Thankfully all of them had been appreciative of the consideration and none had argued. She’d been uncertain how they’d receive the courtesy, as they were hardly well groomed at the best of times. Apparently being covered in the ashes of human bodies crossed the line, even for them. Or they were too exhausted. The cleanup efforts had been grim, all the men emanating dark thoughts. Some angry, some in despair. Lonen, in particular, was a tumult of rage and guilt, all underlain with a grief that matched her own—energy he projected as forcefully as he swung that axe. “He will not go easy on you,” Chuffta observed. “I don’t need easy. I need them to go. We’ll agree to their terms, watch them leave us be, and then set about rebuilding.” She didn’t want to think about the Trom’s promise to return. “You don’t know what terms he’ll ask for.” “Does it matter?” She sounded bleak, even to herself. “We are a decimated people. Prince Lonen already understands that we wouldn’t agree to total subjugation.
