8. Rani
8
RANI
T he council chamber is a cavern of shadows and crimson light. I sit across the scale model from the Al’fa who remains standing. Za’tan and Drogor are on his flanks. Rosalind is to my left. At her side is a hooded Zmaj who towers over her much smaller human frame. Khiara is my guard for this meeting.
Seven people. Seven minds. Each with their own wants, desires, and agendas. Each with the power to derail my intention of creating an alliance. One I truly hope will outlast all of us.
My people have lost the war. If I had been insightful enough to realize that before the Shaman rose to power none of this would have happened. I could have negotiated from a position of much greater strength than what I am now. A Queen in exile with no real leverage navigating turbulent waters.
The Al’fa stands at the head of the room, broad-shouldered and brimming with unspoken authority. His scales catch the crimson glow, and the sharp angles of his jaw and horns give him a permanent air of menace. But beneath that, I see the flickers of conflict, the subtle hesitation that betrays his hard-edged facade.
To his right, Za’tan is ever-watchful, arms crossed, distrust written plainly across his face. To his left, Drogor appears relaxed. He is not only strong, the only thing these Zmaj respect, but he’s smart. I see it on his face that he’s always calculating. Then there’s Rosalind, the sole human among monsters, her cool demeanor hiding a will of steel.
I observe. I listen.
The Zmaj argue in deep, resonant tones. I track every word, every shift in posture, reading them as clearly as if they were etched into stone.
“Peace with the Urr’ki is impossible,” Za’tan says, voice edged with disdain. His eyes flicker to me for the briefest of moments. “They cannot be trusted.”
“And yet,” I interject smoothly, “I am here. I am the Queen and my people will follow me. I want this war to end, do you truly wish it to continue?”
Silence.
The Al’fa’s eyes flash, but he says nothing. I feel the room tilt, if only slightly. A gamble, but one I’m willing to take.
“She’s not wrong,” Drogor observes with a smirk.
Za’tan snarls but reins it in. I lean back, folding my hands in my lap.
“You waste resources bickering while the ground quakes beneath our feet. The Paluga stirs, and still you argue, pecking like predators over scraps,” I say.
The Al’fa’s gaze sharpens. There. Interest, maybe respect. It coils beneath his wariness. Rosalind speaks next, voice low and measured.
“It should be possible to return to the surface soon,” she says. “If this Paluga is the monster you claim, we can return there, escaping its awakening. We must preserve all who we can.”
I meet her eyes and nod slightly. There’s honesty there, but also self-interest. Her focus remains on survival, above all else.
“The Urr’ki Queen would see all of us extinct,” Za’tan counters. “You forget who you are speaking to.”
“Do I?” I ask, tilting my head. “I speak as someone who understands survival. And I see division here. Division will be not only your undoing, it will be all of ours.”
The Al’fa leans over the table, looming above the scale model, but I remain still.
“We do not take lessons from prisoners,” he rumbles.
“Then take it from someone who has lived beneath your feet longer than your own ancestors,” I reply calmly.
A ripple of unease. Even Drogor frowns. Inside, my heart races, but I mask it well. This is a dangerous game, but if I don’t play it, all is lost.
“What would you suggest?” Za’tan asks, quieter.
I allow myself a small smile.
“Let me help you survive.”
A pause. Everyone stares at the model, not looking up or exchanging any looks. I watch, patient. This is good. I need them to stop, to think, and most of all to listen. Rosalind leans forward.
“You propose an alliance, but what assurances can you give us?” she asks.
“I propose pragmatism,” I say. “I propose understanding your enemy better than they understand themselves. Let me be your strategist. You need someone who knows how the Urr’ki move, how they think.”
The Al’fa’s gaze locks on mine. For a beat, the council fades. It’s just him and me. His breath slows, but his fists remain clenched. There’s heat there. Not just anger. I feel it in the way his gaze lingers on my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
“You expect us to trust you,” he says.
“No,” I answer. “I expect you to recognize the truth when it’s laid bare.”
The tension tightens, thick as the air before a storm. I realize, in this moment, how similar we are. Two leaders caught between duty and instinct.
He steps around the table, moving towards me. Khiara tenses and moves to block him but I stop Khiara with a hand on his arm. The Al’fa closes the distance. He towers over me. I should feel fear, but instead a thrill curls low in my stomach.
Za’tan shifts uncomfortably. Drogor watches with an amused smile on his face. Rosalind narrows her eyes, sensing it too.
“You are dangerous,” the Al’fa says quietly.
“So are you,” I murmur back.
A beat. Then, he turns sharply and returns to his original position on the opposite side of the table. He pauses a moment then addresses the room.
“Enough. We’ll reconvene when tempers have cooled.”
Without waiting for dismissal, Za’tan and Drogor exit. Rosalind trails behind them, shooting me a curious glance over her shoulder. The Al’fa lingers and I rise slowly. He stands with his back to me but I sense something, an opportunity perhaps. Or maybe I’m only hoping.
Khiara is at my side, shifting his weight uncomfortably, wanting to get me out of here. I look at my brave warrior and motion for him to wait outside. His jaw tenses, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. I smile, touch his arm again. Reluctantly his resistance melts. He frowns deeply but then silently complies with my order.
“What are you doing, Al’fa?” I ask, softly.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he strides around the table and circles around me. A predator assessing a rival.
Or a mate.
The air hums with something I refuse to name. When he finally stops before me, the distance between us could be shattered with a breath.
“You play a dangerous game,” he says.
“I play to survive,” I reply.
Our gazes lock, and for the first time, I see the full weight of his burden. The fear he hides beneath command. The too familiar ache of someone who has lost too much.
“You will stay under guard,” he finally says, stepping back.
“And you’ll consider what I’ve offered?”
His answer is a slow, reluctant nod. I exhale deeply, heart pounding. We stare into one another’s eyes for much too long. The longer I do the more depths I see beyond the facade of bluster and bravado. There is a sharp mind here but more than that. He worries about his people. How can he not?
He has lost much. Perhaps not as much as I have, but enough to understand my pain. The silence stretches, thick and fragile. The pulse at my throat races, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
“I don’t trust you,” he says finally, voice like gravel. “But I’m beginning to believe you mean what you say.”
“That is all I can offer right now,” I say. “Truth without the expectation of trust.”
His jaw tightens. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he’ll lash out, verbally or otherwise. But instead, he huffs out a slow breath, and the corners of his mouth twitch. Almost a smirk, almost a snarl. I can’t tell which.
“I lead warriors, not diplomats,” he admits. “I do not play politics.”
“But you’re standing in the middle of it,” I say, taking a careful step closer. “And like it or not, you’re playing now.”
“And what if I no longer wish to play?” he asks, narrowing his eyes and a soft growl slipping free.
“We have a chance,” I say, soft, not pleading but close. “One chance to change the future for both our races.”
His gaze drops to my lips. This time, it lingers. The tension between us shifts, turns molten. My breath catches. The heat from his towering form is intoxicating, but I won’t lose focus.
“Does this tactic of yours include tempting your captor?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.
“Only if it serves my purpose,” I say, tilting my chin up and refusing to break eye contact.
He lets out a quiet growl, sharp teeth flashing briefly.
“And does it?”
“Perhaps,” I whisper.
He studies me for another long, heavy moment, then steps back. The spell shatters, and cold air rushes between us.
“You will have your chance, Queen,” he says. “But know this, cross me, and no strategy will save you.”
I incline my head, hiding the smile tugging at my lips.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The heavy leather door rasps as I pull it open. Khiara waits just beyond, tense and silent. He says nothing, but I feel the weight of his disapproval. I don’t blame him. He is loyal to the end, but even he doesn’t fully understand what I must do here.
I’m not sure I do either.
As we walk the winding tunnels back to my quarters, my thoughts drift back to the Al’fa. The way his body blocked out the flickering glow of the torches in the chamber. The glint of sharp teeth in a half-smile. The shadow of pain behind his stoicism.
I could use that. But the unsettling part is, I don’t want to. I want to understand him and that is more dangerous than any plan I could weave. When we reach my chambers, Khiara finally speaks, voice taut.
“He is dangerous.”
“So am I,” I echo softly, repeating the Al’fa’s words from earlier.
His jaw tightens. “Do not trust him.”
I sigh, nodding. Khiara lifts the leather door allowing me to step through. He follows me inside. He’s on duty tonight as my personal guard, but normally they wait outside the door while I prepare for bed.
I kneel next to the low-burning fire pit, grabbing the poker and stirring the coals before reaching to add fuel. Khiara grabs it before I do, adding chips to the coals. The sputtering flames lick at them then catch. I hold my hands over the low flames, needing the warmth.
“Trust isn’t part of the plan,” I answer.
I don’t look at him because even as I say it, I know I’m lying to him, and maybe to myself. Something passed between us in that chamber. Something neither of us is ready to name. And as much as I try to bury it beneath duty and pragmatism, it lingers, curling like smoke in my thoughts.
I need to be careful. The Al’fa is no fool. And neither am I. Yet I can’t help but feel… drawn. To him. To the storm raging behind those wary eyes. And storms, as I know all too well, can bring both ruin and rebirth.