It looked as if they were walking arm in arm, the Prophet and the queen, but Samson could feel the weight of accusatory glares as they passed through the streets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Sesharianboy glowering, the serpent on his cheek curling inward as if to mock him. An older man stood behind, his cheek a bloated red mess, as he had peeled off the skin to remove the mark. Fear skittered down Samson’s spine, and he leaned closer to Elena.
A few stopped to bow. Many stared, and he caught the snatches of whispers, the offhand glares, the rippling agitation as the people looked upon their Prophet and found him wanting.
Elena gripped his arm. “Just stay with me.”
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’sobviouspolitical 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 SeaandRelentless 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.
TheLord of Seaand theRelentless Destinywere 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.
