Chapter 29 Elena
ELENA
She is a being of destruction, and the liberator of death. From the darkness she will rise, and to darkness she will descend.
—from Hymns of the Goddess of the Yamuna
The palace smelled faintly of smoke when she stumbled into the throne room. Outside, soldiers quickly put out fires in the west wing, but Elena could feel their presence in her mind’s eye now, and she heard their song of betrayal and destruction as she raised her eyes to the figure on the dais.
She had expected a squarish brute, like the late General Rohtak, or someone polished and sinister, like Samson, but General Daz of the Moksh was neither brutish nor menacing nor cruel.
He was frail and lank, with the spindly hands of a scholar.
Grey strands glimmered in curly hair that would have looked unkempt on another man but, on him, looked rather charming, if not affectionately scruffy.
But his eyes gave him away. Amber colored, with a quick, discerning intelligence. When she met his gaze, Elena felt herself involuntarily tense as Daz beckoned her forward.
“Queen Elena, welcome.”
She approached cautiously. Behind her, Rhumia and her sister Afira, a Yumi with soft, kind eyes that seemed unfit for a place like this, snapped to a salute.
“At ease, grandnieces,” he said.
“The queen,” Elena began as she searched the throne room for signs of a struggle. Of course, the queen could have been killed anywhere in the palace. Her courtyards. Her gardens. Her bedroom. Elena shuddered at the thought of waking up in her bed to find her own family looming above, blades ready.
Daz studied her intently. “You disapprove of my methods.”
Elena snapped her mouth shut. A part of her screamed to leave this room full of traitors and return to the safety of her desert.
But her home wasn’t safe either. It was torn into strips governed by petty men, and she would be a fool to leave without fulfilling her promise of raising an army that would make Farin bend.
Elena hesitated, her mind still reeling. “Why have you done this? Why stage a coup?”
“Not a coup. A revolution.” He surveyed her. “Are you not trying to lead one yourself, in Ravence and Seshar?”
“I expected to meet a queen. Not her usurper of a brother.”
Daz chuckled, though pain skittered across his tired face. “I did not expect you either, little queen, but I can guess why you’re here. You seek Moksh’s aid in your war. Does it matter if it comes from a queen or a usurper?”
It mattered. It mattered because she was a queen who had lost her throne. It mattered because as she stood here now, another man sought her power, her throne, her people, and they, unwittingly, were already beginning to give what had been hers. But Elena did not say this.
She straightened, feeling the heat of her Agni rush through her nadis.
“What can a usurper offer me? All I see is a burning kingdom.”
“You of all people, Elena, know that fire is nothing against a people used to burning.” Daz descended from the dais.
“You think I killed my sister. You think that I moved for selfish notions of power. No, little queen.” He began to circle her, and Elena fought down the urge to flinch.
“A week ago, the Yumi of Moksh deposed a ruler who was too proud, too vain, to see the dangers posed against our kingdom.”
He gestured out the windows, toward the east. “For a long time, our intelligence has gathered reports of a brewing alliance between Jantar and our pleasant neighbor Mandur. Farin wants to expand Mandur’s mining operations and take a share of the ore.
In exchange, he will supply naval ships.
Ships that Mandur will eventually use in a war against us. ”
Elena froze. “Are you sure?”
His smile was cutting, sardonic. “My sister asked the same. She believed that Mandur would not turn against us. She insisted we do nothing. She reminded me that it is our history to never draw the first blade. That it is below us. Dishonorable. But I know Mandur. They may not sail tomorrow, or in the next few months, but they will sail within a sun. I do not want a long, tiresome war any more than you do, Elena.”
“Then what do you want from me?” she said carefully.
“What you want: Peace. Good fortune. A kingdom that is whole and healthy and strong.” He stopped in front of her then, his tawny eyes bright in the dark room. “And that comes with a seat at your council. You can get that for me.”
She had come prepared to ask the Yumi for their sword, not to be asked to perform as an administrative liaison. The Yumi is far too clever for his own good. “Why do you care about a foreign council?”
“For too long, Moksh has remained removed from the politics of the second continent, and it has hurt us. So I want a say. It is by the Great Mother’s grace that She delivered you to my doorstep.
You and King Syla will work together to vote to add a new council seat, and you will give it to me.
With our shared strength, our combined threat, Farin will not dare to send those ships. ”
His eyes blazed with such fervor, such conviction, that for a moment, Elena saw herself and her own hatred of Farin.
But then the moment passed, and she was forced to face the truth.
If she appeared before the council with a usurper, what would that make her?
She, who had lost her throne to one. She, who struggled to wrest back control of her country.
If it was not the hypocrisy that threatened to overwhelm her, it was the depth of her own shame. Her throat burned with it.
Elena looked away. “I—I cannot promise it.”
“Just consider—”
“I cannot!” she snapped.
Rhumia bristled, but Daz stayed her with a hand. “Do you and your Prophet not wish Ravence and Seshar freed?”
“What does Samson have to do with this?”
“Surely, you cannot expect freedom without his help.”
Elena laughed then.
Loud, unbidden, uncontrollable.
The irony was astounding. She had come to free herself of Samson, to help her kingdom, and yet the Yumi sought only to bring him closer.
Daz stared at her, his confidence slowly fading.
“All of you,” she said in between gasps.
“All of you think Ravence is gone. Beyond help.” She swallowed her laughter, letting it burn down her throat and pool in her stomach until her voice was as acidic and powerful as the vicious Agni thrumming through her veins.
“Seshar means nothing to me. Ravence is my home. And it does not need a warmongering Prophet to win back its freedom. It needs a queen. It needs me.”
Daz said nothing. He seemed to soak in her words, watching her with something akin to uncertainty and disappointment.
“Ravence and Seshar are the same, little queen,” he said finally. “You help one, and you’ll save the other.”
He had not seen her scars. He had not felt the cold rain slicking down her spine as she watched Samson’s boots fade away. She thought of Samson, standing there alone in the canyons, the vengeance on his lips.
“I’ll believe you when it’s true.”