Chapter 22 Elena
ELENA
When Queen Akira squashed the Red Rebellion, she hung the heads of the rebels on the White Lotus until its petals stained red.
She found the Cyleoni ambassador walking the northern wall, his soldiers and a group of Black Scales standing watch.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed as she neared, but she caught how his eyes skittered past her. “I truly do apologize. I spoke out of turn.”
“It is nothing, Kirri,” she said hastily. She dismissed the guards, save the Cyleoni.
“I heard your trip to King Syla was successful.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard many things. Walk with me.”
The early-winter sun perched precariously above the canyons, washing out the deep reds and carving shadowed faces into the rocks. A wind nipped at her scarf. Elena wound it tighter, hiding her swollen cheek, as Kirri watched her with a wary alertness.
“The general. I fear I’ve upset him.”
“Samson has thicker skin than you think. Though, it would be better if you didn’t insult Sesharians in his presence.”
“I hear his wrath is monstrous,” Kirri said, studying her cheek.
Elena inhaled sharply, her mind caught on the word monstrous, and she thought of the vicious, seething Agni thrumming within Samson’s veins, the sudden crush of his hands on her throat. But she quickly pushed the sensation away.
“What do you think of Magar, Ambassador?” Elena asked, recovering.
“It is… remarkable in its strength,” Kirri said. “Your people have endured so much and yet retain their spirit.”
“Quite remarkable for refugees, no?” Her eyes slid coolly to him, and to his credit, Kirri gave her a plain, bland smile.
“Your people have always been proud warriors, Your Majesty. Both those born of the desert and the ones who found refuge in it after.” They came to the parapets, and Kirri paused to observe the canyons and the mountains beyond.
“Though I wonder, when the council negotiations begin, whose freedom will you fight for: Ravani, or Sesharian?”
Elena considered how to play this. She could not have Kirri signaling to Samson or the Black Scales that her fight, her only fight, was for Ravani freedom.
She could not send her army, whatever remained of it, to a foreign island when her own home lay broken.
But the Sesharians were her people too, in a way.
“My loyalty is to my people. They can come from all walks of life: Ravani, Sesharian, Cyleoni. I will protect and defend them, as long as they wish to call the desert their home.”
Kirri studied her, his face revealing nothing.
“Are they your men, Your Majesty? Are they under your control?” he asked, his voice slow and calculative as he watched the shifting shadows.
When she did not respond, he trailed his finger over the stone, flicking away dried flakes of blood.
“I heard you were badly injured recently, and yet here you are, entertaining an old man. I would fear to think what would happen to Ravence if something were to befall you in this city.”
“I am among friends, Kirri,” she said. “Sometimes, we bicker, but there is great love among us. Rest assured. My people’s spirit and regard for me shall never waver.”
Kirri’s eyes flicked to her cheek. “Unless, of course, they found someone just as worthy of their love.”
Her smile faltered. Elena thought of the old man who had averted his eyes from her, of Kruppa’s pained voice.
I am sorry, Your Majesty. But you have lost.
She had the horrid, half-formed image of standing in the glittering palace hall as another man sat on her throne. For a moment, Elena could say nothing. A deep, bottomless fear slowly bore a hole in her stomach. Ghostlike fingers fluttered across her throat.
“Your Majesty?”
Elena blinked, and the fingers released. She drew in a shaky breath, cool air rushing into her chest as she drew on a smile and faced Kirri.
“I believe your fear is unfounded, Ambassador. Syla could never replace me.”
“I did not mean him but Sa—” Kirri caught himself, just in time. He drew back his hand to hide his blunder, but he had only affirmed what she had feared—that he had heard of her fight with Samson.
She could feel his belief, like the others, slowly slipping from her grasp.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” he muttered.
“Oh, I don’t blame you. Samson is quite dashing and pretty to look at.” She laughed, and she saw how Kirri eased, his shoulders dropping from his ears. “I admit the people love him. But Samson and his army serve me, Ambassador. And I come on behalf of all of us with a request for you.”
“What kind of request?”
“It’s come to my attention that the Yumi of Moksh have asked for an audience with me, but alas, I do not have the means to go. Could I—with your permission, of course—take the tanker across the Ahi Sea?”
“Moksh seeks an audience?” This time, Kirri did not hide his incredulity. “Is their request founded?”
“It came the morning of my coronation day,” Elena said. “You remember my Spear, the Yumi Ferma?”
He nodded. “Yes. Wasn’t she killed in the Arohassin attack prior to your coronation?”
Elena nodded mutely as she remembered building the funeral pyre and talking to the wind. She remembered Ferma’s body, cold and lifeless, and the fire she had lit. Forgive me, dear Ferma.
“Ferma was the estranged granddaughter of the current queen of Moksh,” she said.
“Moksh requests that I—we—bring her ashes to her family so that she can be laid to rest with her ancestors.” The first part was true, the second a lie, and yet it was the latter that came easily to Elena.
A small part of her marveled at it. How quickly it slipped off her tongue, how quickly it had come to her mind when she had asked Kruppa for her sword.
Guilt pinched her throat, but Elena rubbed her skin as she adjusted her scarf.
“Now, I must admit, I do have an ulterior motive to see the Yumi, one I’ve already shared with Syla. ”
Kirri eyed her, the smile gone from his face. “Let me guess: You wish for them to fight in this war.”
“Clever as always, Kirri,” she said. “Request clearance from your king. We must leave tonight. I will have the ashes prepared by then.”
“But the mines—”
“Samson will take care of them,” Elena said. “You will find that he has no qualms pursuing the Jantari on his own.”
Kirri rubbed his chin. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I don’t believe it’s prudent to fly all the way to Moksh during a time like this. How will you even convince the Yumi?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors of a… brawl between me and Samson,” she said suddenly.
The ambassador fell quiet. He regarded her carefully, his eyes wandering back to her cheek.
“Yes,” he said after a pause. “I have.”
“Then you may have heard of a great inferno enveloping us.” She stepped back, her palms beginning to warm. “The Yumi, I believe, will be interested in how I summoned that inferno.”
“You? The rumors say that it was only Samson.”
As he looked at her, caught between curiosity and unease, his eyes going from her cheek to her hands, Elena thought how easy it was to ensnare and twist someone’s belief.
Samson had done it. He had taken their god, pronounced Her a lie, and replaced Her with himself.
He had healed the burned and said to all naysayers See.
He had made the gods tangible, and her people had fallen for it.
But Elena understood the pain of Agni.
For every person he healed, Samson burned down another. For every belief he sowed, he destroyed a thousand more. A god like him could not proclaim himself all-mighty and all-powerful.
Not when someone like her existed.
Not when their Agni was made of three.
So Elena met Kirri’s gaze and desired. A pinpoint of heat glowed in the middle of her palms, and then two flames flared up. Kirri gasped and stumbled back.
“I believe,” she said over the hiss of the flames, “the queen of Moksh will want to see how I can call her Goddess’s inferno.”
She twisted her hand, and the flames curled down her wrist, spiraling up her arms like twisting vines.
Kirri stared, his mouth agape. “H-how?”
“The Yumi can answer why I have such powers,” she said.
Her voice barely faltered over the next lie.
“I have seen visions of their Goddess, calling me. And I have seen you in them too, Kirri.” She offered a soft, secretive smile.
“I’ve seen you bring great prosperity to Cyleon with the Yumi.
Imagine it. Your name will go down in history, not as a simple ambassador to Ravence, but as the man who changed Cyleon’s fate. ”
Kirri watched the flames with a mixture of fascination and horror, but she saw the hunger in his eyes too. Politicians like him always craved more. Legacy meant more than honor, and power, the great force that supplemented it all, was king. She needed only to show a glimpse of it.
Elena closed her palms, and the flames slowly disappeared with a whispered hiss. Her voice was soft. “What say you, Kirri?”
He rubbed his eyes, and when he withdrew his hands, he looked beyond the canyons again, to the mountains beyond.
“If I get you clearance, you must show your fire to Syla. Immediately after visiting Moksh.”
Elena nodded. “Done.”
He sighed and finally met her eyes. “Tonight, then.”
“Tonight.”