Farin hissed, and all the regents regarded her with something akin to terror and disgust. Samson remained nonplussed, but the tremor in his Agni gave him away. She knew she had taken him by surprise with her last demand. And she knew it was a ludicrous one. Farin would never agree to it. But it was not agreement she was after.
It was their fear.
Once, Queen Akira of Ravence had burned rebels and fed their bones to her dogs until the very idea of resistance had withered. They called her mad. Monstrous. Barbaric. Of course, she had only burned a few. But she had done it so grandly, so mercilessly, that fact became legend, legend became myth, and then the myth took a life of its own. Sometimes, the truth only took you so far. It was the threat of madness that took you to the end.
She wanted to seem merciless. Unhinged. If she could not have their friendship, she would have their fear.
Farin leaned forward, one hand braced on the table, the other against his chair, as if to stop himself from leaping on her. “You willnevertouch my sons.”
“And yet you killed my father, and I am supposed to swallow my rage in silence.” She laughed, adding an edge that made them all shrivel. “No, Farin, I think not. I want my bloody revenge.”
She wanted him to walk away then.Let the record show that, when offered peace, Jantar left first.The other kingdoms would demand she be less preposterous, more reasonable. They had a metal trade to salvage, after all. But then she could move into her second phase, call in—
“You lost Ravenceyourself, young queen,” Farin said, his voice brimming with menace. “You could not protect it from the terrorists within its borders, and neither could your father. Rani fell because of the Arohassin. Terrorists who encroached into your palace,under your watch.”
“Oh, come off it,” she snapped.
But Farin continued. “What proof do you have that I was behind the attack in Rani? What, other than your own incompetence?”
Elena bristled as Risha interjected. “Now, this is a council. We will speak with each other civilly.”
Farin held up his hands. “Of course, of course, Queen Risha. It’s just, I have heard of some veryinterestingthings about our young queen here. Her, and the people she associates with.”
His gaze slid then to Samson, and she saw his metal eye finally still.
“Like the terrorist Samson Kytuu,” he said, with such vehemence that Elena recoiled.
Samson’s Agni trembled in instinctive rage. She could sense it: the metallic charge before a thunderstorm. He did not have his urumi, but he could still summon a spark… Elena half turned to stay him, but Farin’s voice wrenched her back.
“He fashions himself a hero, and yet he killed hundreds of Sesharian laborers.” Farin pressed the pod inset within his metal arm, and holos of the burned northern Jantari mines filled the close, stiff air. “Total tally of five hundred and sixty-six Sesharian laborers, spread across three mines. He killed them all in one night.”
Behind her, Samson let out a choked sound, half snarl, half protest. It was still a fresh wound. And she knew how deep it ran, how thick the guilt congealed.This is part of the game, she reminded herself. The jabs, the accusations, the ripostes, and the diversions—it made up the grand theater of politics. But she found herself wanting to respond to Farin’s cruel bait.
Samson beat her to it.
“I am no terrorist,” he said. “Yourkilldoms have wrecked more families than I ever have.Yourmines are death traps,yourprecious metal made of Sesharian blood. You said I killed hundreds of Sesharians. You have killedtens of thousands.”
“Queen Elena,” Risha said quickly, “I must ask you to calm your attendant—”
“Pet,” Kysha cut in.
“I am no pet,” he spat.
“Careful, boy,” Farin said coldly. “You are not a ruler and speak out of turn.”
Samson started, but Elena rested a hand on his forearm. “Enough,” she said quietly, fiercely.
“Tell them,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Tell them I am not a terrorist.”
But Elena hesitated. What did she care, how others saw him? She owedSamson Kytuu nothing. Even if he had given her his secret name, even if he had offered a glimmer of vulnerability—she had never asked for it. Or for the way he looked at her now, wide, beseeching.
“Sam—”
“Tell them—”
“Leave.”She would not let him jeopardize their negotiations because of an insult, however cruel, however harmful. She squeezed his wrist as guards spilled into the room at Risha’s behest.
Samson stilled. But he was not looking at the approaching guards—he was looking at her. And the disappointment in his eyes, the betrayal, severe in its intensity, throttled her voice. She squeezed harder, her nails digging into his skin. Finally, Samson withdrew his hand and, with one last baleful look at Farin, stalked out the room.
