“You never told me about this,” Syla said, turning to Samson.
“I wouldn’t trust anything that comes out of the Arohassin’s mouth,” Chandi spat.
Akaros laughed. “Would you rather waltz into a death trap of a council? Farin won’t let you out of there alive. Not unless you go with a royal. But yours is missing, isn’t she?”
“Farin could not lock me up if he tried.”
Samson froze at that voice. He turned, heart rushing to his throat, to see Elena striding toward him.
CHAPTER 33
ELENA
Never trust the happy hero. They are a myth.
—a Sesharian proverb
Samson was staring at her, his face haggard, his mouth slightly agape as if he had come up for air and sucked in water. Inwardly, Elena smiled. She relished his displeasure, though something chafed within her ribs. It hurt to see his surprise.
I would never abandon my people to you, she thought. Had he underestimated her so poorly?
“Syla.” She turned away from Samson with more force than she intended. “Could you tell me why we’re discussing bargains with Farin?”
“Farin wants to call the council,” Syla said.
Elena stilled. Her heart, which had already begun to double its pace at the sight of Samson, now thundered. “It’s a trick.”
“I assure you, Elena, it is not,” Syla said with a bitter smile. “Your men succeeded in destroying the mines, and we’ve forced Farin to come to the table—in a way. Farin comes with his own… terms.”
“What are they?” When no one answered, Elena found her gaze returning to Samson. He avoided her eyes. “What did you do?”
He said nothing for a long moment. She could sense his Agni fidgeting, as if it was crumbling within itself. Elena saw now the deep shadows that carved hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones. The sallowness of his skin. There was almost somethinginsubstantialabout him—like a great oak withered down to a stalk, shaking in the wind. She almost reached out to touch him, but then Samson met her gaze, and she stopped.
“We couldn’t save the miners,” Samson said. His voice was barren. “We had to escape ourselves, so we left them. Four hundred of them. They died from either the fire or the quakes. Now Farin’s rounding up Sesharian children into camps as punishment.”
Elena stared at him, horror, black and thick, pressing her voice into a whisper. “Why couldn’t you stop the fires?”
Samson flinched. His lower lip trembled, whether in anger or sorrow, she could not tell.
“You don’t think I tried?” he said, and she heard the familiar sting of his words, the sharp edge of his ire that she had come to know intimately. She rose to it. At least this she knew, not the broken, haunted man he pretended to be. Violence and pain fed his Agni, as much as grief fed hers.
“You can control the Eternal Fire, but you can’t stop infernos of your own making? Mother’s Gold, Sam! What were you thinking? They were people, your people! And you buried them.” She had hoped that the tragedy would happen only once, that they would learn—amend—but her failure in Magar had only been doubled. Warped into something more sinister, more treacherous. She whipped around to Chandi, who stood with a stiff chin, her eyes narrowed. “Where is Visha? What happened to having the most cunning strategist in the world?”
“It is a tragedy all around, Elena, and we are all sorry for it,” Syla cut in. “But Farin is on the move, and it would be a disservice to those men and women if we stand around bickering and pointing out each other’s faults. However deep they run.” He cast a glance at Samson. Elena found her gaze wandering past Samson, to the man and woman who stood like shadowed wings.
“And who are you?”
The bearded man smiled. “Well, we’re the Arohassin, darling.”
Instantly, she dropped her hand to her waist, her palm warming, heat razoring up her spine as she called for the guards, for Syla to step back, but the old king shouted and Chandi yelled at her to stop.
Samson stood, watching her. And then he laughed.
High and thin, like a madman.
His laughter cut through the courtyard with the force of an arrow splitting through the unexpecting throat of a hare.
Elena froze. They all did, save for the bearded man and the woman. The man smiled with a degree of self-pleasure that made her skin crawl. The woman watched Samson with a crude fascination as if he were a specimen to be analyzed. She did not know who to fear more.
