He waved his hand. “The Treaty of Borders is old and needs to be rewritten. Besides, my order will go out today. Tonight. By tomorrow morning, you can go back to a free Rani, Elena. You can go home.”
Home.The word struck at the very depths of her, in the secret, dark place of her guilt, her shame, her anger and regret. She longed for Rani. She longed for her palace and her dunes and the mountains beyond. She missed the courtyard where her father and mother laughed beneath the banyan trees; the gamefield where Ferma had taught her about hand-to-hand combat; the studio where she had danced to her heart’s delight under the guidance of her guru. Was she so monstrous, then, for considering? For dreaming, however briefly, of her home restored to her?
“Think about it, Elena,” Farin pressed. “The war will be over, just like that. You will have fulfilled your duty in ensuring the peace and protectionof your people. They will love you. Celebrate you. Forget Seshar. You owe it nothing. But you owe Ravence and your people everything.”
You owe Seshar nothing.
Wasn’t that what Syla had advised her? What Risha had hinted? The expression Farin wore now was the same subtle aversion that somehow snuck through the armor of polite society at the mention of Sesharians. Elena could not help but feel that quiet disappointment—in herself, in her friends—grow. When had they all turned so cruel?
“I will not abandon the men and women who fought alongside me,” she said somberly. “I’ve let you all try to tell me that Ravence and Seshar are different, that one deserves freedom over the other.But we are the same.” She gripped the edge of the table to stop her hands from trembling as she thought of the Sesharian father and son in Magar, the Black Scales trapped in Ayona, Maya and the rebels who had saved her and fought valiantly to take the ships. She had been a fool. Selfish, ignorant, unwilling to accept the truth of their shared fate, but as she stood before the maker of their misery, Elena realized that her unwillingness did not come from ignorance, but fear. She was afraid of losing it all. And so was Farin. She saw his distress alter his face, his body, the way his gears slowed and his face tightened into a bleak, harsh expression.
This time, when she spoke, it was not with anger, or cajolement, or duplicity. It was past the hour for that. She met the gaze of the metal king, and her voice was soft with the grief of all that had come to pass, and the grief of what was to come.
“You have spent this past sun trying to grow your empire, but it has been crumbling from within for quite some time,” she began. “Your coffers are nearly dry. Your steel production is down, your trade ruined. And your workers rebellious. I may have taken only two of your ships, Farin, but I have given the Sesharians something you cannot kill: hope. They will rise. In your mines, on your ships, in your cities and small towns. You cannot hold them down much longer. You cannot hold Ravence. Do not let your pride get in the way of your pragmatism, Farin, or you may find yourself losing your own kingdom while trying to conquer another.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” she said without pretense. “It is only the truth. Ravence and Seshar are one. I do not need a treaty from you tonight to win the war in theend. I need only to allow you to tear yourself apart. This war will be long, Farin. You may have your metal, but I have the Yumi. I have rebellion. I have the hearts and bravery of thousands of Sesharians already posted within your kingdom. And when your Jantari become frustrated by the growing costs, the burning mines, the captured ships, perhaps one of your sons will move against you. He will depose you, in a desperate attempt to calm your public. Or maybe the people will do it themselves. So you see, Farin, I do not need to defeat you. I need only to outlast you.”
The metal king considered her for a long time, his eyes unblinking, his body so still that she thought he had turnedoff—but then slowly, slowly, he extended his hand.
“I will withdraw from Ravence and Seshar—on two conditions. Declare yourself regent of Seshar. If you rule both Ravence and Seshar, then I will be forced to retreat from your territories.”
She nodded. “Done. And the second?
“Denounce Samson Kytuu as a liar, a murderer, and a terrorist. Then help me capture and execute him.”
And there it was.
Farin had played right into her hand, but this time, Elena did not feel the heady swell of vindication. Only deep dissatisfaction. She had always meant to rid herself of Samson, and who better to enact her revenge than the king he abhorred? It was a cruel, delicious twist. When she had plotted it in Cyleon, she believed it would bring her relief. But guilt shored up in the waters of her heart, and as she eyed Farin’s metal hand, anguish burned her throat.
So she remembered the biting rain. She remembered feeling small, and alone, andweak. She recalled the livid loathing in Samson’s eyes as he gripped her chin and saidYou disgust me.
So what if he had spoken a few soft words? So what if his execution by the Jantari sent a cold ache through her? So what if she had to kill her own hope?
Elena sank her teeth into the dark fruit of her hate—that black twisted thing that had grown roots and fed on her desires—and remembered her promise to herself, her father, her kingdom. She would do anything for their azadi. Even if it came at the cost of the death of one man. One devious, ardent man.
Finally, she sat down.
“He means that much to you?” she asked.
A strange thing happened then. Farin’s voice broke into something ragged, raw. “Far too much.”
A disquiet wormed through her. She knew that Farin had treated Samson like a son, that his betrayal had hurt, but she had not known how deeply, how viciously. How important was he that Farin was willing to stop a war for his capture? But Elena swallowed her unease.
Samson Kytuu was not her worry.
Carefully, warily, Elena raised her hand and clasped his metal fingers. “Peace, then.”
“Peace and freedom,” Farin echoed.
CHAPTER 61
SAMSON
To awaken the Great Serpent, first you must sing a song. Then you must give a gift: one of blood, or one of fire. Choose wisely. For a gift given can never be saved.
—fromThe Legends and Myths of Sayon
