Or drown her, as oceans do.
“Are you pleased, my rani?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.
Her heart thundered erratically as her people began to whisper, to point. One woman blushed heavily.
So this is his game.The anklets were not the gift meant to please her. It was the manner in which they were given. A warm rumble of approval swept through the crowd. She knew what they were thinking. It was a magnificent gift, fit for a queen. What could she possibly do to outcompete a gift so tenderly given?
But she had already known tenderness. And it had died with him. Elena had no want for another.
The anklets clung to her skin like heavy leeches. Slowly, she lowered her foot and straightened. When Samson caught her gaze again, she smiled—genuinely, for once.
“Not as pleased as you will be with my gift.”
With that, she unsheathed her sword.
CHAPTER 16
SAMSON
There are silences that litter the heart, fill it with a longing that kills.
—from the dairies of Priestess Nomu of the Fire Order
At the ring of metal, his hand flew to his urumi. The people closest to them jerked back, and someone in the crowd shrieked.
But Elena held out the slingsword, palms up, and when her gaze met his, he saw the question in them.
The challenge.
“Do not be afraid, Prophet. It won’t bite.”
Around them, citizens chuckled. Samson cursed himself for being so reactionary. He was a Prophet,their Prophet, not some weak-bellied Jantari cadet.
But perhaps that was what she wanted him to seem. Fearful. Impulsive. He knew she still smarted from her people’s growing disregard of her. Was this her way of rebalancing the power scale through optics? Or was this a part of the strange Ravani tradition of egotistical gift giving, like Chandi had explained?
If you want the people to love you, you need to make a grand gesture bigger than hers.
The Ravani loved beauty, but they treasured romance above all. The more adoring, the better. And what would make the people love him more than if he played the humble, tender Prophet sent to save them?
So what if Akiri had fashioned the anklets from stolen jewelry locked in the old Jantari safes? So what if Visha had hidden small trackers in them to monitor their queen’s comings and goings? So what if, when he touched Elena’s skin, his Agni flailed with such desperate vehemence that it ruined his voice to a rasp?
“Thank you, my rani,” he said.
Elena’s smile only deepened, and something sharp tugged in his chest. “Read the inscription.”
Carefully, he took the slingsword. The blade gleamed with fresh oil, the trigger hilt cushioned in soft rubber that smelled faintly of a dying fire. It was light, balanced. He would have admired it, had he not seen the inscription. A Phoenix seal soared at the tip of the blade. Beneath it glared:
The queen is the protector of the flame, and I its servant.
The first line of the Desert Oath. He would recognize it anywhere. He had sworn it in that gleaming throne room with his friend and sealed their disastrous fate. But it was the very last word, etched deeper than the others, that made him want to smash the blade into pieces.
Servant.
He was no servant. He was afree man, a general with an army, a god of Agni. They bent tohim.
Elena moved closer as he held the blade, the back of his knuckles brushing her chest. “A Prophet of Ravence deserves a slingsword gifted by his queen and protected by the Desert Oath. You have blessed so many of us. Let me bless you, on behalf of the Ravani.”
Her smile was broad, warm, and more infuriatingly, he heard people murmur in agreement.
