The Last Warrior. Susan Grant
Her gaze flickered, that hooded, supercilious Kurel regard. He was the commander of a vast legion, and she just a Kurel girl; he was Uhr-born and bred, and she a daughter of sorcerers from the ghetto. Yet, it was clear that she considered herself the superior one, not the other way around, and certainly not his equal.
Hiding his irritation, he gestured for her to come with him. “This way.”
“No. General—Tao—the curfew begins at nightfall. This means I must leave the premises.” She enunciated each word with perfect diction, as if he were slow to comprehend. He was a general, damn her, the best strategist in generations, yet she treated him like her preschool charges.
“Do you think I’m so stupid that I don’t recognize you can’t be out after dark—?” He caught himself midbellow, dragging a hand over his face. No sense feeding her impression about Tassagon soldiers. “I’ll see you escorted safely home afterward. Personally.”
She shook her head. “It’s against the law.”
A shield had come down over her expression, but it failed to completely hide her stubbornness—and something else. Apprehension? He understood her dismay at missing the curfew, but he was the highest-ranking soldier in the kingdom; didn’t she trust him to keep her safe?
Or, does she see you as the danger?
Of course, that was it.
The Gorr are the monsters, but in this woman’s eyes I am a monster.
Frustration threatened to swamp him. For what had he fought so hard, when the peace he’d won meant so little to the rest of humanity? They were all on the same side. Couldn’t they see? He’d barely gotten his army back from the Hinterlands intact. Men had died along the way, Uhrth rest their souls. Even those few survivors who didn’t bear physical scars suffered from invisible ones that would haunt them the rest of their lives. And this Elsabeth, this Kurel, this mere tutor to children, dismissed all of it by dismissing him.
“Impossible is expecting your assistance, even after asking for help. Impossible is expecting help from any Kurel. Go on, run along, so you can sleep in peace night after night without any appreciation for the soldiers whose sacrifices are why your kind can lead safe lives in the first place.”
“Safe.” She spat the word as much as said it. Her fists closed in her skirt’s blue folds. “Life for the Kurel in this kingdom is no longer safe. There are random raids by the Home Guard. People jailed and never seen again. Senseless killings.” Her voice was low and passionate, and it echoed in Tao’s ears. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.”
“Until today, I hadn’t.”
Her eyes were dark, her jaw firm. “If you were as smart and capable as everyone says you are, you would have known what was happening.”
“My hands were full battling the Gorr—”
“Chasing glory on a faraway battlefield—”
“Saving the human races from extinction. It wasn’t my choice to be kept in the dark. I was being protected, apparently. By Markam. Away in the Hinterlands, I was dependent on messengers for my information.”
“Even so.”
They glared at each other, and he gave his head an uncomprehending shake. “Even so? Even so what? That I sent our mortal enemy running, tails tucked between their hindquarters?” Dumbfounded, he couldn’t fathom how she could dismiss such a thing.
“By your own choice or someone else’s you were insulated against atrocities at home. I have no patience for men who bury their heads in the sand, Kurel or Tassagon. That kind of ignorance killed my parents.” Her anguished eyes misted over, and she turned her head.
“Elsabeth,” he started, in his shock unsure of what to say.
“They went out to the gates to reason with the soldiers,” she whispered. “I tried to get there as soon as I heard. I knew what would happen. But I was too late. Your army got to them first.”
Bloody hell. “Those weren’t my men. They were Beck’s.”
She shook her head. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” The pain of losing one’s parents he understood. He almost reached for her, but her glare stopped him. She wanted no sympathy from him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“What do Uhr-warriors know of loss? Your role on this planet is to destroy life, not create it.”
Wincing, Elsabeth pressed her lips together, but the hateful words were already out, her Tassagonian blood once again overtaking her hard-won Kurel composure.
The general’s face had turned hard. He wore the veneer of good manners very well for a Tassagon, but she saw how formidable he could be, if he ever loosed the outrage he seemed to keep in check so well.
He spoke quietly. “Have you smelled the stench after a Gorr attack, human corpses completely emptied of blood? Have you ever tried to sleep after hearing the Furs’ unholy jackal screams in the night, or the cries of your men being ripped apart?” His eyes narrowed against some inner agony. “No, you wouldn’t know. Or of losing three brothers on the battlefield, one by one. Then my parents were taken right here in Tassagonia by a swift and stealthy enemy no weapons could fight off.”
The plague. She wondered if he blamed her people for the epidemic as King Xim did.
“I thank Uhrth for my sister. She’s all I have left.”
Elsabeth forced herself to meet his eyes, seeing for the first time the man behind them. How could she possibly share anything in common with this Uhr-warrior, this Butcher of the Hinterlands? But she did. His family had been decimated, too.
“I would never have supported nor carried out atrocities against other humans,” he finished.
He told the truth. She heard it in his voice. She saw it in his eyes.
She pushed loose hair off her face. “Markam told me that you had nothing to do with the violence. I want to believe him. I…want to believe you,” she added grudgingly.
The general’s hackles went down somewhat, but a powerful heartbeat pulsed in his throat.
“I apologize for implying Kurel own the rights to loss,” she said.
“Grief and anger are close companions. Both have a way of overtaking reason. You are my sister’s children’s tutor. It says a lot about you if Aza trusts you. As for the actions against the Kurel, I will get to the bottom of this insanity, I swear to you.”
The sound of beads tinkling and the swish of slippers cut short their tense standoff. The dancer from dinner swayed toward him, flicking a dismissive glance at Elsabeth. Her breasts strained against filmy netting that barely contained them. She’d applied fresh perfume, a come-hither musk, and it filled the air. Dark, painted lashes fluttered at Tao, her full lips curving as she dragged her finger across the bottom of his chin. “Good Sir, I do believe it is time for your dessert.”
Elsabeth hoisted her skirt, her focus shifting to the dancer. “Stay with him until morning.” The remark came as much to the woman’s surprise as Tao’s, making the dancer smile like a kitt that had just been thrown a whole fish.
It wasn’t until Elsabeth turned to him that Tao saw she was serious. She stepped up to him, her voice a whisper. “Don’t let down your guard tonight, even with her.” She backed away from him quickly.
He swiveled his head to keep her in sight. “Explain.”
“Just…do as I say.” She took off in a dead run.
“Elsabeth!”
“Let her go.” The dancer circled behind him and slid her arms around his waist. Even as he felt his body react to her seductive touch, he took hold of her wrists and untangled her.
“You wish a Kurel over me?” She