She knelt before the Prophet and laid down her sword.
“I have come to apologize.” Her voice, strong and reverberant, rang through the hall. “I doubted your legitimacy. But I was wrong. Yesterday, you proved to me and everyone who you really are.”
She raised her eyes.
A butcher.
“A Prophet,” she said. “Our Prophet.”
At this, everyone stilled. Even Samson’s mask had fallen, his face stricken and confused, his mouth slightly agape.
“You are no monster, Samson,” she said, and she saw him tremble, a quick movement across his chest and shoulders. He closed his eyes. Swallowed. And she knew then what he felt because she had seen that movement before. When she had forgiven her father, he had shown a similar release. To be forgiven was to be freed. Absolved of whatever sins you had inflicted on the other. But Leo had deserved her forgiveness.
A butcher like Samson did not.
Elena swallowed her shame and fury and softened her voice. “I—we—are of Agni. And it was foolish of me to think of you as my enemy when you and I are the same. I—I am sorry.” She dropped her head. “Forgive me.”
Silence stretched heavily through the hall. She felt the weight of their gazes, but Elena did not look up. She stared hard at the floor, and when she finally heard movement, when she finally saw his boots fill up her vision, she allowed herself a small, private smile.
Slowly, she raised her head and met his dark eyes. Samson watched her with something akin to wary pleasure, like a man who had found his lost falcon back on its perch, deadly and beautiful and perfect.
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because you once asked me how far I would go to save Ravence, and I told you I would go far enough.” She immersed herself in the memory, of the spinning roses and Farin’s calculating gaze and Samson’s fierce voice. She allowed her promise to show on her face. “If saving Ravence means swallowing my pride and working with you, I will do it. I am not above my country, Sam. Just as I know you are not above yours.”
This time, the smile she gave, tight and full of hurt, felt true.
“People like us do not regret,” she said quietly so that only they could hear. “We only move forward to take what is ours. And if that means being roughed up now and then, so be it. Besides. I got you too, didn’t I?”
Samson laughed softly. “Yes, you did.”
“Then let’s put this behind us,” she said. “We have two weeks. In two weeks, let’s change the power play. Let’s make Farin crawl to us, begging on his knees. Let’s show Syla what a refugee army can do.”
Slowly, Samson grabbed her shoulders and raised her to her feet. Around them, the others stirred, not sure what to make of this sudden reconciliation. Samson held her a second longer, his calloused fingers warm against her shoulders, and then broke away.
“Come. We’re already drafting the plans. Chandi can fill you in.” He drew a chair up to the table and looked back her. “I could use your firepower.”
And at this, he smiled shrewdly. She returned it as her blood drummed in her ears, and she thought, clear and fierce and full of fury:
I will be your ruin, Samson Kytuu.
CHAPTER 21
SAMSON
Where are our sons and daughters? Where are the young children who sacrificed their lives to fight against tyranny? Their lives belong to the sea.
—fromThe Lament of Seshar: A People’s History
It had been a week since Elena had knelt in front of him, but he had been watching her carefully. It was not that he didn’t believe her. He believed she would do anything to save Ravence—even if that meant working with him. She had remained mostly the same, still rising to Visha’s quips, meeting Chandi’s silent stares, and catching his gaze from time to time. He just didn’t trust her.
He had expected her to retaliate by now. He had expected to wake up in the dark of the night and feel her dagger against his throat. Of all things, Elena Aadya Ravence was not a patient and docile woman. But she had done nothing, and it was this that flummoxed him the most.
“You can’t possibly trust her,” Chandi said, echoing his thoughts as they left the command center.
“No, but I want to,” he replied, surprised by the depth of his own desire. If he and Elena could truly work together, if their Agni could meld… The possibilities were staggering. He could almost see it. And he tried to stop himself from dreaming, but his dreams had always been powerful. He saw Ravence, freed; Seshar, freed; and Jantar, burning.
The vision was so clear, the path stark and righteous. Before, their alliance had felt like a necessity. Even when Elena had given her hand in front of the ruined high temple, he had seen bitterness in the turn of her mouth. But since she had swallowed her pride and knelt before him, he had noticed a softening. An opening. Could this be the start of a true, sincere alliance?
