Chapter 59 Elena
ELENA
The gods gave us Agni. In turn, we promised them death. Who, then, the real victim? Who, then, the real tyrant?
—from the diaries of Priestess Nomu of the Fire Order
Elena stood underneath the warm spray of the shower as rivulets of blood trickled down her arms, her legs. You lost Ravence yourself. She turned the heat up, increased the jet sprays, but neither the heat nor the water could drown out Farin’s voice. He was wrong. He was wrong, damn it—
Abruptly, she yanked open the shower door and stepped out onto the cold tile. Her reflection, morphed and ghostly in the fogged mirror, stared back at her like a vetala from the stories of old. A maiden turned into a monster.
She hastily whirled away from the mirror and grabbed a robe, flung it on as there was a knock, then her door opened.
“Oh, hello.” Jaya eyed the water dripping on the tile. “Don’t you want to… dry off?”
“No time. I need to see Syla.” She turned to her bed, where a Tsuani attendant had left a blood-orange organza sari.
“I need us both to round up the rulers. He’ll deal with Bormani, I’ll take Risha.
We’re going to vote this evening. Where are the others?
Akaros, Maya? Are you— Oh.” She remembered they had agreed for Akaros and Maya to stay out of sight.
As top Arohassin operatives, they were no doubt in intelligence databases.
Jaya, on the other hand, was too low in the chain to trip alarms. Still, Jaya watched her silently. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“I know how to sway the council.” Jaya softly closed the door. “Remember how you and Samson blended your Agnis within the Black Pit?”
Elena eyed her, unease tightening her muscles. “What of it?”
“What if you were to do it again, before the council? Show them how Ravence and Seshar are linked inextricably. Become the threat. If Farin does not retreat from Rani or Seshar, you’ll burn his ships, like you did with his killdoms. You’ll destroy his remaining mines.
You’ll ruin his country. Games aren’t always won through battle.
Sometimes, the presence of a threat is enough. ”
Elena stared at her with cold, dawning horror. “You want me to hold the council hostage.”
“No,” Jaya said. “Just show them who you are, Elena. What you really are. They’re going to find out soon enough, so why not show them on your own terms?”
“I am not a monster,” Elena said, her voice suddenly thin, strained. I am not like him.
“You want the rulers to listen? This will make them,” Jaya said.
“I’m not going to threaten to burn them alive if they don’t listen to me,” Elena snapped.
“I have other means to make them kneel. Besides, I’d have to contend with what comes after.
After Jantar retreats. After Ravence is free.
If I hold the others hostage, I will jeopardize Ravence’s future by making more enemies. They will never trust me again.”
“And you trust them? Now?” Jaya said.
Someone rapped on the door, but Elena stood rooted, glaring at Jaya. “I cannot afford a long war, Jaya. Our soldiers barely survived the crossing. If I make an enemy of Syla, or Risha, then who will send us food? Aid? Ravani will never be welcomed in other kingdoms ever again.”
Jaya scoffed as the knocking increased. “Are you forgetting Seshar? You’ll find ready soldiers among the rebels. Among the miners, willing to revolt against Jantar. This war won’t be short, Elena.”
“It must—” Elena began when someone slammed open the door, and Samson stalked in.
“Mother’s Gold, Elena, answer your fucking—” he said and stopped.
For a moment, he stared at her, dripping wet in her robe, her hair undone.
There was a hungry, almost ardent look in his eyes.
And then he shook his head. Swallowed his hunger until only a cold, vicious violence remained. “I need to talk to you.”
Jaya looked between them. “I should leave—”
“Jaya, stay,” Elena said, not removing her eyes from Samson. He glared at her, but there was something beneath his anger, something unbridled and raw. She was almost afraid to know it. “Share your proposal with Samson.”
Jaya thumbed the pod in her hand nervously. “I can come back later. Once you two have fuc—”
“Please, enlighten me,” Samson said, his eyes still holding Elena’s. A muscle ticked in his jaw, as if he was keeping control by the tips of his fingers.
Elena finally looked to Jaya. “Tell him.”
Jaya hesitated, her large amber eyes dark and unreadable, before she stiffly turned to Samson. “Summon your Agnis before the council and threaten them if Jantar doesn’t retreat from Ravence and Seshar.”
He barked a laugh. “But that would mean our queen consorts with terrorists.”
“Sam—”
“You did not correct them when they called me one,” he snapped. “Why?”
“Because it wasn’t important! You said yourself in your grand speech that they would call us despicable names. So who cares what those idiots think about you? Who cares if they hurt your fucking feelings? Get over it.”
For a moment, Samson held still. It was as if all his muscles had locked into place, all his emotions—his wrath—sharpening, tuning.
She knew that look. He wore it that day they had fought in the rain.
It frightened her, but that fear had become familiar by now, twisting into a dark and delicious validation.
Because she was right. Because he was the monster.
Because despite the pleasantries and the semblance of comfort he had given her, Samson Kytuu was a butcher and a brute.
He would always bite first, and then she would.
She felt a cold satisfaction in that certainty, along with a sour sorrow that tickled the back of her throat like the ash of a dead flame.
“I know why,” he said, his voice dark and venomous.
“You want to paint me the bloodthirsty brute. The Butcher.” He stepped forward, and Jaya shifted away, but Elena forced herself to remain rooted.
“You think you’re some saint. A Burning Queen, fighting valiantly for her people.
But you are just as vicious and ugly as me. ”
“We are not the same, Samson,” she whispered.
“You’re right.” He took another step forward until he stood only a hand’s width away. “You’re even more ruthless.”
Elena felt winded, her lungs so tight she wondered how they did not collapse and pierce her heart. He is wrong, she thought weakly, hopelessly. If he were in her position, if he had been given the choices she was given, he would have chosen the same.
“I know how to handle the kings and queens of Sayon,” she said.
“And I don’t because I was born on some backwater island?
” His eyes ripped into her, hard and unkind.
“I am not a terrorist, Elena. I am a freedom fighter. Everything I do, everything I must do, is for Sesharian azadi. But how would you know? You were born a queen, raised in a palace, attended by simpering fools who called you brilliant. What do you know of my suffering?”
“Ravence is occupied by metalmen, and you say I don’t understand your suffering?” she said. “That’s rich, Sam. Really.”
He smiled then, and his smile was so full of grief and bitterness, an anger so potent that she felt it hook into her rib cage and slowly pull until she was peeling apart at the seams.
“You still don’t understand, do you? If they cannot respect me, then they will not respect Seshar.
We will not gain Sesharian freedom. Your people might get azadi, but mine will be left behind to till the earth until we die.
But I refuse. Seshar’s reckoning has finally come because I demand it,” he said, each word sharp and vicious like the snaps of a whip. “And I am a god.”
Samson gripped her chin. “Your kingdom has been occupied for how many days? A few months? Mine has been ruined for decades. You have only tasted the misery my people have suffered. You can’t even begin to fathom my loss. So, spare me your moral arguments. They have no purpose here.”
She spoke against the crush of his fingers, keeping her voice steady. “We must play our cards carefully—”
He stepped back, as if struck. His throat trembled, and that look from before, a raw vulnerability she did not deserve, darkened into a dull heaviness that hit her in the chest like a fist.
“You disgust me,” he said, his voice thick. And then he left without another word, without giving her a chance to, what, argue? Ask for forgiveness? A means to salvage her self-belief of her moral superiority?
He is wrong, she thought, but the words rang hollow.
Jaya watched her quietly. “What are you planning, Elena?”
Elena drew a long, tired breath. “I am going to make a play for both Ravence and Seshar, but he is an idiot who—”
“He is right.”
She stilled. “What?”
“Samson is the symbol of Sesharian independence. If you allow Farin to smear his name, then you allow him to smear all Sesharians. The councilors already believe Sesharians are pitiful. Now, you’ll give them an excuse to turn their pity into hatred.
They’ll call Seshar a country of terrorists and killers, not of bravehearted freedom fighters. They’ll never want it to be free.”
“They will.” Elena turned, reaching for her sari. “But first, I need to speak with Risha. If we want to protect Ravence and Seshar—”
“You’re only serving yourself,” Jaya said softly. “Your throne. Your legacy. You don’t give a damn about anyone else.”
Elena huffed. “I am the queen. Of course I care.”
“You aren’t a queen,” Jaya said. “Not really. A true queen fights for everyone before she fights for herself. Including for Samson Kytuu.”
“You are Arohassin,” Elena said, meeting her eyes. “You know nothing about fighting for anyone but yourself.”
But Jaya was already moving away. “You are not my queen.”
Elena watched her go, her words ringing in the empty room.