As he introduced each officer to her, Elena could not help but notice how the soldiers leaned toward Samson. How they hung on every word he spoke. His very presence engulfed them. She saw their undying devotion, the forged steel of brotherhood, and she understood a very plain truth. While King Leo had built his reign on fear, Samson had built his power through hard-won victories and shared suffering. He knew his men, and they in turn loved him for it.
She smiled at the last officer and then turned to Samson.
“I just need a moment,” she said.
Concern knitted his brows, but Elena squeezed his elbow and offered another smile. She ducked out of the tent, where Ferma and Yassen stood waiting. The day had grown hotter, and the sand baked beneath her feet.
“Are you all right?” Ferma asked.
“Could you bring me some water?” She fanned her face with her hand. “It’s too hot.”
The Yumi nodded and strode in the direction of the refreshments tent, leaving her alone with Yassen. A sudden, awkward silence loomed between them.
Elena cleared her throat. “Listen, about the game—”
“It’s all right. I suppose I deserved it,” he said.
“You didn’t.” She shifted her weight, chewing her lip. “Not really. So. I’m sorry. I should have stepped back when I realized you wouldn’t use the Unsung.”
“Ah, you noticed.”
“Of course. Your feet,” she began, gesturing and then realizing how silly it looked to be waving her hand at his feet. She clasped her hands behind her back. “You walk like a warrior. Where did you learn?”
“The Arohassin.” It was his turn to shift uncomfortably. “We had a teacher who was trained in the Unsung, and she taught us. Didn’t do her much good though, in the end. She was blown up by one of your soldiers.”
“Oh. Well, good for us.”
Yassen smiled. “She was shit, anyway. Brilliant in the Unsung, but she had very little patience for incompetence.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” Elena said, thinking of her father. She glanced back inside the tent and hesitated. “Samson,” she began and recalled the dark look in Leo’s eyes.Don’t let him talk about peace.“How well do you know him?”
He met her gaze, startled. “Why? Are you getting cold feet?”
She scowled. “I don’t—”
“You don’t often find men like him,” he added and gave a mirthless grin.
“Do you always interrupt people?”
“Not queens, no.” For a moment, he looked sheepish. He held out his hands in apology and looked into the tent. “You’ve had other suitors, but you chose him. Why?”
“The others never offered anything good enough,” she responded flatly.
And it was true. She thought of the allergy-afflicted prince from Cyleon and the overbearing bachelor king of Mandur. They and others had come calling for her hand. She had seen the privilege within them, the diffident nonchalance of men who believed everything and everyone served them. They had all demanded that she take the mantle of queen in their kingdom, Ravence a tributary territory. They had all left with bruised egos.
She was Elena Aadya Ravence above all else. And no man would ever take her birthright away from her.
Elena groaned as she sank onto the bench before her great windows. After the Black Sands demonstration, she had gone from meeting to meeting, discussing preparations for the coronation, the ball, and the upcoming festival. Somehow, Ferma had managed to slip in an evening training session. The Spear refused to let her use a slingswordandshe had blindfolded her. Elena had to use her senses to predict the movement of the sand and her opponent. She had only lasted three minutes.
Sighing, she shook the sand from her hair. Night was falling, and the red sky slowly bled into deeper purple hues. It reminded her of plums, her mother’s favorite, the sweet, rare fruit harvested only during the summer. Elena glanced at the bowl in her foyer, but it held only mangoes and unshaved lychees. A pang of nostalgia went through her.
She went to her closet, past the racks of silky saris and spangled lehengas and flowing gowns, to the farthest corner. Bending, she withdrew a brown cloak from the lower shelf. Dust swirled through the air as she shook it out, and she coughed. The cloak was rough to the touch and held no embellishments, no regal bearings. It would do.
Elena donned the cloak. She grabbed a plain scarf, wrapping it around her neck, and the pod with the reports against Jangir. Back in her bedroom, she squatted beside the fireplace. A few flames flickered quietly there, as if dreaming. She took a glass orb and scooped out a single ember. It hissed, reeling. Elena almost dropped the orb, but the flame curled back into itself and held. She let out a low breath.
In the small shrine, the diya lit up the golden statue of the Phoenix. Hesitating, Elena set the orb beside it and knelt before the shrine.
She was not one for prayer. In fact, she did not know all the words, much to Saayna’s chagrin, but she knew the songs, the dances. Knew how to imitate the wings of the Phoenix with just a bend of her arms, a flick of her wrist.
