Beside her, Samson stiffened. His hand fell to his waist, and for a wild, breathless heartbeat, she worried he would draw his urumi. Hurriedly, she stepped forward. At once, all heads swiveled to her—like birds of prey spotting a trapped rodent—when a thin, lank man walked down the ramp.
“Queen Elena,” he said.
“Kirri,” Elena gasped. “Phoenix Above, it has been so long.”
She quickly embraced the Cyleoni ambassador, waving back the Black Scales. They eased, but she still sensed the churning energy of Samson’s Agni nip at the back of her arms, unconvinced.
“It feels like an age since your coronation dance,” Kirri said. He was of her height, with long snow-white hair and spidery fingers. He squeezed her hands. “Are you well? Have the Jantari hurt you?”
“I am better now seeing you.” She smiled, though her eyes moved to the armed soldiers and the waiting tanker.
Kirri followed her gaze. “I’m here to escort you to our king. He is already waiting at the rendezvous point.” He paused, looking behind her to Samson and his men. “He requests her alone.”
“No,” Samson said instantly. “We come together, all of us.”
“Unfortunately, you all won’t fit,” Kirri said with an apologetic smile. “We managed to sneak a small tanker past Jantari radars in northern Ravence. I’m sorry, but we only have room for one more.”
Elena glanced between him and the armed soldiers, her sudden relief slowly withering. “Your men, why are they in battle fatigues?”
“A precaution. Jantar has grown increasingly… ornery these days, even toward a fly,” he said. “King Syla wanted to make sure you would be protected.”
“Yours is quite the fly,” she said as she studied the rough steel hide of the tanker. Armored plates beefed up its sides, and she saw the flicker of shields above the glass panes. The tanker was outfitted like a war machine, and she wondered if the guns the soldiers wore were the only ones they had brought. Her unease grew, and she stepped back.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Kirri said, gesturing. “King Syla awaits.”
“It’s a trap, Elena,” Samson said.
“I assure you, it is not.” Kirri smiled, smooth and suave. “You requested a meeting. Now our king extends his hand. Are you really going to refuse, queen?”
Elena hesitated. Syla was an ally, her father’s friend. Surely he did not mean to assassinate her. Surely these soldiers were just for her protection. Right? If they tried to attack her, she could burn them—if she was fast enough—but how then would she fly the tanker? She had the sudden horrible image of the ship bursting mid-flight and plummeting through thesky like a great wreathing ball of flame. The fall—not the fire—would kill her.
“Elena,” Samson began.
She pulled on a practiced smile. “You’ve had a long, hard journey, Kirri,” she said. “Stay and rest. My people will make sure all your needs are met. I’ll go with your men, and by the time you’ve eaten all the sweets Magar has to offer, I’ll be back.”
“I would love to, Your Majesty, but my king needs me—”
“Nonsense.” She linked her arm through his and gently tugged him back, toward Samson and his men. “You are now my guest. I insist you stay.”
Kirri laughed nervously as Samson met her eyes, his expression a mix of doubt and surprise. He gave her a quick, furtive nod. Elena beckoned to Chandi.
“Meet Chandi, your personal secretary during your stay. She’ll see to all your needs. Won’t you, Chandi?”
Chandi bowed stiffly, her eyes screaming bloody murder. “Of course, Your Majesty. A friend of yours is always welcome.”
“You hear that, Kirri?” Elena didn’t let go of his arm as he tried to turn away. “You’re a dear friend. Surely you won’t offend my hospitality and my people by refusing, just as I won’t offend your king by refusing his precious chariot.”
Kirri glanced between her and his men, licking his lips. He was trapped, and he knew it. Refusing her offer would be seen as a slight—to her, to Ravence itself. If Cyleon truly was her ally and friend, he could not refuse—unless something had changed. Unless Syla had turned and this was indeed a trap. Elena watched Kirri carefully, assessing his silence.How are you going to play this?she thought. If he refused her now, he would reveal Cyleon’s true intentions. But if he accepted, he would become a hostage, leverage she could use if Syla’s soldiers were for more than just mere protection.
Finally, Kirri bowed deeply. This time, his smile lacked the smoothness from before.
“I would not dream of offending you, Your Majesty. I will h-happily stay.” He turned to speak to his men, but Chandi stepped forward.
“Come, sir,” she said. “Let’s get you a nice warm meal, yes?”
The Cyleoni soldiers stiffened, one even curling his hand around his zinger, but Kirri shot him a glare. “See to it that the queen is treated well.”
When he was gone, Elena turned to the soldiers. “Let’s go.”
