And she saw it then, in his eyes. The desire to burn, the want formore.Always more. It was an ache she knew, a hunger she felt in her bones and was afraid to acknowledge. But he had accepted it, controlled it, and now he, a Prophet who could heal the burned, was a master of Agni.
But she had seen his rapacity. His hunger knew no bounds, had no qualms. After all, Samson had not even blinked when he learned of the crushed Ravani civilians under the wall. He had moved on to the next objective, the next mission, without so much as a guilty dream. Her estrangement from her own people was because ofhim. All of this was a result of him.
His want.
His desire.
Elena pulled her hands back.
“Maybe it is for you. But I don’t want to burn without regret,” she said.
He dropped her hands. “Who said there wasn’t regret?”
She began to speak when Samson slipped the urumi down from his shoulder to his waist. Over the sounds of sliding metal, his voice was soft.
“I have regrets that will last more than a lifetime, Elena,” he said. “But I also have a purpose that will outlast that—Seshar. Ravence, for you. What we pay now… does it matter? Will it matter, if it means freeing our homes?”
She said nothing to this, afraid her voice would betray her.
He pulled back, his smile grim. “If we must face consequences, let it be after the war. You and I can burn together then.”
This time, when he unleashed his inferno, Elena felt her own Agni rise, as if in fear. As if in recognition.
They trained every dawn as they waited on the Cyleoni. The boulders bore the brunt of their attacks, their red faces slashed with scorch marks and blades. She began to understand the breadth of his power, the obsession of his control. Samson Kytuu wielded his Agni with the fervency of a thousand devotees clamoring up to the high temple. Every swing, every thrust, every twist—feverishly controlled.
Elena spun out of the Snake, arms twisting as a flame flowed down her shoulders to her hands and then lanced onto a boulder. The scorch mark was lighter than Samson’s.
He paused, one hand on his hip, sweat dripping down his collar. For a second, she thought she saw him shudder as if in pain, but then he was striding toward her.
“You’re still holding back,” he said.
“I am not,” she snapped. They had been at it since before dawn, and her arms felt hot and heavy, her feet sore. She had stayed up last night reading the scrolls, to no avail. She had found no evidence of the Phoenix’s existence. Neither had she found proof of Her falsity, but her hope felt strained. Bitter.
“You are. That mark should have gone deeper. What are you so afraid of, Elena?”
That her kingdom was a lie. That her mother and father had died for nothing. That he would take it all away from her one day.
Samson sighed. “Let’s try something else.”
He returned with two chakrams. “Since you’re not ready for the urumi yet, we’ll use this. Channel your flames around the disc.”
Unconvinced, Elena wrapped her hand around the hilt set within the circular weapon. Its disc was chiseled down to a sharp edge, with small patterns etched into the blade. Samson stood back, closing his eyes. Still as a dune. In one moment, she felt a pressure growing in her ears, as if the air had suddenly tightened and clamped down, like a hoverpod suddenly descending, so fierce she yearned for release. And then, within the space of a breath, she felt the airflare. Her Agnituggedand flames burst down and around Samson’s chakram. The inferno spat sparks, hissing, but it traveled no farther down the blade, nor down his arm. It stayed corralled, immensely powerful and precise.
Samson swung. The disc soared through the air with a hiss and slashed deep into the boulder. The blue flames snapped, biting, tearing. When Samson pulled them back, there was one clean, deep incision. She raised her weapon as he neared.
“Your turn, Ravani.”
Elena imagined the prana in her body racing down into the blade as Samson had taught her. The chakram was just an extension of her limb, a conduit for her body’s heat.
Gradually, her Agni stirred. Sweat pooled in her armpits. Sparks flared around her wrist. Flames whipped out, bright, eager, and she pushed them onto the blade—but they did not stop. They pushed past her blade and leapt onto the ground. Fear, panic—icy hot and animallike—gripped her throat as her inferno barreled forward.Magar.All at once, she saw her infernorushing down the canyon and into the city. She saw the Eternal Fire eating the mountain. She saw the landslides of her making crush civilians in that sleepy mountain town while Yassen was buried alive in the dirt.
Elena dropped her weapon and slammed her palms together to smother the flames. They hissed in displeasure. Again, she felt a bout of resistance—sharp, indignant—and then her hands closed, and the fire died.
She stood staring at the ash, feeling drained and as threadbare as wisps of smoke.
After a moment, Samson knelt, then stood, holding out the chakram.
“Again, but this time, imagine Yassen. Ferma. Leo. Imagine that if you can’t—”
