Ilse hit his furred chest with tiny fists, whimpering.
"Idiot! Can't you see? Guantra will make you his friend. You'll do what he says. You'll be a figurehead. All the Confederacy will hail the union of Guantra and Kortha. It won't know that only Guantra gives the orders, that you're just a puppet."
Kortha shoved her away.
"Get moving," he snapped. "I'll hold off Guantra until you're safely gone."
Ilse fought and raged, but she was helpless with her bare arm in one of Kortha's hands. She went sideways in front of him as he pushed her. Her red mouth whimpered.
Kortha stood and watched the fleet little scout ship fade into the south. When it had disappeared, he waited for minutes, calculating Ilse's speed against possibility of pursuit. Satisfied, he handed his gun to Guantra.
He growled, "Bring on your torturers, Guantra. Let's get this over with."
But Guantra laughed softly, sheathing the gun.
"Torture? Oh, no. That's a bit—ah—antiquated, isn't it? Besides, I know men, Kortha. Torture would never make me your friend."
"Not torture?"