“Not siphon,” Elena said. “Devour.”
The high sister met her gaze then, but at the sound of footsteps, she hurriedly pulled away. A figure stood in the doorway, and the priestesses shrank back at her approach.
“Sura, you did not tell me that we had such an esteemed guest in our midst,” the Yumi said. She was tall and limber, with a hooked nose and broad shoulders that made her seem like an eagle perched on a branch, ready to soar. Her hair twisted into a three-layered braid that ended at her feet. She gestured, and it was then that Elena saw the golden talons welded around her fingers. “How ever did you find her?”
Sura, the high sister, did not balk. Her expression remained serene, though her eyes narrowed, and her voice was devoid of its melody from before.
“She is our guest and shall not be harmed, Rhumia.”
“I did not plan on it,” Rhumia said dourly. “I have merely come to fetch her for the general. Come, little queen.”
“General—?” Elena began and stopped. “Was he the one who killed your queen?”
Rhumia studied her, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “No, little queen. I did. He merely provided the blade.”
CHAPTER 28
SAMSON
Once more into the storm.
Fight, fight, for the lives of the sea depend on you now.
—from a Sesharian poem
Samson sat alone on the canyons overlooking the ruined wall. Below, white-clad figures picked their way over the debris. A wind stirred within the valley, carrying the sickening scent of copper and sweet perfumes. The Ravani were burning their dead again.
Some of the funeral pyres had been burning for hours, but the mourners did not leave until the body had been burned down to the bone. Even then, Samson knew bits of the poor soul would remain behind. Pieces of the skull. Chipped flakes from the femur. When he had worked the Jantari mines, overworked Sesharians would often tip over in exhaustion. Most would not wake up. He had to drag them out of the tunnels and, at the end of the day, burn the bodies.
The Sesharians buried their dead, but the Jantari did not even grant them that solace.
His thoughts, like a wheel journeying down a well-trodden path, returned to Elena. Had she rallied the Yumi troops? Were they flying over the Ahi Sea right now? Was she—and the question surprised him—safe?
He remembered the bruise on her cheek, her blood on his hands. Hot shame flooded him, followed swiftly by anger. She did not deserve his regret. Elena Aadya Ravence had scurried off like a thief in the night after he had given her his forgiveness. He wanted to hate her. But even as he searched the depths of his own spite, Samson found it lacking.
He blamed himself. His misery curdled into a self-loathing that hurt so close to pleasure that he relished it.Let me hurt, he thought. He had been weak. Complacent. He had underestimated Elena. The Ravani queen was proud, vain too, but she was not stupid. He should have recognized the distrust in her dark eyes, the distance she had put between them. And now she had soared beyond his reach.
The Burning Queen, alone in her power.
Alone in her misery.
He would not punish Elena. Punishment would only stoke the fire of her rage.
No, he would wait. Like a serpent in the shadows, like the tide waiting for the moon, he would bide his time. And then he would play his hand, as surely as the sea raked the shore.
Samson turned and boarded the waiting tanker.
They followed the Cyleoni guide through the mountain pass. The cold air dug into his lungs, rattling between his ribs like a solid chip. Behind him, Black Scale, Arohassin, and Cyleoni soldiers brought up the rear.
Samson counted silently: They had ninety men to bring down Jantar’s treasured northern mines. He tried not to think of the awaiting dark tunnels and their cramped walls ready to close in and suck him down to its bottomless hell.
Ninety men. Three mines. One fire.He whispered it to himself until it became a chant, a melody that mixed with their footfalls and the charged silence of the mountains; until it was all he could think, all that he knew.
Ninety men.
Three mines.
And one fire.
