But he pushed the thought away, stamped it down into the cold reaches of his heart.There can be no more, he reminded himself.
“Doyoutrust her?” he asked.
Chandi shrugged as they passed over rubble. They were making their way toward the wall, where the Jantari prisoners were kept. The Cyleoni ambassador had wished to see them, and Samson spotted the man in the distance, surrounded by his contingent of soldiers who had stayed behind with their tanker.
“I am cautious,” Chandi said finally. “It takes a great deal to make someone as proud as Elena bend. Either she has finally come to her senses, or she has lost them altogether.”
Samson laughed, and Chandi shared a conspiratorial smirk.
“General,” the ambassador called as they neared. His eyes fell to the urumi around Samson’s waist. “What a beautiful blade.”
“It’s a family heirloom,” Samson said. He turned at the sound of footsteps and found Elena approaching them.
“The Jantari might tear off your head if you stand too close, Kirri,” she said.
Kirri glanced nervously at the metal fence erected along the wall. Prisoners sat in the sparse shade or shuffled listlessly, dispirited. Still, Samson recalled the angry soldier who had attacked him. His men had strengthened the posts and fence with hardy cement and steel, but even he took a cautionary step back.
“Oh, I’m kidding. These poor men can barely save themselves.” Elena smiled, though there was something pained and sorrowful in her eyes,as if the sun had briefly passed behind a cloud and stoppered the light. Within the next moment, it was gone. He wondered what it meant. Did she sympathize with the prisoners?Howdid she still have compassion left for them? That ability to see the enemy and still find someone worth saving—was that what she saw in him, then? A man worthy of being redeemed? At once, he felt clammy and uncomfortable, like wool scratching against his skin. He turned away, averting his gaze.
He did not need her compassion—only her Agni. She was working with him to save Ravence—nothing more.There is no more, he told himself again.
“How many are there?” Kirri asked.
“Six hundred and fifty-nine,” Chandi replied. “They’re spread out along other parts of the wall. We lost a few prisoners who tried to bolt.”
Kirri raised a brow. “Bolt? Have there been many revolts?”
“None that we couldn’t handle,” Samson said.
Kirri glanced at him, his gaze flicking back to the urumi around his waist. “I trust you’ve been treating them well. War or not, enemy prisoners are given rights.”
Samson had half a mind to tell the politician that if enemy prisoners truly had rights, then his people wouldn’t be mining Jantar’s steel until their hands bled, but he kept his tongue.
“They will be sent back to Jantar as soon as Farin comes to the table,” Elena said. “You have my word, Kirri.”
“Yes, concerning that…” the ambassador said as Elena adjusted her scarf. Though her scarf hid it well, Samson knew his handprints still ringed her neck, and a sudden, terrible guilt slipped through him.
She had started the fight. She had apologized for it. It was done. And yet, he could not stop staring at her throat and feeling the hot flush of shame.
“We would like to start the exchange of prisoners soon after the mission,” Kirri said. “You cut off communications when you invaded, so Farin still believes Magar is under Jantari control, but once we take his mines, he will suspect. We should act while he still plots his next move. Ask for Ravani and Cyleoni prisoners in exchange for his Jantari.”
“What about Sesharians?” Chandi asked sharply. “The miners. The servants forced to serve Jantari lords. They should be freed too.”
“Well, they aren’t technically prisoners now, are they?” Kirri said in an almost apologetic tone. “It’s just not the same.”
“Not the same—” Chandi started, but a look from Samson silenced her.
“You’re forgetting, Ambassador, that Sesharians in Jantar are not free,” he said lightly. “They are not even proper citizens. We should exchange the Jantari soldiers for miners as well as Ravani and Cyleoni prisoners.”
Kirri gave a perfect, sympathetic smile. “I see your case, General, but Farin would never consider us if we ask for any kind of Sesharian freedom. It simply will not do.” He gave a small, careless shrug. “We must work with the means we have. Perhaps once Ravence is free and peace restored, we can reconsider Seshar. Yes?”
If he weren’t the ambassador, if Cyleon wasn’t supplying the tankers and entry points for their mission, Samson would have drawn his urumi then and there.
Elena suddenly brushed his elbow, and he froze. Her touch was hot, seething, but not painful.
“Kirri,” she said, her voice dangerously flat, “have you no shame?”
The ambassador blinked, taken aback. “Your Majesty—”
