Chapter 8 Elena
ELENA
The Council of the Second Continent was last called during the invasion of Seshar.
Leaders attempted to persuade King Harrow of Jantar to turn back his boats.
They failed, miserably. Since then, the council has not convened.
Some political scholars wager the kingdoms are fearful of Jantar’s retaliation, while others believe the rulers are too ashamed of their historical precedent.
The hoverpod skimmed over the vast and shadowed canyons as Elena thumbed through the scrolls. There were only twenty-one left after the fires, and when Elena lifted one up, she could still smell ash.
“Any luck?” Samson asked.
“I haven’t started reading yet,” she said.
“What do you think, Priestess?” Samson turned to Kruppa, slipping on a devilish smile. “Do you believe I’m your Prophet?”
Kruppa returned his smile, though Elena noted how she twisted the end of her dupatta. “Yes, um, Your Holiness.”
“Holiness?” He laughed. “I prefer Blue Star.”
“Blue Star?”
“It is the Great Serpent’s symbol.” He pointed to the darkening sky, at the stars slowly waking. “It lies just above the horizon, pointing true north.”
Kruppa hissed. Samson raised a brow, looking to Elena. She carefully slipped the scrolls back into their bag.
“The north is sacred to the Phoenix,” she said, glancing at Kruppa, who had stilled, aware of her blunder. “Even the palace has no northern tower, just the east, south, and west.”
“Ah, I noticed that. Well. Once we reclaim Rani, my rani, we’ll have to build a northern tower,” he said, holding her gaze as if to measure her.
She swallowed her retort. “Of course… Prophet.”
He motioned for her, and Elena stood, squeezing Kruppa’s shoulder, before following him into the inner office of the hoverpod.
Chandi and Visha snapped to attention as they entered. A bank of holos floated above the center table: reports, battle schematics, various maps. Elena pointed to the one closest to her.
“What’s this?” she said.
“An offer,” Samson answered.
He pulled out a chair, and warily, she sat down. He sat next to her, his hand resting on her armrest. As the others leaned forward, Elena had the strange sensation of being cornered in a pen, like a wild horse ready to be broken.
“An offer of what kind?”
“I think it’s time we contact Cyleon,” Samson said.
“I thought we were going to push forward and recover Teranghar and the Yoddha Base,” Elena said.
The other southern city was smaller than Magar, and several miles of canyons stretched between them.
But if they were to regain Teranghar and Yoddha, they could free southern Ravence before they marched onward to Rani.
She explained as much, and Samson listened patiently, his eyes seeming to drink her in. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, but his hand remained on her armrest.
“Pushing the Jantari out of the south will help us gain a stronghold, but it will only prolong the war,” Samson said. “We need to hit Jantar where it hurts.”
“How does that include the Cyleoni?”
“What if King Syla were to help? He has resources, troops. Cyleon is Ravence’s ally, after all.”
“But—”
“We need to partner with Syla if we want to win this war,” Chandi cut in.
Elena turned to the commander as Samson scowled. Chandi ignored him, meeting her gaze. The blue light of the holos curved down Chandi’s neck, limning the skull hand around her throat. It was an odd tattoo. Garish, morbid, and utterly fitting. Distantly, Elena wondered of its significance.
“Cyleon has old mines in its eastern mountains that ran dry because Jantar sucked it all from their side of the range,” Chandi said.
“Syla could do nothing. He lost his most valuable resource without the Jantari ever raising a weapon. He couldn’t call a war then.
But he can now, with us. He is angry and bitter and needs the right excuse to move against Jantar. We can become that excuse.”
Elena shook her head. “Syla may be bitter, but he’s no instigator.
He’d rather sit back and let someone else do the killing for him.
He is a puppeteer—and we will not become his assassins.
No. If we recruit Syla, we must be smart.
” She drew a breath, steeling herself. “Syla has always loved playing the part of hero. So, we make him that. I think it’s time we call for the Council of the Second Continent.
Syla and I can go in together. We paint him the shining savior, me the deposed queen.
The other kingdoms may not care for Ravence, but once they hear that Farin tried to kill a living ruler, they’ll be afraid.
They’ll think he’ll come for them next. They will move against him. ”
“Council?” Visha sneered. “Your precious council is a gathering of vain, chicken-livered rulers who did nothing when Seshar was attacked. They’re cowards.”
“The council—”
“The council hasn’t met in nearly sixty suns because they know they’re guilty,” Visha snarled. “They can’t show their faces. They won’t come.”
“They will,” Elena shot back. “Those vultures came to my coronation to size me up. Now they think I’m dead. If I suddenly appear at the council, they’ll know I’ve survived. They’ll know Farin tried to have me killed.”
“But we barely have enough leverage right now,” Visha argued. “What do we have? A couple hundred men? One city? Farin still has a fucking army camped out in the capital. You think he’ll just stand up and leave because the other kingdoms tell him to? If they even come.”
“Let’s start with Syla first,” Samson said before Elena could retort.
She swallowed her bitterness as Visha returned her glare.
Visha had not come to dig out the bodies along the wall, or even to attend the funerals after.
And Elena could never forget her look of cold defiance as Visha said their orders were not to recover the dead, but to take the city.
The strategist steepled her gloved fingers together and rested her chin on top in a mocking gesture. Elena scowled.
“We could send a hoverpod, with a gift.”
“Like what?”
The answer was already on her tongue, and it surprised Elena how quickly and easily it came.
“A Jantari prisoner.”
Chandi blinked, Samson smiled, and even Visha looked appalled.
“Now, that’s the ruthless queen I know,” he said.
She did not smile. “If there’s one thing Syla loves the most, it’s pawns to wield against Farin. Give him someone of note. The general, Edmund.”
At this, Samson’s face fell. He exchanged a glance with Chandi.
“What?” When they said nothing, she sat forward. “What happened to him?”
Visha laughed. It was a low, scraping sound, like sand whipping her skin. It grated her ears.
“He’s dead,” Samson said.
“What?”
“There was an accident,” Samson said. “An uprising of sorts. We had to shut it down.”
“So you executed him? You should have consulted me—”
“There was no time, Elena. I burned him.” His lips curled back, as if the admission itself tasted poisonous. “There is no body to mourn. But it stopped the Jantari rebellion.”
How easily he had burned through the men, how quickly she had crushed people along the wall. She remembered then how Saayna had looked at her with horror in her eyes.
I pray for the day when we will finally be free of you gods.
We did this, she thought. Just as Samson was complicit in the deaths of those along the wall, she was guilty of Edmund’s death.
Shame, hot and sticky, scratched her throat as he refused to meet her eyes. Shame, not just for herself, but of them. For what they were. It tickled her throat, but no matter how much she coughed or hacked, Elena knew she could never get rid of that phantomlike sensation.
“You—” she began, struggling to temper her voice. “We need to go about this strategically, Samson. Logically. Edmund was leverage. If Farin finds out, he’ll use it against us.”
“I know,” Samson said. His mouth twisted up into a slant, and he still did not meet her gaze. “It won’t happen again.”
Visha continued to laugh.
“Will you shut up?” Elena and Samson snarled at once.
Visha stopped, but her smile was slow, catlike. She rose. Her hands skimmed along the edge of the table, and she paused in between their two chairs and leaned forward, draping her arms around their shoulders.
“You know what I think?” she said. “Send them a couple of bodies, their throats slit by urumis. Syla will get the message. And if he doesn’t, why, then we can send our precious queen, wrapped up in a pretty bow.”
Elena stiffened. She had half a mind to cut Visha’s throat, but she forced herself to not rise to her quip. The strategist laughed, dipping her head.
“Blue Star. Queen.”
She left, the doors sliding quietly shut behind her.
Chandi rose. “I’ll deal with her.”
When they were alone, Elena turned to Samson. He leaned away, pulling his hand from her chair.
“She’s valuable, so don’t tear her head from her body,” he warned.
“Valuable,” Elena growled. “Right.”
“Visha’s had a… curious upbringing, but it’s made her a weapon.
One of Jantar’s finest. My finest, now.” He finally met her gaze.
“And she’s right. We don’t have enough leverage to make the other kingdoms come to the council.
Syla and you aren’t enough. We need more.
We need to target Jantar’s northern mines. ”
“We barely have enough resources as it is, Sam.”
“But with Syla’s men, we will. Think. The mines aren’t just Jantar’s lifeblood, but the other kingdoms’ too.
How many of them use Jantari steel? How many of them have been forced to swallow Farin’s exorbitant prices simply because he controls the flow of ore?
Ore that my people mine for him.” Samson paused, and she saw his anger, quick and spiderlike, skitter across his face.
“If we take out the mines, Farin will listen. All the kingdoms will listen.”