The seashells of her headdress tinkled softly as Risha finally met her gaze. There was no kindness in her eyes. Only grief.
“Bormani could be overbearing, but he was also a friend.” She seemedto brace herself, her jaw tightening. “We do this in his memory, to serve justice for Veran.”
She raised her hand.
Elena had imagined that at her death, the temple bells would clang in mourning. The desert would stir with storms of sorrow. People would fill the streets, weeping, laying malas upon her pyre.
But she was a long way from home.
Only the sounds of the lights shuttering filled the air. Only the soft footfalls of the guard as he came forward, his face an expression of pity and resentment.
No, a small voice within her whispered. It grew stronger as the guard clipped his chain to her cuffs, as the regents rose from their seats. A deep-rooted, floundering desperation clawed up her throat with the asperity of the damned. She would not die like this. Sherefused.
“If you have already sentenced me, dear kings and queens, then please, afford me this one reprieve.
“Syla, Daz,” she called, and they froze at the unnerving calm in her voice. “Would you be so kind as to see to my belongings on the killdoms?”
Syla hesitated, but Daz knew the look in her eye. Unlike the Cyleoni, he had seen her fight, seen her fires, and before Syla could argue, he quickly gripped the man’s elbow and tugged him forward. “May the Mother’s Light guide you.”
He hurried out the door, Syla in tow. Risha frowned at their sudden departure, and Elena saw unease flitter across her face. Kysha merely crossed her arms. “Is that all?”
Beside her, the guard fastened a second chain from his hip to the shackles on her feet. He tugged, satisfied.
“One last request,” Elena said, and her gaze found Farin, her vision splitting into the eyes of her Agni. “The next time you plan to execute me, make it quicker.”
With a sudden jerk, she whipped around, startling her guard. She threw herself forward and tackled him to the ground. Shouts sounded. She heard the sudden thunder of more boots, but she had found his dagger, and with a wrench, Elena flung it toward Farin.
The metal king sidestepped, and the blade clattered harmlessly against the wall.
“Take her to the cells,” Farin sneered.
They dragged her to her feet, but Elena smiled grimly, her blood already roaring, her Agni surging forth as she saw the golden points of his chakras and the flows of his nadis, and pulled.
“Pick it up,” she snarled.
Farin stiffened suddenly. His eyes bulged, and his body clacked, the gears whining in protest. He resisted her instinctively, like an unbroken horse bucks its rider, but Elena surged her awareness through the heat of his veins, the bright essence within. “I said,pick it up.”
With a cry, Farin snatched up the blade. The guards shouted, some rushing toward Farin, the others searching her, looking for a device, a tool.The fools.The greatest weapon she had was herself. Jaya had been right. They would never see her as their equal. To them, she was Elena Aadya Ravence, terrorist, warmonger, the awful and monstrous Burning Queen. Her story and the stories of all abused Ravani and Sesharians were but mere noises in the grand symphony of their power. Who cared about the dead Ravani? Who cared about the oppressed Sesharians? As long as someone else suffered, as long as the metal trade survived, the regents were satiated. They would never listen to her—even if she brought them peace. Even if she played to their benefit. No matter the threats she crafted, no matter the alliances she forged, they would always see her and her like as nothing more than a country of fanatics, lost and broken and poor. They would always find her wanting.
Who even are you, alone?
She was the sum of her people’s hope, and the object of their disdain. She had been a liar and a fraud, hero, villain, and conqueror, but Elena knew one thing for certain—she was no coward of an empire.
Wrath—absolute, complete—ripped through her. With all her power, all her worth, Elena summoned her Agni until she was nothing more than a singular desire toburn.
She jerked Farin toward Kysha with a twisting of limbs. The Karvenese queen tried to run, but her dress caught in the legs of her chair. She stumbled, and then Farin’s metal hand flashed, and she screamed as his blade cut through her upper back.
Risha shrieked and rushed for the exit, but Elena flared her Agni forth and snagged into her prana. Risha floundered, caught. Her limbs twitched as Elena forced her to turn around, to face Farin.
The metal king ripped out the blade from Kysha’s shoulders. Blood dripped down the point. The guards moved from her to Farin, one grabbing his arm, the other his leg, but the king was half machine and moved with a brutal strength.
“Farin, please,” Risha said, her body frozen.
“Stop this, Elena,” Farin cried as he moved forward.
But she could not hear him over the terrible ringing in her ears. A pressure built behind her eyes, her mouth. Blood trickled from her nose, and Elena could taste something wet and hot in her chest, but she did not care. They had brought this upon themselves.They had done this.
A guard, bright enough to recognize her control, darted toward her.
