Page 32 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

“Not yet.” I meet his gaze steadily. “You know I trust you, Vazor, but this is too important. The fewer people who know the full plan, the better.”

He inclines his head, acknowledging the point. “Fair enough. Though I hope you’ll share it before we reach the point of no return.”

“You’ll know everything you need to know when the time comes.” I resist the urge to get up and pace. “And your king suspects nothing?”

“He’s too focused on his dream of peace.” Vazor’s tone drips with contempt. “He actually believes the Caix will honor any treaty they sign.”

“Jonyk won’t,” I say flatly. “He’ll use it to buy time while he tries to find his own solution to our failing magic.”

“By all rights, we should have taken over your lands generations ago.” Vazor shakes his head and leans back in the chair.

“The firelords certainly have the technological advantage,” I acknowledge. “Certainly for as long as we Caix continue to outlaw tech and your people don’t. But as long as we hold our magic, you won’t be able to control the Caix.”

Vazor snorts, shaking his head as he swirls his glass of wine, staring deeply into it. “And yet we both know your magic is dying.”

I flinch at his words—but he isn’t wrong. Jonyk has tried to slow the drain on our magic by outlawing anything more than the most basic of technology. And what tech is allowed is only that tech supported by our powers.

Anything else—like my ship, like Cyan—must remain at the southernmost planetary pole, where its magic-killing magnetics are presumed to bleed off into space. Yet, despite these precautions, the land is dying, and with it, our magic, the wellspring of all our powers, is drying up. And no matter what we do, we can’t seem to stop it.

Or rather, no matter what Jonyk does.

I have the answer to our problems. But when I tried to give him my solution, the prince of the Icecaix wouldn’t listen. The self-righteous prick.

He deserves what’s coming for him.

“And the trade restrictions?” I ask, hoping to get away from the topic of our dying magic.

“Those haven’t helped Jonyk’s case.” Vazor’s smile turns cruel. “It’s remarkable how quickly loyalty crumbles when profit margins shrink.”

“Have you secured the support we discussed?”

Vazor stretches, his movements liquid fire. “Most of the western clans are with us. The mountain lords particularly.”

“Speaking of friends in the western clans,” I say carefully, “has Lord Oesterin accepted your recent overture?”

Vazor’s lips curl into what might be a smile, if not for the way his teeth gleam. “He’s certainly... enthusiastic about the opportunity. Perhaps too enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiasm can be dangerous.” I pour more wine, watching the way it catches the firelight. “Particularly when it’s not properly channeled.”

Vazor accepts the refilled glass and shrugs. “I suspect his fervor will burn itself out soon enough.”

The unspoken threat hangs between us like smoke. I nod slowly. “Fire that burns too hot tends to consume itself.”

“Precisely.” Vazor’s scales shimmer as he shifts in his chair. “And once it’s burned through everything useful, it should be extinguished.”

“Before it spreads where it shouldn’t.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Vazor tilts his head thoughtfully. “Though I do hope he provides adequate entertainment before then. It would be a shame to waste such potential.”

I nod, moving to stand by the window. Outside, snow falls in fat flakes, coating the grounds of Starfrost Manor in pristine white. Soon enough, that snow will turn to steam and ash if our plans succeed.

But I can’t see any other options. I never could. That’s how we ended up here to begin with.

“Bring Oesterin in,” I finally say. “I’ll send the final details the usual way.”

“I’ll watch for the message.” Vazor rises, moving tojoin me at the window. “Though I admit, I’m curious why you’re so eager to see your own people fall.”

“Not all of them. Only Jonyx.”

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