She whipped around, snarling in anger, at herself, at him, at this gift that felt more like a curse, her frustration bubbling up as she tried to wrench away the chakram—only to be stayed by Samson.
“Careful,” he said as the disc hovered inches from his chest. “I’m fragile.”
“I thought butchers liked knives,” she spat.
His eyes raked over her, sending hot chills down to her stomach. Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist, and Elena froze as he stepped closer, the edge of the chakram pricking his skin. A bead of ruby bloomed outward.
“Only when I hold it.”
Despite the bright morning, his eyes seemed to become darker, resembling pools of an inky, liquid black that rippled as he beheld her. Elena tried to pull away, but his grip was firm.
“Do you know what your problem is, my rani? You lack faith.”
She laughed, high and dry. “Maybe it’s because you said my god is a lie.”
“No.” His fingers curled around hers. “You lack faith in yourself.”
It was her turn to hesitate.
I believe in myself, she wanted to say, but the words felt shallow. Did she, after all she had lost? After she could not stop the Jantari from taking her home? After she could not save her own people at the wall? Her sole duty, heronlyduty, was to protect Ravence. And she had failed, in every miserable and possible way.
Somewhere, between Jantar and Ravence, between the Agnee mountains and the Sona Range, she had lost something. For months, she had tried to find what it had been. It felt like trying to grab mist. She couldfeel its absence, like a dull, aching hollow in her chest. Now she understood it. It was a simple word, brief, powerful.
Faith.
Her faith in the Phoenix had always been precarious. But this faith was far more vulnerable, far more integral. She had thought she knew the nature of her Agni, but she did not know its basic components, unlike Samson. She felt jealousy, but it withered away quickly for something deeper.
Loss.
It rang through her bones like the fading clangs of the temple bells. She was lost, she had lost, and she did not know how to begin again.
She let go of the chakram.
“I need to return to the temple,” she said.
“Elena,” he called after her. She did not stop walking, but he continued, his words bouncing off the canyon walls. “So what if your god is a lie? Ravence isn’t.Make Ravence your god.” She stopped, turning to meet his gaze. “Your country can become your faith. And that faith can become faith in yourself. But you must hunger for it. Crave it, with an appetite that knows no bounds.”
He held out the chakram. A slick of blood wetted its edge.
“Try again. But this time, think of Ravence. Her dunes. Her freedom.”
She closed the distance between them and took the chakram. Beside her, Samson watched, his expression hopeful and yet still somehow ravenous. Hope and hunger were the same for him. And she thought then of how that must be the same for Farin, for the Arohassin, for every enemy of Ravence that hoped and hungered for her dunes, her mountains, her riches. Elena balanced the chakram. This time, when she called her Agni, she did not think of her god, or her people, or her country. She thought of the predators lining up along her borders and the ones already nestled within. She thought of their gluttony. She thought of their greed. And then she thought of their deaths, and shedesired.
Flames rushed down the chakram, hissing, tearing, but she curbed their movement, leashed them with the strength of her will. The flames stayed.
With a snap of her wrist, she hurled the chakram.
The cut was not deep. The flames died at once upon impact. But the smoke was sweet and substantial, and Elena inhaled deeply.
Behind her, Samson clapped. Elena turned to see him smiling.
“Tomorrow, we begin with the urumi.”
CHAPTER 13
SAMSON
O Great Warrior, what is it you wield? A sword? A whip? For it sings like a snake, bites twice as fast, and still, I wish to hear its hiss.
