She grinned at the lengthy list of arrests. The sting had worked.
A set of booted footsteps entered the room, bearing an exaggerated heaviness that told her they belonged to Jordan. He’d been careful to make his presence known so as not to startle her from behind. Still facing the screen, she asked him, “Why are you up so early?”
“Same as you.” When he joined her, one corner of his lips twitched up. “Too excited for troop inspections to sleep.”
“Why, General Jordan,” she said, feigning shock. “Was that a smile—and a joke?”
He made a show of rubbing his freshly shaven face. “Involuntary muscle spasm. I never joke about troop inspections.”
“Of course you don’t.” Her grin widened at the gleam in his eyes. He seemed a little lighter today, and she enjoyed this side of him. “Mind if I join you? It sounds thrilling.”
By way of answer, he swept a hand toward the compound’s military wing, and together they made their way to the barracks for morning assembly. As they walked along the network of hallways, she broached the topic of the rebellion.
“This isn’t going to win me any popularity contests, but I want weapons out of civilian hands.” Her colony was in a delicate place, and it wouldn’t take much to send them backsliding into chaos. “I don’t have the resources to fight my own people.”
“You won’t hear any arguments from me,” Jordan said. “Last month, I lost eleven men to friendly fire during a special op gone sideways. We were trying to cross the border in the Durango uniforms I stole.”
“And the rebels thought you were the enemy?”
“Idiots tore right through us. I’m done letting civilians play soldier.”
“Did the military keep a record of the arms they issued to volunteers?”
Jordan nodded. “Collecting them won’t be easy, though. A lot of munitions were reported lost or stolen during the war. Whether they really were stolen is impossible to prove. More likely they’re being stashed in basements or under beds.”
“Then we’ll conduct a search if we have to. Let’s hold a weapons collection in the city market. Make it known that every colonist who volunteered for duty will be held accountable for the arms they were issued.”
“I’ll set it up today.”
“And I’d like to thank the colonists for their service,” she added. “Maybe offer some extra rations when they turn in their weapons. I don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful. They hate me enough as it is.”
Jordan fell silent—conspicuously so.
“What?” she prompted.
“Nothing. It’s not my place to question you.”
“But you already are. You’re just not vocalizing it.”
“Are you asking for my opinion?”
She nudged his arm. “As your queen, I demand it.”
“All right, so the colonists dislike you,” he told her. “So what? The rebels want a republic because they think the monarchs are and weak and corrupt—your parents proved that when they left. But now everyone’s talking about how you turned the war on its ear with nothing but a laser blade. Your strength is your greatest asset. Hold on to that.”
“You think extra rations will make me look weak?”
“I think the people aren’t owed anything for doing what’s required of them. If their queen orders them to turn in their weapons, they should obey.” He went quiet again, as if hesitating to say something more, then added in a softer tone, “I know you think you’re responsible for this war, but you’re not. Don’t let guilt cloud your vision.”
His words resonated with her. For the last two years, she had carried around so much guilt and shame that it trailed her like a second shadow. “I’ll think about it. Thank you for being honest with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
When they arrived at the barracks and strode onto the lawn, the troops had already assembled for inspection: endless rows of soldiers standing at attention in the glow of the rising sun. Jordan’s officers strode among the men, occasionally straightening a sleeve or smoothing a wrinkled lapel. Their scrutiny brought a smile to Cassia’s lips because it reflected how far they’d come. Less than a week ago, these men had been too focused on survival to worry about polishing their boots.