Elena said nothing. They stopped before a long crack, one that began from the valley floor and sprouted up across the entire length of the wall. A million tiny fissures splintered from the scar. Gazing upon it, Elena was reminded of a gulmohar tree, dead and bare in the winter.
“Does this have a name too?”
She shook her head. “None that I know.” Then, after a moment: “What happened to your family?”
Samson stared at the crevice. He leaned forward, and she thought he was going to reach out and touch the wall when he disentangled his arm from hers and turned around.
“We should head back,” he said.
“If you won’t tell me about your family, tell me about Yassen,” she said. “When did you meet him?”
“In Ravence, stealing the same crate of mangoes.” He shot her a glance, but if he sensed something amiss, he made no mention of it. “After my parents died, I ended up in Ravence. I found a merchant with fresh fruit and was about to swipe a crate when Yassen reached for the same one. We fought over it, but Yassen let go. He was smart. Because a second later, the merchant grabbed me.
“Back then, they burned thieves, even children. He dragged me into the street to summon a silver feather when Yassen threw a mug of tea into his face. After that, we ran.” Samson stopped and looked up at the sliver of orange sky. “You know, it was on a day a lot like this.”
They trekked up the valley, where the guards held their horses. Elena mounted hers, but Samson did not. Instead, he continued standing on the edge of the rock, looking down into the dark valley.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There’s so much about Ravence I don’t know.”
“You’ll learn.”
He stood there for a moment longer and then turned back to her. “You still don’t trust Yassen, do you?”
“Why do you?”
Samson came up to her. He stroked her mare’s head, spoke soft words in a language Elena did not know. “Because despite everything, I think back to that kid who saved me. Because I owe my life to him.”
When Elena reached the palace, she called the gamemaster and strode into the control room with Ferma.
“Your Highness, y-you’re early,” the gamemaster stammered and bowed.
Elena slipped on her gamesuit, reveling in the heightened strength of her body: the coiled muscles in her legs, the elasticity in her arms. It was such a shame that gamesuits could not function outside the field. Soldiers in gamesuits would end wars more quickly.
“You can leave,” she said to the gamemaster. “Just turn on the field before you go.”
“You want to train alone?” Ferma asked.
Elena nodded. As the gamemaster turned dials on the control panel, she grabbed a slingsword from the rack. She balanced it in her hand, checking its weight and trigger mechanism before belting it to her hip.
“I need to clear my mind,” she said.
Ferma opened her mouth to retort, but Elena held up her hand. “I need you to do something else for me. About V.”
She had given her father the opportunity to correct his wrongs. To rein his gold caps in. But he had made his position clear.
She no longer felt guilt. What kind of legacy was one of blind, violent followers who wreaked terror in their wake? If Varun’s reports caused the gold caps to crumble, so be it.
“V had a deadline. Please check that he meets it.”
The Yumi nodded slowly, her hair swirling around her shoulders. “I see.” She bowed, the gamemaster following suit. “I’ll post guards at the door.”
“Thank you.” Elena watched them go. When the door shut behind them, she exited the glass box and descended the stairs that led to the field. The black sand vibrated underneath her feet.
Elena crouched down as the lights dimmed. A counter sounded through the chamber.
The lights blazed, and the sand rose. It solidified into a large, spiked wall twice her height. Without warning, the spikes shot forward, straight toward her.
