Blood ran deep. Deeper than allegiances to kings. If Samson truly did not care about his Sesharian brethren and their treatment within the mines, he wouldn’t have flinched. But there—there was that darkness in his eyes. Leo knew the boy employed mostly Sesharians on his staff, promoted mostly Sesharians in his army. He had seen Samson’s ring.
Leo glanced at Arish, who gave him a subtle nod. So, his Astra had noticed too. Leo made a note to speak with Samson further, once they were alone. Candidly.
“Peace and Jantar do not mix,” Leo said. “We must be prepared. We will have the demonstration at the end of the week. Arrange it. And give it a name.”
“A name?” mused Saku, the minister of defense. “What about… Black Sands Day?”
Black sands. It was an omen in the desert, a sign for storm winds and catastrophe. Pools of sand would curdle, as if boiling in hot liquid, and turn black as soot. Leo himself had never witnessed it. But his father had told him stories of the phenomena appearing before invasions like the shadow of an arrow before it pierces the unwary target.
“A tad dramatic, but it will do,” he said.
Samson clapped his hands, an easy grin curving across his face. Whatever hesitations he had felt, whatever demons the mention of Seshar had unearthed, were gone. “I’m sure Farin will love it.”
There was a chuckle around the table, one that Leo did not share.
“Now, valiant protectors of Ravence, may I turn your attention to this.” Samson summoned a map of the kingdom, marked with several scattered dots. He zoomed into Rani as a carousel of faces floated along the wall. He stopped on a dark-skinned woman with hair so black it looked like liquid tar.
“The Arohassin have operated within Rani for decades, always evading your grasp. But I, gentleman, and ladies,” he said, dipping his head toward Muftasa and Mahira, “bring you the trap that will ensnare them all.” Leo watched his generals and ministers take it in, their faces carefully composed and their eyes alert. Like him, they were judging this young cub who had strutted into the lion’s den with a fresh kill. “This is Maya. She’s a lead Arohassin strategist, and the one responsible for the attack in the Rasbakan port and the theft of Ravani weapons. But she rarely emerges. Our luck is that Yassen has provided a list of informants she utilizes. If we can snare a couple, they’ll lead us to her.”
“Who is on this list?” Muftasa asked.
“Giorna Vistik,” Samson said. An image of a young woman with fiery red hair and an upturned nose emerged. “Let’s not waste time. Vistik operates right in the heart of old Rani, by Radhia’s Bazaar,” he said. “My men are ready to bring her in. I just need your word, Your Majesty.”
In his long reign, the Arohassin were a constant reminder of Leo’s failure. The only flaw in his legacy. Whenever he caught one, another emerged, like gophers in the desert. But here, finally, was his chance to crush them.
“Will capturing Vistik alert Maya?” Leo asked. One wrong move could warn the entire Arohassin network. One wrong move could endanger Elena and his kingdom.
“It’s unlikely. She’s a low-level informant; they all are,” Samson said. “But when they have information to give, they are sent a location. We can track her that way.”
Leo drummed his fingers against the table, thinking. “All right,” he said finally. “Bring her in. And find the other informants. If any of these agents recognize Yassen Knight as a defector, we will not burn him. At least not yet.” He looked at his generals and Samson. “Understood?”
“But we will burn him. Won’t we?” General Rohtak asked.
“Yes,” Leo said, his eyes on Samson. “That was our deal.”
Samson merely dipped his head in acquiescence.
“Then let us turn to the matters of the coronation,” Saku said.
Leo nodded, his mind elsewhere as his advisors discussed the coronation parade route and the blessing ceremony at the temple. He kept his gaze on Samson, who sank back into his seat with an inscrutable expression on his face.
Eventually, Arish tapped his shoulder. Leo turned to see Muftasa looking at him expectantly.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Your Majesty, I asked whether the high priestess will come by hoverpod or desert carriage? To the blessing ceremony.”
Leo thought of Saayna locked within a prison in the middle of the desert. He remembered the runes on the priest’s back, and his stomach twisted.
“Desert carriage,” he answered, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.
Muftasa blinked. After suns of service, she likely detected his unease, but to her credit, she merely turned back to the generals and offered her suggested security plan for the high priestess.
“All right,” Muftasa said once the meeting adjourned and all had departed save herself, Samson, and Arish. “What is it? Tell me.”
Leo smiled. Only Muftasa could speak to him with such candor.
He motioned to Arish, who called up the image of the burnt priest and the runes on his skin.
