YASSEN
There once were two lovers: a Yumi and a man. They cared for each other deeply, but their kind would not accept their union. One night, in anguish, the pair met under the stars and cried out their love. So moved were the gods that they turned the lovers into the moons, Chand and Chandhini. “They shall live together in eternity,” the gods said, “and give light to those who must meet in the secrecy of night.”
—fromThe Legends and Myths of Sayon
Hello, Giorna.”
Yassen sat down as Giorna settled back in her seat, eyes half-closed. Through the two-way mirror, Samson, Leo, and the king’s men watched. They had tried to break the two other agents, but the handlers had been too ignorant. One Arohassin agent had managed to dose himself with a hidden poison pill, while the other had bashed his skull by rushing the door when it was opened, and now lay comatose.
“You finally grew some balls, kid. Too bad you sold them away,” she said.
“I’ll take the compliment.” Yassen regarded her. She was dressed in a plain white kurta. Her eyes were puffy, hair disheveled. He wondered if he was the first to see her, or if Leo’s men had tried to interrogate her before him.
She shifted, wincing, and he noticed the uneven outline of her dislocated left shoulder.
They had gotten to her before him.
“I can get you out,” he said. Even though the captured agents had been part of his deal with Samson, Yassen felt a twinge of guilt and pity. He had known the Ravani were going to be rough. He had not imagined they would be so cruel as to break her bones and leave her to feel the pain.
“Not interested.”
“They’ll kill you,” he said. “The other two agents are already gone.”
“Sounds like you’re having a tough time extracting info.” Giorna smiled, her lips cracked. “I’m not saying shit.”
Yassen sighed. Giorna was playing the game they had all been taught: be evasive. Pick up on withheld information. And, if there’s no hope, accept your fate.
“What’s your favorite kind of gun?” he asked suddenly. She peered at him with slitted eyes. “I only ask because when I first met you, you carried a pulse rifle, third generation Ravani. Strong guy, but has a nasty blowback.”
“It was shit.”
“Mm.” Yassen patted his waist. “Not shit, just big. Too big for a woman like you. Now me, I like a light guy. Handgun with a silencer, thermaknife if I can’t manage the former.”
“Thermaknives are for little boys with shitty aim.”
Yassen smiled. “I assure you, my aim is just fine.”
Giorna sniffed. “If it had been, you would have shot me. Instead, you tackled me into the dirt. That was graceless. Akaros would have made you scrub the cadets’ toilets for the lack of elegance.”
Yassen did not tell her that he had timed his tackle. That he could not shoot her down because she had been running through public streets. Of course, Giorna would not realize that. She had not promised to avoid civilians like he had.
His ear buzzed. “Yassen, what’s your plan?” Samson said. “The others are getting impatient. They’re saying I should pull you out.”
Speaking of graceless.Yassen snuck a glance at the two-way mirror. He needed time to get anything from Giorna, but the king was watching him closely, waiting to see if he would make a mistake, a sign that he was still sympathetic to the Arohassin. What Leo did not realize was that the typical methods of interrogation—torture, blackmail, starvation—would not work on Arohassin agents. They had been trained to withstand brutality, to sacrifice themselves if all else failed. To break an Arohassin agent, you didn’t need cruelty. You needed to be crafty.
“Graceless? Giorna, Giorna.” He pulled on a quizzical expression. “A small, fast woman like you wouldn’t be lugging around a pulse rifle anymore. Nowthat’sgraceless,” he said, tapping the table. She watched him, alert.She’s listening.“My guess is that you keep a small pulse gun, no silencer. It’ll only slow you down. Thermaknives are for the weak, you’ve already made that clear. But you used a dagger on me, one that even I didn’t notice, which means,” he continued, and he noticed how she slightly shifted forward, “it’s special issue, possibly Jantari. No, Sesharian! They love their hidden blades. And as for your gun, I’d guess it’s Ravani, sixth generation, out of Magar.”
Giorna tsked. “You’re losing your grip, Knight. It’sseventh-generation Ravani, out of Rasbakan.”
“But.” Yassen feigned confusion. “Those guns are off the market. You can’t even get them through the sand gutters.”
“The sand gutters are idiots. The stepwells know what they’re doing,” Giorna said. Immediately, she stilled, but Yassen saw how her eyes widened. “Or at least, they think they do,” she added carefully.
“Well. Maybe you can get a second one, then. They’d be quite elegant as a pair.” Yassen stood. “Take care. And hold on, if you can.”
As soon as he was out of the room, Samson grabbed his elbow.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.
