Elena stared, too taken aback by his sudden maneuver to interject. Syla recovered faster.
“You?” he scoffed. “And what can a Sesharian give me?”
Though his face was calm, Elena felt Samson’s Agni quiver in rage at the slight. But he merely withdrew a holopod. It revealed a map of the mountains that bordered Cyleon and Jantar. “I have men already inside Farin’s mines along your border. They know its tunnels, its loading bays, its secrets better than they know their homeland. Give me access through your mountains, and I will take them for you.”
“Bullshit,” Syla said softly, but he did not lean away.
“You want the kingdoms to come to the council? You attack what is most precious to them: the metal trade itself. Our queen has already destroyed three mines in southern Jantar,” Samson said, and Syla turned to her in surprise. “The metal kingdom is suffering. If we take out ones along your border, then Farin will be bleeding to death. Jantar’s industry will come to a grinding halt. Veran, Karven, Tsuana—all of them, stopped. We will have their attention then. And Farin will have to come to the table. Crawling. Begging. Then we make our demands.”
“You destroyed those mines?” Syla asked her.
She nodded, and the awe in his eyes, the glorious vindication, twisted her stomach into a sticky entangle of guilt and discomfort.
“Yes,” she said.But the cost was too great. The loss too much.In her dreams, she still saw Yassen, burning.
“It isoursecond plan,” Samson said, though he did not meet her gaze. “Another option, should you not find the Yumi one… attractive.”
Syla leaned forward, examining the maps with a renewed eagerness and intensity. “How soon can you execute?”
And just like that, he had chosen. Samson smiled, as if already expecting his answer. “Give us two weeks.”
Syla was smart enough to pause then, glancing between her and Samson. “Of course, this isQueen Elena’splan at the end of the day, right? You agree with this, Elena?” And when his eyes slid to hers, coy, calculative, she heard the hidden question in his voice, the challenge. Was this really her call? Did she really have control?
Her hands prickled with a sudden heat as she glared at Samson.You damn fool.She had the rash urge to grab him by the throat and shake sense into him, but her hands remained still in her lap. Samson met her gaze calmly. He had forced her into a corner, but she, the bigger fool, had allowed herself to be pinned. And he knew it. Damn him, he knew.
Pushing back againsthisproposed plan now would show weakness. Syla would find them divided, and he would never help them if he sensed a rift. Who poured resources into a torn bucket? Elena cursed herself. She should have never brought him, never trusted him, never even allowed him into her court. She realized, with the cold clarity that comes to all who find themselves defeated, that Samson had never seen her as a partner or someone of equal power. She was a tool, a prisoner. He had made her dance to his whims, and she, the foolish queen, had never been the wiser.
Ravence was her home. The one she had lost, the one she hoped to win back. But it had become less than that. It was a land to be ravaged. Gutted. Pieced apart and given to petty victors. Suddenly, it wasn’t a home anymore, but a prize.
Be ruthless. Become whatever Ravence demands, because without you, it will die, Leo had told her.
Bit by bit, her tired resentment crystallized into a rage that fit deep in the pockets between her bones. Every time she drew breath, Elena felt it. Like fire in a serpent’s throat. Ever present, ever ready. A reminder of what she had lost, and the people who had stood by and allowed it.
She met Syla’s gaze. “Send us the ships, and we will bring down those mines. You can get a quarter of the ore we recover.”
“Half,” Syla said immediately. He attempted to cover his eagerness by gesturing to the maps. “It’s only fair. Farin has stolen my ore from me.”
Fair.Fair was seeing Farin suffer the same destitute helplessness she had endured when her kingdom fell. Fair was his head at her feet. Fair was frankly a concept Cyleon had no idea of, but Elena kept this to herself. If power rather than loyalty moved Syla, so be it.
She plastered on a smile, as wide as she could, and grasped Syla’s hand.
CHAPTER 18
ELENA
The Great Serpent is a wicked and benevolent god who descended from the kingdoms of the skies to the dark waters of the sea. To worship Her is to crave power itself. To demean Her is to damn oneself.
—fromThe Legends and Myths of Sayon
Sunlight pushed limply through the dark pines to outline Samson’s shoulders with a cold, thin light. He strode slowly, purposefully—a man who’d already won. He slipped in and out of the shadows with an oily slickness, and a small, irrational part of Elena wondered if that was not from where he had come. He and his lies and that devilish fire. But when Samson turned, finally feeling the weight of her gaze, she kept her countenance hard and unreadable. She did not even acknowledge his questioning eyes as she faced Syla.
“I’ll be sure to send Kirri back with Ravani sweets. I know a priestess who makes the best ladoos, far better than your favorites in the palace.”
Syla laughed. “Send them with my men instead. I want Kirri to stay and help you with the plans.”
And be your eyes and ears, she thought.
“Here.” He gave her a holopod. “If you ever need to communicate with me directly, or need anything at all, you can reach me through this.”
