Page 78 of Orc's Redemption

“Wha—” I say, blinking away the last vestiges of fear.

Vapas is crouching beside the cubby, his dark eyes glistening in the dim light of the coals.

“The Zmaj,” he grumbles. “They say their Al’fa…” he trails off, eyes narrowing, mouth deepening into a frown, “…he demands your presence.”

Demands. Once I would have had anyone who demanded anything of me punished. Once, no one would have dared. Or if they had, I probably would never have known about it because those around me would have taught them the error of their ways. That is no longer the case.

“Thank you, Vapas,” I say, rubbing the small bump forming on my head. The Zmaj have terrible design skills. “If you don’t mind, could you ask them to give me a moment to dress?”

“Of course,” he says, rising and bowing before he leaves my room.

I slip out of the cubby, pausing to look at the thing that the Zmaj call a bed. No wonder they’re so warlike. They’ve probably never had a decent night’s sleep in their entire lives. Resting inside a cubby carved into stone. Hard, cold, and uncomfortable. Kind of like the Zmaj themselves.

Except him. He’s hard and cool, yes, but beneath those scales there’s a fire.

Shaking my head, I roll my shoulders, then swing my arms to get the blood flowing. I dress quickly. It’s not as if I have choices in what I wear, which makes this much simpler than it ever was before I was imprisoned.

Before that, I had handmaids who selected my elaborate dresses from massive closets. That was when I was a symbol as much as a leader. I always chafed at that part of my duties, but even so, I knew how important they were. The people needed something to believe in, and that was the role I played.

I run my fingers over the frayed cloth that is all I now own. The grandeur and spectacle are gone, stripped away. What remains is forged iron. My people depend on me whether they know it or not. This is a battle of wills. Mine versus the Shaman and me versus the Al’fa. If I do not bring the Al’fa and his Zmaj to an alliance, then all hope will be lost.

I cannot fail.

He waits—in the middle of the night.

I should probably feel trepidation. I don’t. I am calm and ready. I will not be beaten. Not only my people depend on me; all of us do. Zmaj, humans, and Urr’ki alike.

As if in response to my thoughts, a tremor shakes the ground. The Paluga is awakening. There may be no stopping it now. All the stories and wisdom of my people tell the same tale. The Paluga brings the end of the world, ushering in the next in waves of fire.

Dust falls from the ceiling, settling onto the coals and dimming them further. The air is chill as I dress. I could stir up the fire, but it would be a waste of fuel since I won’t be here long enough to appreciate the warmth.

Dressed, I retrieve the scroll I was working on before I went to sleep and turn to the leather door. It’s only been a few moments since Vapas woke me up, but it feels as if it’s been longer. I do not want to keep the Al’fa waiting, but I need this moment to myself. I lower to my knees, bow my head, and offer up my own heartfelt prayer to Tajss.

I do not believe this world is done. Grant me wisdom. Show me the way forward.

Nodding I rise and walk to the door. Vapas pulls the leather aside before I touch it. I give him a smile and his eyes light up. Impulsively, I put my hand on his free arm, holding his eyes for a moment. The surprise and gratitude on his face is more than enough reward for the small gesture.

Two Zmaj stand in the shadows, staring. They look at each other then back to me.

“I am ready,” I announce.

“Good, we go,” one of them says and starts walking.

The other one waits, clearly intending to bring up the rear. Vapas and he glare at one another, and I decide not to intervene. I barely take a few steps before a scuffle breaks out behind me. Turning, the Zmaj is blocking Vapas from joining me.

“What is happening?” I ask, voice carefully neutral.

“Alone,” the Zmaj says.

“Over my dead body,” Vapas growls.

“Not a problem,” the Zmaj says, his tail darting up and curling over his head as his hands ball into fists.

“No,” I snap, stepping up to the two males already engaged and ready to fight. “Vapas, it will be fine.”

His eyes flick to mine, then back to his opponent. A low growl rumbles from his chest.

“My Queen,” he grumbles.

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