In one swift movement, Harlow turns, taking a slow step in my direction. “What I’m saying, General, is that there is a chance Oscensi might still fight back, and we cannot risk that. We could do with some insurance. You know as well as I do how much we have lost in this war.” I’m not entirely sure I imagine the meaningful glance he casts me with those last few words.
She sighs. “Yes, yes, of course.” Her uncaring tone rises my flame. I hurriedly extinguish it, though all the action achieves is to let my protest burn my insides rather than the air. “We’ve got enough soldiers to squash a little rebellion. Harlow, come--”
Her voice falters. The sword slips from her grip, landing with a muffled clatter on the furred floor. Eyes widening, she moves towards Harlow.
“You can’t mean…”
He nods slowly, holding her gaze. I debate interjecting, to ask what they mean, but the way his hand traces his sword hilt in a stray movement dissuades me.
For only a second, they remain that way, before she yanks away, swinging her sword in a wide arc once more. This time, however, there is more meaning behind the harsh swipe. “No, Harlow, no. I won’t--”
“I thought you might not like it,” he says, stopping her with a hand. “But we can talk more in private.” His eyes flick to me.
She turns back to him. For the first time, there is a sternness to her eyes, a sense of command that narrows her features. Suddenly, I understand why she is a war general. If she were to return to her perch in the seat now, she might begin to match its demeanour.
“There’s no need.” The stream of her voice is almost bare, trickles scraping through stone. “It’s final. No.”
“At least entertain the idea.”
Shaking her head, she bends, picking up her sword and sheathing it in a flourish. “Entertained. Still no.”
She makes to walk away, but he is there, his back to me now as he blocks her path. Even without seeing them, I sense the harsh green of his eyes bore into her from the way her gaze darts about his face.
“Giulia,” he says, voice strangely soft, almost too quiet for me to pick up. “Trust me.”
Her head tilts to the side. Her eyes sparkle as her smile fights to return. “By the devil, Harlow. You’re too charming for your own good.”
“I’m hardly charming,” he mutters, but he leans closer, whispering something else out of my earshot. Her smile widens.
“Alright.” She twirls sideways, the commanding general whisked away in moments, and waves a hand at me. “Put him on a carriage to Neyaibet. You have the journey back to convince me.”
He sighs. “Glad we got there in the end.”
With that, he is marching towards me, and then past me to the door. I open my mouth, but my tongue grasps uselessly at words, not sharing my need to discover what they meant. I’m sure it was regarding me. But what would this captain, Harlow, want so desperately with me? He has hardly displayed a great deal of care for my fate, albeit more than Edita or any of the others.
Besides, even if I was capable of forming a decent question, his flashing glare suggests it would be a mistake to ask. No more questions. I owe this man my life, and consequently my silence, as uncomfortable as I feel giving it.
The door creaks, slowly swinging around. Harlow gestures once, beckoning me through, and vanishes into the corridor. I barely have the chance to glance back at General Velez, prancing her way back to the seat, before I step after him. He yanks the door shut, sealing away the room of white and gold.
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