Chapter 39 Samson #2
They finally ducked inside the army headquarters. The war room was cold and cramped, each seat filled with either a Black Scale or an Arohassin. The soldiers stopped talking when they entered, and the sudden silence felt nauseating, as if someone had stretched plastic over his face and pulled.
“We have guests,” Chandi said in greeting.
“Who?”
“Ah, the Butcher,” said a voice in an accent he knew at once to be Mokshi.
“I hailed General Daz,” Elena said as she slipped her arm from his and took a seat. “To discuss the recent calling of the council.”
In the projection before him, a Yumi man with curly hair and slight shoulders watched him with bright, calculative eyes.
“I’ve heard many things about you, General Kytuu,” Daz said. “But namely your hatred of Farin.”
“In this, we’re all aligned,” Elena said, casting a glance down the table to Akaros and Jaya. His former mentor winked.
“Oh, we are, Your Majesty,” Akaros purred. His eyes met Samson’s. “In more ways than one.”
“The council meets at the end of this week. Which means we only have a few days to prepare,” Elena said.
“Less,” Daz cut in. “I’ve received word that Farin means to sail two fully manned killdoms stationed in Rysanti toward Tsuana.”
“Why would he send military ships to the council?” Chandi said.
“To show force,” Jaya answered. “Obviously.”
Chandi stared at the girl, and he knew her well enough to know that Jaya’s quick, haughty confidence had taken his commander off guard. Don’t underestimate Jaya, Akaros had once warned him.
“It’s obvious political suicide,” Chandi retorted. “The council is a neutral ground. The other kingdoms won’t stand for it.”
“Unless Farin means to keep his ships just at the edge of international waters where it’s still legal to sail,” Jaya said. “Far enough to not be a threat, but close enough to remind the kingdoms who they’re bargaining with.”
“Farin isn’t stupid enough to attack the council,” Elena said. “The other kingdoms would wage war immediately, and he can’t fight alone on multiple fronts. No. He’s being provocative, per usual.”
“What are the names of the ships?” Samson asked Daz.
“Lord of Sea and Relentless Destiny,” Daz said.
Samson stiffened. Around the table, every Black Scale, Chandi, Visha, Akiri, stilled.
Akiri quickly drew the sign of the Great Serpent across herself as Chandi stared into some distant space, her face closed.
He felt it too. An ancient resentment, beaten into his bones like every Sesharian child who had stood on the shores of his home and found it not his to own.
“You mean the flesh crawlers,” Visha spat.
The Lord of Sea and the Relentless Destiny were old ships, grand ships, and the first ships that had sailed into Sesharian harbors those seventy suns ago with armed Jantari.
They were the same ships that had taken the first Sesharians to a life of indentured labor and a death in a dark, windless grave.
How many stories had he heard of those behemoths?
Fifty? A hundred? How many times had he fantasized standing on their decks and ripping them apart seam by seam as his fire burned through the steel with a slow, agonizing relish?
“That son of a bitch,” he snarled.
“What?” Elena said, looking at the Sesharians. “What’s so important about those ships?”
It was Jaya who answered.
“It’s the symbolism,” she said in a condescending tone, as if Elena was slow for not making the connection herself. “The flesh crawlers are the epitome of Jantari dominance. Of course he’s sending them to Tsuana. He wants to remind every king of what he has conquered—”
“—and to warn that he can conquer more,” Elena finished, glaring at the gamemaster. “I get it.” She rested her chin on her fist, her brows furrowing, and Samson found, even in the bleakness of his anger, a strange fondness for that gesture.
“He’s spitting on everyone’s face, General,” Visha growled.
“Let him,” Jaya said. “Last time I checked, we don’t have ships.”
“But you do,” Elena said, looking to Daz.
They all turned to his projection, and the Yumi smiled.
“And why would I send my ships to you?” he asked.
Elena’s eyes shuttered, her lips thin and tight. She seemed to gather herself. Then, “Because I accept your proposal.”
“What proposal?” Samson asked.
“You will give me a seat at your council?” Daz said.
Elena nodded. “Syla and I will start the motion. Tsuana will likely agree, and Veran will fall in line simply because the king is afraid of angering Tsuana.”
Tsuana? Veran? Samson’s mind whirled. The politics and games of monarchs were not foreign to him, but this had unfolded so fast that he was not sure where to start.
“Elena, wait, let’s consider this together,” he urged.
But she ignored him. “I want those flesh crawlers destroyed on their way to Tsuana. Let Farin see his ships burn on the eve of the council. How is that for symbolism?”
“The Ayoni have built two new bounders in an older contract with my sister,” Daz said. “Meet us in Ayona. You will be granted safe passage there.”
“Hold on. Just—wait. Elena,” Samson said, and he stood, motioning for her.
She hesitated, then followed him outside, where the pale winter sun grazed the top of the canyons.
Beyond the courtyard, he could hear the warbling call for rations.
He had forgotten today was rations day. The Cyleoni had sent food along with medicine, and he wondered if it would be enough.
If any of this would be enough so long as Farin reigned and hatred bloomed in the gnawing hunger of those without.
He thought of the children, torn from the islands.
The miners, buried in the earth. All that death, all that loss.
How much longer would it take until they were freed?
“I don’t trust Daz,” Samson said.
Elena sat back against a pillar. “I don’t either. But what else can we do?”
“What if he plans to strong-arm the council into his own private demands? Or to prevent Seshar from gaining a council seat too?”
Elena looked up, her expression wary, guarded. “We will deal with it when the time comes.”
He sighed and sat down beside her. “The council kingdoms think we Sesharians are helpless. We couldn’t protect our own home. Couldn’t stop the Jantari from taking us to theirs. So they gave up on Seshar. But…” And here he faltered.
“But…?” Elena asked.
He blew air from his cheeks. “But if we take those killdoms, if we sail in bearing my flag, bearing your flag, then the world will see that both you and I and any other country taken for granted will not die in our own helplessness. That we can fight. And, more importantly, win.”
Elena said nothing for a long time. She stared across the courtyard, arms wrapped around her knees as if to hug herself and trap her thoughts. But even if he could not read her face, he felt her Agni. Sensed its seething spark, its voracious bitterness that mirrored his own.
They were the same, the Butcher and the Burning Queen.
Hungry to win, even in defeat.
“I’m afraid of the sea,” she said finally, softly, her admittance a quick, flighty thing. But he caught it and rested his arm on hers, as she had for him, and squeezed.
“There’s no need to be afraid. You have me. You have your Agni. Together, we are enough.”
“Are we?” she asked.
He met her eyes. For once, he found no trace of that relentless cold razoring down his spine. Only a calm, warm assurance of her Agni, and their connection between.
“We are gods. A thousand kingdoms could not make us bend, Elena Aadya Ravence. What is one king?”