She stilled. “Why?”
He imagined telling her the truth: That if she wanted, she could pry away his Agni. That he could do the same. They were each other’s destruction, and he could not deny that there were days when he wished he could have it all. He had almost broken his restraint that night in the pit.
He almost told her.
“Because…” he began.
Almost.
“Because we may have a problem with the Yumi.” He winced inwardly. He had agreed with Jaya to break the news together, after she had spoken with the Arohassin, but he’d rather tell Elena now than his own terrible truth.
He sealed off her bandage and stepped away. Elena tracked him with her eyes, and he felt a nervous, intoxicating sensation of being studied so intently.
“What happened?”
“Daz was going to retreat and race straight to Tsuana without the killdoms. Jaya and I protested, but then he bound us, and we fought and, and…” He looked away. “Afira is dead. Rhumia jumped overboard. But Daz is still alive. We’ve told the other Yumi that he was injured and needs rest.”
“Mother’s Gold.” Elena skated her hands through her hair. “Shit.”
“You were right, though. About Jaya. She is useful.”
“How is she?”
“Battered and bruised, but alive. I don’t think I’ve seen Akaros this murderous before. If Yassen and I were harmed on missions, he could have cared less. But with Jaya…” He shrugged. “You should see her.”
“I will.” She rose and began to pack the bandages and salves back into the kit.
Samson watched, quiet. There was more he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask. What would come once they reached Tsuana? How would they approach the council? But those were exigent questions. There was another one, a simple and possibly insignificant question, one he found himself returning to more often.
She caught him watching. “If you’re worrying about the Yumi, I’ll handle it. I can talk sense into Daz. Or we can keep him on the bounder, away from the others, until we’re done in Tsuana.”
“All right.” He tapped the desk, hoping to drum up courage. Elena set down the kit carefully, stopped his drumming.
“What is it?”
He looked down at her hand on top of his. “I, uh, I.” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. “Skies above, it was easier asking in your throne room.”
He thought she would withdraw her hand, almost sensed her arm tensing, but Elena did not move away. Gently, firmly, she pressed her finger beneath his chin and forced him to meet her eyes.
“What do you want to ask me, Samson Kytuu?”
His heart stilled. He did not have courage, but she had given him it, and he almost asked her then and there.
“Will you”—become my queen in marriage—“have tea with me in honor of my name day?”
A slow smile bloomed across her face, and he forgave himself for not asking, if only to hang on to that smile longer.
“Your name day? Is it today?”
“Well, officially, it’s a month from now on the fifteenth, but since we’re in the mood for celebration—”
“A month?!” She smacked his arm, then grinned. “Fine. But only because we’ve won.”
“You know, Samson is not my true name.”
“Really? What is it, then?”
“Ruru.”
