Whatever line we crossed last night, it wasn’t invisible to the children. And somehow, that makes it feel less fragile instead of more. As if this thing between us doesn’t exist in isolation. As if it belongs to the world we’re trying to build, rather than pulling us away from it.
A Zmaj appears just inside the threshold, massive frame outlined by the filtered light from outside. He doesn’t crowd the room. Doesn’t posture. He simply stands, waiting silent. Korr and Illadon both notice him before I do.
Korr growls, low and dangerous. He turns, body angling subtly between us and the doorway without making a show of it. The Zmaj’s gaze tracks the movement and pauses, something thoughtful flickering behind his eyes.
“The leaders request your presence,” the Zmaj says, voice rough but controlled speaking in Zmaj. “Both of you.”
My stomach tightens. Korr doesn’t answer right away. He looks at me first. Not asking permission so much as checking my opinion. I straighten, ignoring the throb in my ankle, and nod once.
“We’ll come,” I answer.
The Zmaj’s gaze shifts to me, measuring, then he inclines his head a fraction, acknowledgement without deference.
“Soon,” he says. “The humans are… struggling.”
That admission surprises me. I saw it, of course, but I didn’t expect the Zmaj to openly own it. At least not without an argument.
“How?” I ask.
“Heat,” he replies. “Fatigue. Illness we can’t treat.” A pause. “You have something they don’t.”
Epis. The word doesn’t need to be spoken. Korr’s jaw tightens. Not anger. Calculation. He glances at Illadon and Rverre.
“You stay here,” Korr says. “Both of you.”
Illadon’s chin lifts. “We can help.”
“I know,” Korr says evenly. “That’s why you don’t.”
Rverre watches the Zmaj with narrowed eyes.
“The city is restless,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t like waiting.”
The Zmaj snorts softly. “It never does.”
32
TALIA
Korr steps aside then, allowing the Zmaj to lead. He doesn’t touch me as we fall into step, but he positions himself close enough that I feel the heat of him at my side. Close enough that if the ground shifts or the corridor narrows, he’s already accounted for it.
We move through the building and out into the light.
The city looks different in full morning. Less ominous, perhaps, but no less watchful. Zmaj line elevated walkways, no longer hiding their presence. Humans cluster in shaded recesses and lower levels, skin drawn tight, movements slow. I see the signs immediately. Dehydration. Heat sickness. The long-term cost of living without protection from Tajss’s suns.
“They’ve been rationing water,” I murmur.
“Yes,” the Zmaj says. “And shade. And time.”
We pass a human woman slumped against a wall, eyes closed, breath shallow. Another sits nearby fanning her with a scrap of fabric, face drawn with exhaustion. They look up as we pass.Hope flickers, brief and dangerous. I bite off the words that come, forcing myself not to promise anything.
The chamber we’re led into is a wide, open space carved out of what must once have been a central lobby. Broken columns rise toward a ceiling long gone, sunlight filtering through in fractured beams. Zmaj gather along the edges, wings folded tight. Humans stand clustered near reinforced walls, wary and watchful.
Conversation dies as we enter. Korr stops beside me, not in front, with.
Adran stands near the center, expression unreadable. His gaze moves from Korr to me and stills there a fraction longer. Two Zmaj are on his flanks.
These Zmaj wear loose robe like clothes that must have slits cut for their wings which are still exposed. The only Zmaj I’ve seen wear a shirt is Rosalind’s mate who was a leader of some faction or another. Are shirts a sign of leadership among Zmaj?
