“Maybe,” she offered back, feeling lighter already. A knife or two in the back was nothing, really. She swished a little of the brew to clear her mouth – almost gagged. The aftertaste of the alcohol was extremely sour. She scowled at Kyso, then looked back at Traejan. “But not until they’ve forged an alliance amongst themselves, and that– that will take time.”
Traejan just shook his head. She looked up at him, exhausted and aggravated by his consistent contrariness.
“You– with your friends, those you trusted implicitly…” She could tell immediately she had hurt him – in the sudden grief, sudden pain written in his expression – continued anyway. Sometimes harsh words were necessary. “Remind me what happened – will you?”
He glared at her for a moment, then slammed his hand on the table, fast and hard.
“There is a difference,” he struggled through the words, “between being betrayed and inviting it.”
His fury shocked her back awake, back out of numbness.
“We are going to be in danger every moment with them,” he insisted. “I suggest you sleep lightly, if you sleep at all.”
“Betrayal comes, Traejan,” she told him quietly, gazing directly into his angry, amber eyes. “Always, sooner or later.”
She backed away again, tried a smile, tried to keep her head up.
“But from them at least,” she told him, the warmth, buzz of the alcohol making her tone sound breezy. “We’ll see it coming.”
He raised his pale yellow eyebrows.
“If we even make it out of town,” he warned. “Have you even thought about what the Ginga is doing right now? After all you’ve done tonight?”
Was that all he could think about?
“Why don’t you handle it,” she told him. “You can, can’t you?”
He stared at her for a moment. Then he slowly nodded
“Sure,” he muttered, turned away. “Whatever you say.”
“Traejan– “ Kyso started.
He stopped, turned to the old man.
“I may as well do something useful tonight,” he said in a bitter voice, turned back to Althea. “I doubt I need as much sleep as you do.”
Her exhaustion was that obvious, was it?
Kyso made a disapproving noise. She turned back to him.
“You should treat him a little better,” the old man advised. “You can trust him as much as you can trust me.”
She nodded, swallowed the bitter dregs of the mug, forced herself to rise.
“He wouldn’t be here,” she told him setting the empty vessel on the table. “If I thought I couldn’t.”
“Maybe you should tell him that,” he advised.
Later, bundled in cozy warmth, she thought about the terrible future. Seven dead at her feet, blood on her hands. Even if Kyso hated them, would he trust her after that? Would he understand – would he accept what it meant, about Traejan – about her?
Lying in the dark, she whispered, in the time before she gave way to sleep: her fears, her uncertainties, her confessions, her hopes to Dorian – who always listened to her, never gave up on her, and would never ever betray her.
