torches until the cavern dims, though never fully dark. True darkness would invite the monsters that dwell beneath the mountain.

I’m glad that we arrived now, when there are fewer judging eyes. A few patrols cast quick glances, recognize us, then move on. Soon enough we are crossing the sand and dirt of the arena. As central to the Zmaj compound as much as it is to their culture.

They worship strength as if physical prowess alone is the only traits a leader must have. Which explains them almost completely. Their focus is on prowess in battle. If brute strength were all the Al’fa possessed, he would be easy to manipulate.

But he is not.

He is shrewd, calculating, mercurial—refusing to commit until he must, always keeping his options open.

The tunnel under the balcony is empty. A single torch illuminates it as we march along. Only one of the scouts remained with us, escorting us to the Al’fa’s office. It occurs to me that I do not know where his personal chamber is. He, of course, knows where mine is, since he assigned it to me. That hardly seems fair.

“Wait inside,” the scout says. I nod and move towards the door while he holds the leather door aside. When Khiara moves to enter first he puts his hand on his chest. “Not you.”

“You won’t st?—”

I place my hand on Khiara’s arm, stopping him from finishing his protest. His head jerks sharply to me.

“It is fine,” I say. “You should report to your brother and Vapas. Your mate will be worried.”

“My Queen, you are my duty,” he says.

“Yes, my warrior,” I agree. “And you are duty bound to obey. Now go. I am as safe here as I am anywhere.”

Khiara growls low and harsh, a sound of pure protest, before shooting a glare at the Zmaj and marching away. The Zmaj waits until I walk through the door and drops the leather back into place.

The chamber is empty. I scan the room expecting him to be here despite the hour, but I am alone. I walk over to the table and study the scale model of the Zmaj compound. It is an impressive piece of art. I circle the table, studying it from angles I had no chance to explore before.

I’m not sure why they made it, but it is beautiful in a strange, self-aggrandizing kind of way. Almost it seems to scream look at us, look at what we’ve done. Their compound is built upon the blood and tears of my people. That, I hope, is the past.

We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it,my father always said that.

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