She keeps grasping for reasons to be angry, accusations to pin him down with, and he eludes every one, save for his cowardice. For how wrong he is. But she does not know if she can sway him from that. And it hurts, somehow it hurts that he could have been entirely truthful and still hurt her in this way. Her trust still feels inexorably betrayed. She shuts her eyes.

"If Cetaganda wins this war," she says, voice creaking, "then I would rather die than live under its heel."

It isn't a threat. Sonia doesn't intend to wield her own life like a weapon. It's only the truth.