38. Elara
38
ELARA
I lean 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.
“Heavily, from what I understand. I don’t know how she’s survived this long. I assume that Mazabuta has kept her hidden. Somehow he’s kept her out of the Shaman’s hands, but he won’t be able to get her out alone.”
Emotion slams into me—too much, too fast. Relief, guilt, rage. I don’t know Annalise personally, but I saw her a few times before things got crazy bad in the Urr’ki city. She always looked happy and free. Wandering the marketplace as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Pregnant,” I mutter under my breath, trying to catch up to the reality crashing down around me.
“Yes,” Rosalind says quietly. There’s understanding in her voice as her eyes bore into mine. “Elara, we need her. I need her.”
“Why?” I ask.
I’m not even sure why I asked that. What difference does it make? She’s a human, she’s in trouble, and she’s pregnant. We have to help her, of course. But it feels like I’m thinking through a thick fog and my thoughts aren’t fully coherent, leaving me saying stupid things.
Rosalind doesn’t accuse me of it, though she purses her lips, narrows her eyes, then sighs heavily. She closes her eyes, rubs her temples with both hands, then opens her weary eyes.
“The future of all our races,” Rosalind says with an intensity that feels like the weight of the mountain itself crashes onto my shoulders.
I blink, unsure what to say. I understand the words, but not the meaning of them. It feels like she knows some great and grand secret that unlocks what she means, but I have no idea what it is.
Not now. They have to go.
“What do you need?” I ask, following my instinct that we don’t have time to waste on my musings.
She hesitates, looking around before she speaks.
“I want you to go too. To get Annalise out.” My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say. Rosalind fills the silence. “She won’t trust anyone else. She’s scared, and she thinks we forgot about her. I know it’s dangerous, but... if you’re willing?—”
“Yes,” I breathe, already moving forward, already choosing. I don’t need time to think. I know what it means to be forgotten. I know what it feels like to be trapped in that place, with no hope of rescue. And I want to go. This gives me an excuse the boys won’t be able to argue with. “I’ll go.”
Rosalind closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, the hard gleam of leadership is back—yet something deeply human flickers beneath it. Regret or hope, but which I’m not sure.
“We’re risking everything,” she says. “Let’s try to save as much as we can.”
* * *
The clink of metal, the hiss of fabric, the rasp of buckles being secured. I stand between Ryatuv and Z’leni, encased in silence thick enough to choke on.
Zmaj gear feels foreign on my skin, thick where I’m used to thin, heavy where I’m used to light. Sleek, dark pieces of protective leather laced with heat-resistant fabric. It molds to my body fairly well considering I’m a third the size of even a small Zmaj. When I commented on that, Ryatuv smirked. It took more than a moment to get him to admit that this was meant for a child, not a full-grown male.
“Perfect. Kid-sized armor on a suicide mission. What could possibly go wrong?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
He lays a matching cloak, thick and heavy, over my shoulders, claiming it will shield me from the worst of the underground heat.
Z’leni adjusts the strap of his pack, eyes sharp, but not looking at me. He hasn’t spoken since Rosalind’s announcement. Ryatuv, on the other side of me, is no better. His jaw is clenched tight as he checks his weapons with more force than necessary. I don’t miss the way they both look at me when the other isn’t. Z’leni pulls me aside first.
“You shouldn’t go,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.
“Too late,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re being used. Rosalind’s playing on your emotions. You’ll compromise the mission,” he says, frowning deeply.
I search for anything soft in those dark eyes. I don’t find it, though, only fear. Not for himself of course. If I’ve learned anything of him, it’s that death holds no candle in his world. His fear is all for me.
“Then make sure I don’t die,” I say simply, and turn away.
Seconds later, Ryatuv slides in, his expression dark.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save someone,” I say with a sharp laugh.
He says nothing, but his shoulders stay tense. Like he’s holding back every argument he wants to throw at me.
“I know you don’t like this,” I say.
“No,” he says quietly, “I don’t.”
“Then stop me.”
I wait, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, only clenches his fists and looks away.
“Thought so,” I whisper.
Packed, armed, and as ready as we’ll ever be, we leave the compound. It isn’t long before we’re standing at the lava flow tunnel that will lead us into the Urr’ki city. The three of us, cloaked and armed, shadows on the edge of firelight.
Z’leni moves first, slipping into the dark without a sound. Ryatuv follows, a silent sentinel. I take one last breath of the cool air behind me and step forward, into the heat, into the dark, into whatever comes next.
Three sets of footsteps. One path. No turning back.