Chapter 17 Elena #2
Syla Cyleon had been a steady ally of her father.
The only decent man remaining, Leo had said.
She remembered how she had looked forward to his visits.
He would bring bouquets of moonspun flowers for her mother, drinks for her father, and sugared sweets for her.
When she had completed her registaan, Syla had sent her a wooden elephant, an animal once native to Cyleon. She had treasured it for many suns.
“Elena,” he said. “Gods’ Blood, is it good to see you.”
He kissed three of his fingers and pressed them against her forehead.
“Syla,” she said, breathless as a sudden vicious pang cramped her throat. She missed familiar faces from before, before the fall, before everything had greatly and irrefutably changed.
Syla squeezed her shoulder.
“You have been so strong, young queen,” he said softly.
Elena took one shuddering breath and nodded. She drew herself together, swallowing the bittersweetness of tears. “A bit too strong. I’m afraid I forced Kirri to stay behind because I thought this was a trap.”
Syla laughed, thick and booming, and it brought back those sweet, aching memories of warm nights sitting with him and her father in the courtyard, drinking wine and sharing stories.
“Leo taught you well,” he began, but then his face sobered as he caught his words.
The cramp in her throat intensified. “I still have much to learn.”
Samson cleared his throat, and she remembered his presence. She gestured to him.
“This is Samson Kytuu, general of the Black Scales. He helped me regain Magar and sent my message to you. He is”—her voice faltered as Samson stepped forward—“my fian—friend.”
Syla’s eyes coolly slid to Samson.
“I’ve heard the Jantari call you Butcher,” he said. “They want to hang you for your crimes against the nation and personally against the king.”
Samson smiled, quick and knifelike. “Well. I’m disappointed they didn’t list more reasons.”
Syla regarded him with a slow wariness. “Come,” he said.
They ducked inside the hoverpod and entered a large landing. A stone table sat in the middle. Below, banks of holos hugged the dark windows. Two soldiers snapped to attention and drew chairs for Elena and Syla. Samson drew his own seat.
“Syla, I need—”
“How did you escape?” the king asked suddenly.
The question caught her off guard. “Escape?”
“I sent out messages to the palace. To you, your Astras, and even your generals. Then I learned the Arohassin had killed you and your father in the temple.”
“Generals?” She sat upright. “Are they alive? Muftasa? Anyone?”
Syla shook his head. “None that I know. They were all gathered in Rani when the Arohassin attacked. They took out everyone.”
Her hope, small and desperate like a match flame, died just as quick.
“The Arohassin weren’t behind the attack,” Samson said, and Syla turned to him. “It was Farin.”
“How so?”
“He promised to help the Arohassin establish a new government in Ravence if they killed the royal family and gave him the mountains,” he said. “But Farin broke that promise. As he always does.”
“Why did Farin want the Agnee Range?”
“To mine for metal.” Samson gestured to the windows, to the mountains beyond. “The Ravani haven’t touched them because the mountains are sacred to their Phoenix and their temple. But to Farin, they’re untapped potential.”
The king settled back in his chair, a mildly curious expression flitting across his face. “So. The Butcher knows all things, then.”
Elena looked at Samson in warning. Let me lead, she thought. He caught her gaze. Something passed in his eyes, dark and furtive, before he turned his attention back to the king.
“The Jantari blame the Arohassin for the attack on Rani, but in truth, the Arohassin are mere tools,” Samson said.
“They also blame you,” Syla said. “Farin was said to treat you like a son. He’s been taking your… betrayal quite personally.”
“I was going to be his puppet king,” Samson said, and there was an edge to his voice, brittle and sharp.
Syla arched a brow. “So why play along until now?”
“Because now I—we,” Samson corrected quickly, shooting her a glance. “We have the means to defeat Farin.”
“The Council of the Second Continent,” Elena said.
At this, Syla inhaled sharply. “You mean to call it.”
“With your help.” She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “Farin attempted to execute a living royal. Who is to say he won’t try to execute another? You? King Bormani? Queen Risha? He’s unstable, Syla. A threat to every royal family. We must call a council and move against him.”
“The other rulers won’t come,” Syla said, matter of fact.
“They are afraid. More importantly, they’re beholden to him.
Do you know how much the others rely on his metal?
If they lose access to the trade, their coffers will dry up.
Their cities will shrink. Every kingdom, every trade on this continent, is fueled by godforsaken Jantari metal.
And with the loss of the Jantari southern mines in Sona, things are already tense. ”
Elena grimaced. She remembered the corrosive stench of burning metal. The roar of the landslides. The fading touch of Yassen’s hand on hers.
“Your father was smart to never dip into the trade,” Syla said ruefully.
“He tried to tell me, but I was a fool to think my ore was safe from Farin. When the Jantari began mining their mountains along our shared borders, I was worried they would leech my ore supply. I dammed the river, so Farin had no water for his mines. I ordered my men to dig faster. But the bastard only chucked in more Sesharians and sucked my deposits dry. Then he went deeper into his own mountains to find more. There are rumors that he’s creating an army of men made of steel. That is what you’re going up against.”
“We can help you,” Samson said.
“With what?” Syla snapped. “Your little ragtag army of refugees? You don’t understand. The Jantari have been mining and stocking up their steel for years. Who knows what monstrosities they’ve created.”
“We are not a ragtag army of refugees,” Elena said.
Syla checked himself. “Not you, Elena. Not the Ravani. I meant the Sesh—”
“I know what you meant,” she said flatly.
They fell silent, an awkward impasse settling between them.
Elena remembered the crying Ravani mother and the stalwart Sesharian father, and she felt a deep bitterness then, for herself, her predicament, her need to submit before those who saw her as nothing more than a leader of a forsaken land.
But she swallowed it. It burned her throat, wounded her pride, but Elena pulled on a beseeching look as she touched Syla’s arm.
“My people know how to fight,” she said. “And I know someone even the Jantari fear. Someone all kingdoms fear.”
Syla stilled. “Who?”
Samson shot her a look, but she ignored it as she leaned forward, her fingers pressing into his forearm. “The Yumi.”
Syla stared at her, waiting for her to deliver the punch line, but when her face remained as serious as before, his mouth shuttered. “Surely you are jesting. The Yumi kingdom has not involved itself in second-continent politics for centuries.”
“They will. And with you, me, and the Yumi calling, the other kingdoms will come to the council. Farin will be forced to attend too. If not out of fear, then out of curiosity. Imagine what a ruckus we’ll cause when Moksh sails into the Tsuani harbor.”
“But the Yumi—”
“—are the strongest, most lethal warriors of the land,” Elena said. “Their hair can cut through Farin’s metal. His army will stand no chance against the Mokshi.”
“But how will you manage to convince the Yumi to come?”
With power.
With fire.
Her Agni thrummed. Elena glanced down the table, her gaze crashing into Samson’s. Dark like the sea, entrenched with secrets. Ones they both shared.
But before she could speak, Samson slammed his fist onto the table, surprising her and Syla.
“We don’t need the Yumi,” he snarled. “All we need is the metal itself. And I can give you that—tenfold.”
Elena stared, too taken aback by his sudden maneuver to interject. Syla recovered faster.
“You?” he scoffed. “And what can a Sesharian give me?”
Though his face was calm, Elena felt Samson’s Agni quiver in rage at the slight.
But he merely withdrew a holopod. It revealed a map of the mountains that bordered Cyleon and Jantar.
“I have men already inside Farin’s mines along your border.
They know its tunnels, its loading bays, its secrets better than they know their homeland.
Give me access through your mountains, and I will take them for you. ”
“Bullshit,” Syla said softly, but he did not lean away.
“You want the kingdoms to come to the council? You attack what is most precious to them: the metal trade itself. Our queen has already destroyed three mines in southern Jantar,” Samson said, and Syla turned to her in surprise.
“The metal kingdom is suffering. If we take out ones along your border, then Farin will be bleeding to death. Jantar’s industry will come to a grinding halt.
Veran, Karven, Tsuana—all of them, stopped.
We will have their attention then. And Farin will have to come to the table.
Crawling. Begging. Then we make our demands. ”
“You destroyed those mines?” Syla asked her.
She nodded, and the awe in his eyes, the glorious vindication, twisted her stomach into a sticky entangle of guilt and discomfort.
“Yes,” she said. But the cost was too great. The loss too much. In her dreams, she still saw Yassen, burning.
“It is our second plan,” Samson said, though he did not meet her gaze. “Another option, should you not find the Yumi one… attractive.”
Syla leaned forward, examining the maps with a renewed eagerness and intensity. “How soon can you execute?”
And just like that, he had chosen. Samson smiled, as if already expecting his answer. “Give us two weeks.”
Syla was smart enough to pause then, glancing between her and Samson.
“Of course, this is Queen Elena’s plan at the end of the day, right?
You agree with this, Elena?” And when his eyes slid to hers, coy, calculative, she heard the hidden question in his voice, the challenge.
Was this really her call? Did she really have control?
Her hands prickled with a sudden heat as she glared at Samson.
You damn fool. She had the rash urge to grab him by the throat and shake sense into him, but her hands remained still in her lap.
Samson met her gaze calmly. He had forced her into a corner, but she, the bigger fool, had allowed herself to be pinned. And he knew it. Damn him, he knew.
Pushing back against his proposed plan now would show weakness.
Syla would find them divided, and he would never help them if he sensed a rift.
Who poured resources into a torn bucket?
Elena cursed herself. She should have never brought him, never trusted him, never even allowed him into her court.
She realized, with the cold clarity that comes to all who find themselves defeated, that Samson had never seen her as a partner or someone of equal power.
She was a tool, a prisoner. He had made her dance to his whims, and she, the foolish queen, had never been the wiser.
Ravence was her home. The one she had lost, the one she hoped to win back. But it had become less than that. It was a land to be ravaged. Gutted. Pieced apart and given to petty victors. Suddenly, it wasn’t a home anymore, but a prize.
Be ruthless. Become whatever Ravence demands, because without you, it will die, Leo had told her.
Bit by bit, her tired resentment crystallized into a rage that fit deep in the pockets between her bones. Every time she drew breath, Elena felt it. Like fire in a serpent’s throat. Ever present, ever ready. A reminder of what she had lost, and the people who had stood by and allowed it.
She met Syla’s gaze. “Send us the ships, and we will bring down those mines. You can get a quarter of the ore we recover.”
“Half,” Syla said immediately. He attempted to cover his eagerness by gesturing to the maps. “It’s only fair. Farin has stolen my ore from me.”
Fair. Fair was seeing Farin suffer the same destitute helplessness she had endured when her kingdom fell. Fair was his head at her feet. Fair was frankly a concept Cyleon had no idea of, but Elena kept this to herself. If power rather than loyalty moved Syla, so be it.
She plastered on a smile, as wide as she could, and grasped Syla’s hand.