“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “We are now conspirators in an uprising. Your secrets are safe with me. For now.” He sipped again. “Tell me instead… how do you plan to deal with the God of War giving you a debuff?”

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I grinned at him, teeth flashing more bravado than I felt. “I’m not exactly sure of the timeline, but I can avoid it for a while on a technicality.”

  He just sipped his tea. Slowly. Like it was the most fascinating liquid in the world. No raised brow, no twitch at the corner of his mouth. Absolutely nothing.

  Annoying.

  “I don’t have land, and if I try to capture the city, it’ll default as an invasion,” I pressed.

  He finally nodded, movements as unhurried as his tea ritual. “We are not landed nobles here; I can’t accept a declaration. And we are but a one-city. We have allies, but if you take us in the time you have, they will gladly start trading with you. Our upstarts pissed off all our allies because we tariff the imports more and allowed worse treatment of slaves. Greed poisoned other grandmasters. I warned against it, but they didn’t listen. An economy built on slavery is only as good as the source. If we turn to dubious sources, it brings war.”

  I narrowed my eyes, testing him. He allowed himself the smallest curl of a smile, and said, “You yourself were a slave, so you saw it firsthand. Probably that's why the hatred, I can guess. If you ask around, I treat my slaves the best I can and even pay them a wage.”

  I blinked. “Why are you telling me this? Come on.”

  “I hope to stay in the background. All I ever wanted was to take care of our plants.” He stretched, joints cracking faintly, and leaned back with a smile that belonged in a farmer’s market, not a negotiation chamber. “I always dreamed about going to a farm and settling down there. I have so many projects I want to explore, but no time for it. I—”

  Oh my Saevrin. He was like Patrick…. rambling, rambling, rambling.

  “Shad! The point?”

  He stopped, then laughed, the sound deep and oddly boyish for someone with hair that gray. “Ah, youngsters. What I’m trying to explain is that I will help you take the city if you leave me out of the leading role. But still consider me… I have years of experience here.”

  I paused, letting the steam from my tea fog my vision for a second before finishing it in one swallow. Bitter, but it gave me an excuse not to answer right away. “You don’t want to… be the sole leader?”

  “Oh, dragons, no!” He waved a hand like I’d suggested something revolting. I actually shivered. “I want my farm and that’s it. If you consider my old bones good enough for advice, I can offer it. But I want to experiment in peace.”

  I dragged my hands down my face. Out of all the outcomes I’d mentally prepared for, scheming tyrant, smug negotiator, even duel-to-the-death, I got… crazy plant grandpa hermit.

  “You expected another power-hungry grandmaster to haggle for concessions, didn’t you?” His gaze pinned me; I didn’t need to answer. My face did the job. “You did well in meeting me. You don’t have to believe me… I could betray you. But face Irwen? No, thank you.”

  “Well then, can I count on you? We need help; every bit counts. So if you can—”

  He cut me clean off, his stare sharp enough to pin me to the chair. “You still didn’t answer my question. How do you plan to deal with the God of War giving you a debuff?”

  I fidgeted, then tried lamely, “I told you…”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  I exhaled long and loud, shoulders sagging. “I’m not a good queen…”

  That actually cracked him. His laugh rumbled out, maddeningly genuine. “You are doing great. I just have so much experience, and as long as you have your mother, you can fumble around.”

  My jaw clenched, then slowly loosened into something softer. A smile. A dangerous, watery one. I had… a mom now. Someone I could go to when I hit the kind of wall I couldn’t glitch my way through. She’d help. She… had helped.

  BAD diplomacy, Charlie. No crying in front of plant grandmasters.

  I swallowed hard, forcing myself back into threat mode. “I’ll cut the leadership. You’ll be the only grandmaster left.” My voice cracked at the memory of casual treatment of slaves, but sharpened again as I glared through blurred lashes. “They’ll burn. And especially purple and white… they’ll know pain. I’ll make sure of it.”

  His smile collapsed, and he actually gulped, throat bobbing. “I told them not to antagonize people…” He flicked his wrist, and a vine slithered across the table, delivering a scroll into his hand. “So after you kill them… painfully… and I surrender?”

  “Then it’s not an invasion. It becomes an internal problem; something the God of War doesn’t need to care about.” My words came out low, but I still had an edge of anger.

  He unrolled the parchment with care, revealing a map of Altandai, edges ink-stained and worn as if it had lived on this table for years. Similar to Llama’s, only his were heavier with defensive marks and notes. “I expect you have people for the actual strategy?”

  I pouted. Which, fine, wasn’t queenly, but sue me.

  “That’s the sign of a good queen. Good advisors. Maybe I could be counted among them one day?” His tone softened, almost hopeful. “I’ll need time to gather my forces. When is the go-time?”

  Not telling him about Sera. He doesn’t need to know I know angels.

  “Not set yet. Maybe a day after the auction where I was supposed to be sold,” I hissed, the memory sour.

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  He cackled, hands slapping the armrests. “Got it. I’ll make haste. And… you should have seen the tower! All the Purple Dragon people were under the White Tower! What a spectacle. Over one missing slave. Intriguing.”

  “I’m taking Dhriti,” I cut him off, didn’t want to tell him more of my secrets. “Send someone else to guard the binding room.

  He nodded in understanding. “So it was you with Neel! Don’t worry, I won’t interfere; you are free to take her under your wings. I was testing if the healer without a license takes bait. She did.” He gave me another dangerous smile. Yeah, poisonous plant grandpa.

  Ugh.

  “Is that all?” I pushed up from my chair, trying to keep my expression flat. If I stayed here one more minute, I might confess that I really, really wanted to kick a god in the teeth and, minor detail, that I’d already been rude to a few.

  “Leaving so soon? Not even staying for another drink?” he tried, almost lighthearted.

  “No.” My reply was sharp enough to cut the air between us. “Be ready; my people will contact you before it’s time.” And I was already halfway through the door.

  On the way out, I nearly broke into a sprint. Screw appearances… let him think I was running from ghosts. I had lost that confrontation. He was too good, too steady, and I… wasn’t. Maybe I wasn’t even a good queen, but since when was convincing plant grandmasters part of the job description anyway?

  By the time I reached the chamber beneath the binding stone, my pulse had finally slowed. The air down here was awful and cold, like the stone had absorbed every ounce of sound and warmth just to smother me in silence. Mom had been right. This was way more dangerous than I ever should’ve let it get. Meditation every day, she’d said. Necessary. Life-saving. Blah blah blah.

  So boring, but I had to…

  I scowled at the floor, let out a sigh that carried more nerves than I wanted to admit, and pulled out my ingredients.

  “Cloudy, come on! I want to go boom, bang, but no need to call me a t-word!” I glared at the ceiling again and started the drawing. It took a while, but Cloudy responded.

  “Freedom fighter,” I muttered with a pout, then sighed, scanning the massive circle sprawled across the chamber floor I had made. Enough demonic geometry to make my brain itch.

  Alright. Time to play rune janitor.

  I crouched at the outer edge and started tracing the first line, finger hovering just above the grooves. Mom’s voice nagged at the back of my head… steady strokes, don’t rush, keep the flow intact until you sever it properly. Ugh. Fine. I pinched a mote of sympathetic dust with the brush and sprinkled it like I was seasoning a very cursed steak. The etched rune shimmered faintly, then dulled, its power bleeding out with a faint hiss like wet charcoal.

  One down.

  Moving clockwise, I reached the next sigil. Angular, looked like two stools stacked wrong. I bent close, careful not to smudge the lines too soon, and tapped the core mark with a spark of mana. The whole rune pulsed, then fizzled out like a bad neon sign. My nose wrinkled at the faint sulfur smell. “Good riddance.”

  The next was easier; rounded, soft edges, like someone had doodled a beer coaster into the circle. I dusted it slowly, watching the faint glow vanish in swirls until it looked like nothing more than a cracked chalk drawing on stone.

  My shoulders loosened. Progress.

  Circle by circle, I kept going. Each time, it was a little ritual: identify the shape, like bar spoon, wobbly stool, sad coaster, pretend I was totally a responsible magical engineer, then snuff it out before it could snuff me out. The silence of the chamber pressed down harder with every rune I killed, like the air itself was noticing.

  Sweat collected at my temples, sliding down my cheek, but I didn’t dare stop until the whole thing was just dead lines and dust.

  When I finally stepped back, the massive circle was no longer visible, or humming with ominous energy. Just faint scratches on stone and even that was going to face. My knees ached from crouching, my fingers were dust-stained, but hey… no explosions, no demon apocalypse.

  Yet.

  I wiped my hands on my robes, smirking. “See, Cloudy? Responsible freedom fighter. Totally not a terrorist.”

  “Salty system!” I pouted, though a grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. Actual progress. For once, my chaos had a progress bar. “But I have to stop for now.”

  When I pushed the door open, Dhriti wasn’t alone anymore. Another guard stood beside her… a man in a uniform that looked like it had lost a fight with moths. The tunic was two sizes too big; the belt hung lopsided, and one shoulder pad was patched with the wrong color.

  Still, despite looking like a thrift-shop knight, he squared his stance and saluted me with precision. “Queen! Grandmaster sends his regards, and Dhriti is free to go.”

  Dhriti’s eyes went wide, her entire posture jolting like she’d just been unshackled in real time. “I… I’m?”

  I tilted my chin, forcing casual authority into my voice. “Of course. It’s already taken care of.” Then, with a sweep of my hand toward the exit: “Come on, Dhriti. Change of plans.”

  The guard dropped back onto his stool and shrugged, clearly done with whatever weird politics he’d just relayed. Dhriti, on the other hand, nearly bounced after me, barely able to contain the energy in her steps. “What will we do?”

  I flashed her a toothy grin. “My High Temple Guardian, how do you feel about wolf meat?”

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