She had come prepared to ask the Yumi for their sword, not to be asked to perform as an administrative liaison.The Yumi is far too clever for his own good.“Why do you care about a foreign council?”
“For too long, Moksh has remained removed from the politics of the second continent, and it has hurt us. So I want a say. It is by the Great Mother’s grace that She delivered you to my doorstep. You and King Syla will work together to vote to add a new council seat, and you will give it to me. With our shared strength, our combinedthreat, Farin will not dare to send those ships.”
His eyes blazed with such fervor, such conviction, that for a moment, Elena saw herself and her own hatred of Farin. But then the moment passed, and she was forced to face the truth. If she appeared before the council with a usurper, what would that make her? She, who had lost her throne to one. She, who struggled to wrest back control of her country. If it was not the hypocrisy that threatened to overwhelm her, it was the depth of her own shame. Her throat burned with it.
Elena looked away. “I—I cannot promise it.”
“Just consider—”
“I cannot!” she snapped.
Rhumia bristled, but Daz stayed her with a hand. “Do you and your Prophet not wish Ravence and Seshar freed?”
“What does Samson have to do with this?”
“Surely, you cannot expect freedom without his help.”
Elena laughed then.
Loud, unbidden, uncontrollable.
The irony was astounding. She had come to free herself of Samson, to help her kingdom, and yet the Yumi sought only to bring him closer.
Daz stared at her, his confidence slowly fading.
“All of you,” she said in between gasps. “All of you think Ravence is gone. Beyond help.” She swallowed her laughter, letting it burn down her throat and pool in her stomach until her voice was as acidic and powerful as the vicious Agni thrumming through her veins. “Seshar meansnothingto me. Ravence is my home. And it does not need a warmongering Prophet to win back its freedom. It needs a queen.It needs me.”
Daz said nothing. He seemed to soak in her words, watching her with something akin to uncertainty and disappointment.
“Ravence and Seshar are the same, little queen,” he said finally. “You help one, and you’ll save the other.”
He had not seen her scars. He had not felt the cold rain slicking down her spine as she watched Samson’s boots fade away. She thought of Samson, standing there alone in the canyons, the vengeance on his lips.
“I’ll believe you when it’s true.”
CHAPTER 30
SAMSON
Son born of a sorceress, destined for the sea, who will come to save thee?
—from the hymns of the Great Serpent
Alarms wailed through the mines as they raced toward the offload site. Samson lurched flames in front of heat sensors, triggering fire walls to close behind them and cut off the path to the docks. He glanced at his pod. They had less than thirty minutes until his inferno reached the main chambers of the mine, twenty before the Jantari regained control of the safety system. They were running out of time.
“I’m at the transport bay,” Chandi said in his ear. “Where the hell are you?”
“We’re coming. Ten minutes, max.”
Short, percussive sounds shot through their comms, and Samson flinched.
“Was that pulse fire?” He tapped his comms. “What is that? Skeleton? Skeleton? Fuck, Chandi, can you hear me?”
Static noise blared through his ears, then, “We—we’ve been hit. Seven of them came out of nowhere. One of the transports—”
Her voice cut off again.
Samson swore as something tightened in his chest, fear, worry, desperation bleeding together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. He ran faster.
