“Youlied,” she said, her voice dark and terrible. “You unbound the Eternal Fire and set it upon my father. The guards, the priests, the officials—they died because of you.”
“No,” Samson snapped. “Leo died because he tried to harm me, and the Eternal Fire sought to protect its Prophet. It has a mind of its own. And Leo was a tyrant. A murderer. He killed those priests. He killed helpless people in his manhunt, and for what? To leave his kingdom ruined and burned? His daughter helpless and lost? Surely you can see that he was wrong, Elena. Even if you loved him, surely you must see that he could have done better by you.”
“No,” Elena choked out, even as something broke within her, revealing a pain so raw and acute that it felt as if he had reached out and wrenched her heart. Because he was right, again. Leo Malhari Ravence had been a cruel and cunning king—but he was also her father. She had seen him regret. Seen him sink under the weight of his sins.
She staggered forward. “You want to talk about a ruined kingdom? That is what you will bring on us with your Jantari steel obsession.”
“We must attack the mines,” Samson said. “We need to weaken Jantar from within. It’s the only way Farin will even consider Sesharian and Ravani liberation—”
“We cannot do both,” she cut in.
“We must.”Samson’s voice shook with such force that she felt its impact like a punch to her gut. The rain had quickened, but more people were beginning to gather, to listen.
“Ravence and Seshar,” she began.
“You once said you understood my people. Then hear this. The only reason, the real reason, Leo allowed more Sesharian refugees into Ravence was because he wanted to use our hate for his own gain. We would willingly fight his war against Jantar. But what do you think would have happened once he beat out the metalheads?” Samson stalked forward, his eyes sharp as the twin blades of his urumi. “He would have packed up his armies anddismissed the Sesharians who had bled for him. He would have lounged on his throne, gloating in his victory, while those same Sesharian soldiers cried for their stolen homeland.” He jabbed his finger to the north, to the horizon, toward Palace Hill. “He would have won on the back of Sesharians, but he wouldn’t have given a shit about their own home. My home.”
“And if the roles were reversed?” she said softly.
Samson frowned, his arm lowering a degree. “What?”
“If it had been Ravani refugees in Seshar, wouldn’t you do the same?” She stepped forward, so close that he took a step back, his frown deepening into a scowl. She raised her hand, jabbing her finger into his chest. Once, twice, like twin pulse shots. “That’s what you’re doing now. Using refugees. Ravani, Sesharian, any poor fool who needs to believe in something. You take them and mold them to become your soldiers. Your weapons. To fight your. Fucking. War.”
Samson stared, his mouth frozen. His throat bobbed, but no words came. He simply stared down at her, and in his widened eyes, she saw understanding flare and die, followed quickly by loathing. His expression changed then, the peaks and angles of his face sharpening into anger. It happened so fast, so viciously, as if lightning surged through him, threatening to snap and break everything around.
Elena retreated, but Samson did not move. When he finally spoke, his voice was strangely, frighteningly calm.
“Tell me. If Yassen hadn’t been there, could you have taken down those mines? Could you have taken this city? Who even are you, alone?”
He leaned down, his breath hot against her nose. “A spoiled, privileged queen who doesn’t know her friends from her enemies.”
His words bored into her, opening a wound she had tried to ignore.I am something, she wanted to say. She was the queen of Ravence. She had an army, a kingdom, a throne.Once.
She had the power of Agni, a power that even the Jantari feared when she had burned down their mines.With Yassen’s help.
She had broken through the gates of Magar and freed the city.And crushed civilians.
The voice, contrarian and wicked, whispered in her mind. It sounded like the rush of flames, their soft hiss and sharp pops.
Who even are you, alone?
Samson watched her, and for a moment, pity flashed in his eyes, and that made her feel even worse. She would not allow him to walk over her as if this wasn’t her land, her people, her kingdom.
It was hers and hers alone.
“You are driving us to ruin,” she said.
“I am saving us,” he snapped, his voice cracking the air with a definitive, resounding slap.
Around them, the crowd stiffened. She could feel the prickle of heat of their collective gaze. Elena swallowed as a hiss thrummed through her body at the pull of Samson’s Agni. He glowered, all spite, all fury, leveled into his cursed eyes.
Eyes too blue, she thought.A cursed, dangerous man.
“Do you want to know the truth, Elena?” Samson held up his hand, and a blue flame slowly emerged, winding down his wrist to his elbow. “You believe that only those like you deserve power. That the rest of us should be forced to kneel. To bend. But you forget one thing, queen. There are higher things than kings, and I am one of them.”
Lightning split the heavens with a loud shriek that shook the valley. Its echo reverberated through her, building. And with every thunderous drum of the rain, Elena felt her control slipping, her anger swelling until all she could see, all she wanted, was him kneeling before her once more, face in the dirt, begging for her forgiveness.
“You are a butcher, not a Prophet,” she snarled.
