“Being possessed by a god gives a man an advantage,” Syla murmured.
Jhiton’s eyes moved under his lids. She tensed, her grip tightening on the dagger. Willpower rather than instincts kept her from springing away like the soldier had.
“He’s awake,” Fel stated.
Teyla pointed the tip of her sword at Jhiton’s face and nodded to Syla that she was ready if he tried anything.
Jhiton opened his eyes, looking past the sword and straight up at Syla, as if he’d known exactly where she was. Of course he had. With his power, he would be able to sense her, the same as she could him.
She held out her arm, showing him the dagger. His gaze acknowledged it, then flicked toward her shoulder. Fel stood there. Teyla was by her other shoulder.
“If we let you live,” Syla said, drawing Jhiton’s attention back to her, “will you agree to stop trying to kill me and stop attacking my people? Today and forever?”
“Is Vorik alive?” Jhiton rasped.
“Yes.” Syla pointed to Vorik, hoping he looked relaxed and healed rather than like a corpse. A lot rode on this, she suspected.
Jhiton followed her pointing finger with his gaze, then looked back up at her. “Is he alive because of you?”
Syla considered whether to take credit for Vorik’s life. In the end, the gods had been responsible for stopping their mad kin. But she’d been the one who’d launched the projectile that had struck Jhiton and kept him from killing them both.
“Yes,” Syla said with a nod.
Jhiton’s gaze shifted toward the ceiling of the cavern as he considered his answer. Syla watched his eyes intently and monitored him with her senses. If she got any hint that the storm god remained within him, she would drive the dagger into his heart herself.
“I will not attack you again,” Jhiton said.
“And my people? Mykingdom?”
“I remain a soldier sworn to obey my tribal leader, so I cannot promise never to attack your people again if the stormers determine that is necessary, but I… will not argue for it.”
Syla started to shake her head, not finding that enough reassurance, but she paused, realizing he’d used the singular, speaking of only his specific tribal leader.
“Vorik won the duel for your tribe, right?” she asked.
The faintest hint of a smile touched Jhiton’s face. “He did.”
“Well, I think I can keephimfrom ordering another attack on my people.”
It was probably only their positions, with him on his back and her standing by his head, that made it look like Jhiton glanced at her chest, before he said, “Yes.”
“This could be a huge mistake, Your Majesty,” Fel said.
“I know.” Syla thought it meant something that Jhiton had taken a moment to consider his answer instead of swiftly promisingyesto save his life. But could she trust him to be honorable in the long-term? The way she did Vorik?
Sighing, she set the dagger down. She didn’t know if this would turn out to be a mistake, but she wouldn’t kill Jhiton or order his death.
“Do you want me to heal you?” she asked him.
She was exhausted and groaned at the idea of expending more energy, but if it was possible the magic would make him feel kindly toward her, even temporarily, and she could then ask him again if he’d spoken the truth, it would be worth it.
Jhiton snorted softly, no doubt guessing the precise reason for her altruistic offer.
“Perhaps just some stitches and bandages,” he murmured.
Syla wasn’t surprised.Vorikmight not care anymore if he felt bound to her, but Jhiton, despite giving his word not to attack her again, couldn’t be pleased about how things had turned out.
“I should warn you that my needlework isn’t as gentle as my magic.” Syla made suturing motions in the air that looked a little like fencing strokes.
