Chapter 21 Samson
SAMSON
Where are our sons and daughters? Where are the young children who sacrificed their lives to fight against tyranny? Their lives belong to the sea.
—from The Lament of Seshar: A People’s History
It had been a week since Elena had knelt in front of him, but he had been watching her carefully.
It was not that he didn’t believe her. He believed she would do anything to save Ravence—even if that meant working with him.
She had remained mostly the same, still rising to Visha’s quips, meeting Chandi’s silent stares, and catching his gaze from time to time. He just didn’t trust her.
He had expected her to retaliate by now. He had expected to wake up in the dark of the night and feel her dagger against his throat. Of all things, Elena Aadya Ravence was not a patient and docile woman. But she had done nothing, and it was this that flummoxed him the most.
“You can’t possibly trust her,” Chandi said, echoing his thoughts as they left the command center.
“No, but I want to,” he replied, surprised by the depth of his own desire.
If he and Elena could truly work together, if their Agni could meld…
The possibilities were staggering. He could almost see it.
And he tried to stop himself from dreaming, but his dreams had always been powerful.
He saw Ravence, freed; Seshar, freed; and Jantar, burning.
The vision was so clear, the path stark and righteous.
Before, their alliance had felt like a necessity.
Even when Elena had given her hand in front of the ruined high temple, he had seen bitterness in the turn of her mouth.
But since she had swallowed her pride and knelt before him, he had noticed a softening.
An opening. Could this be the start of a true, sincere alliance?
But he pushed the thought away, stamped it down into the cold reaches of his heart. There can be no more, he reminded himself.
“Do you trust her?” he asked.
Chandi shrugged as they passed over rubble. They were making their way toward the wall, where the Jantari prisoners were kept. The Cyleoni ambassador had wished to see them, and Samson spotted the man in the distance, surrounded by his contingent of soldiers who had stayed behind with their tanker.
“I am cautious,” Chandi said finally. “It takes a great deal to make someone as proud as Elena bend. Either she has finally come to her senses, or she has lost them altogether.”
Samson laughed, and Chandi shared a conspiratorial smirk.
“General,” the ambassador called as they neared. His eyes fell to the urumi around Samson’s waist. “What a beautiful blade.”
“It’s a family heirloom,” Samson said. He turned at the sound of footsteps and found Elena approaching them.
“The Jantari might tear off your head if you stand too close, Kirri,” she said.
Kirri glanced nervously at the metal fence erected along the wall.
Prisoners sat in the sparse shade or shuffled listlessly, dispirited.
Still, Samson recalled the angry soldier who had attacked him.
His men had strengthened the posts and fence with hardy cement and steel, but even he took a cautionary step back.
“Oh, I’m kidding. These poor men can barely save themselves.
” Elena smiled, though there was something pained and sorrowful in her eyes, as if the sun had briefly passed behind a cloud and stoppered the light.
Within the next moment, it was gone. He wondered what it meant.
Did she sympathize with the prisoners? How did she still have compassion left for them?
That ability to see the enemy and still find someone worth saving—was that what she saw in him, then?
A man worthy of being redeemed? At once, he felt clammy and uncomfortable, like wool scratching against his skin. He turned away, averting his gaze.
He did not need her compassion—only her Agni. She was working with him to save Ravence—nothing more. There is no more, he told himself again.
“How many are there?” Kirri asked.
“Six hundred and fifty-nine,” Chandi replied. “They’re spread out along other parts of the wall. We lost a few prisoners who tried to bolt.”
Kirri raised a brow. “Bolt? Have there been many revolts?”
“None that we couldn’t handle,” Samson said.
Kirri glanced at him, his gaze flicking back to the urumi around his waist. “I trust you’ve been treating them well. War or not, enemy prisoners are given rights.”
Samson had half a mind to tell the politician that if enemy prisoners truly had rights, then his people wouldn’t be mining Jantar’s steel until their hands bled, but he kept his tongue.
“They will be sent back to Jantar as soon as Farin comes to the table,” Elena said. “You have my word, Kirri.”
“Yes, concerning that…” the ambassador said as Elena adjusted her scarf. Though her scarf hid it well, Samson knew his handprints still ringed her neck, and a sudden, terrible guilt slipped through him.
She had started the fight. She had apologized for it. It was done. And yet, he could not stop staring at her throat and feeling the hot flush of shame.
“We would like to start the exchange of prisoners soon after the mission,” Kirri said.
“You cut off communications when you invaded, so Farin still believes Magar is under Jantari control, but once we take his mines, he will suspect. We should act while he still plots his next move. Ask for Ravani and Cyleoni prisoners in exchange for his Jantari.”
“What about Sesharians?” Chandi asked sharply. “The miners. The servants forced to serve Jantari lords. They should be freed too.”
“Well, they aren’t technically prisoners now, are they?” Kirri said in an almost apologetic tone. “It’s just not the same.”
“Not the same—” Chandi started, but a look from Samson silenced her.
“You’re forgetting, Ambassador, that Sesharians in Jantar are not free,” he said lightly. “They are not even proper citizens. We should exchange the Jantari soldiers for miners as well as Ravani and Cyleoni prisoners.”
Kirri gave a perfect, sympathetic smile.
“I see your case, General, but Farin would never consider us if we ask for any kind of Sesharian freedom. It simply will not do.” He gave a small, careless shrug.
“We must work with the means we have. Perhaps once Ravence is free and peace restored, we can reconsider Seshar. Yes?”
If he weren’t the ambassador, if Cyleon wasn’t supplying the tankers and entry points for their mission, Samson would have drawn his urumi then and there.
Elena suddenly brushed his elbow, and he froze. Her touch was hot, seething, but not painful.
“Kirri,” she said, her voice dangerously flat, “have you no shame?”
The ambassador blinked, taken aback. “Your Majesty—”
“It is Samson and his Sesharian men who helped me free this city. It is Samson and his Sesharian army that will take those mines and deliver its steel to your king. If you are to use them and give them no freedom, how are you any better than the Jantari?”
Silence coiled like a noose around them. Kirri stared, shock written clearly over his face. Slowly, Samson turned to her as Elena dropped her hand and pointed to the horizon beyond.
“We all have one common enemy, and I will be damned if we turn into someone like him,” she said. “When we take the mines, we will ask for the exchange of all prisoners, including Sesharians, or we will not take the mines at all.”
Kirri seemed to find himself, because he sputtered, walking forward. “Your Majesty. Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. It—it is not my place to decide the fate of these prisoners. I will leave that up to you and our king.”
A smart countermove, to lay the blame on your king and not yourself, Samson thought darkly.
“Of course you must.” Elena smiled, her eyes clouded and unreadable. “Come. Let us walk the wall, alone.”
Kirri nodded quickly, as if grateful to be removed from the situation. Elena waited until he was out of earshot and turned to Samson.
“I was afraid you were going to cut his head off,” she said.
“I had half a mind to,” he said. “Chicken-livered jackass.”
“You can say that again,” Chandi muttered.
“Chicken-livered jackass.”
Elena laughed, and the sound of it, short and quick and airy, fastened something in his chest in a way he did not understand.
“Just let me handle him.”
As Samson watched her go, her Agni and its warmth fading, he had the sudden, wild urge to rush after.
“Wait!” he called. He jogged to meet her. “You…” he began and found the words disappearing from his tongue as she half turned to face him.
“Yes?” she said.
“Don’t scare him off” was all he could manage. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, there was something akin to regret there, so quick he could have imagined it, but then Elena dipped her head.
“I’ll see you later tonight, Prophet,” she said and left.