Elena laughed, and this time, it felt genuine. “And I’m sure yours doesn’t understand the meaning ofspicy.”
Syla grinned, though after a moment, his smile shrank into a pensive line and his voice softened.
“My spies did learn something. They confirmed that Jantar means to send a fleet to Mandur. The Yumi general was right. I fear Farin’s ambition knows no limits.”
“The Jantari never do,” she said sourly.
“Have you heard from the general?”
“He’s waiting for my answer.”
Syla sighed. “I do not like the idea of colluding with a usurper. And a Yumi usurper, of all things. But Jantar and the other kingdoms are crying for blood. They believe the Black Scales are behind the attacks and blame them for disturbing their metal trade. It’s a small miracle he hasn’t sniffed you out yet. Or me. But Farin will want to root out the rebel Sesharians. He might even give up his fight with the Arohassin in Rani and move south to your stronghold. If we had the Yumi, he’d think twice.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“So what answer will you give General Daz?”
“Not him.” She looked up at the Seeing Tree and its many tongues. “Farin.”
She had thought it over the last two days, chewing the idea until it had hardened into a nugget, then grew into a burden. Meaty and heavy. Fed by the rage that never seemed to leave her bones, the pain she was forced to endure, again and again, by a man who had claimed himself king.
“We give him Samson and the Black Scales.”
Syla started. “Why?”
“Samson thought that by destroying their mines, he could stop Farin. But it only hurt the ones most vulnerable. No, the metal king is not a man. He is a beast, so we will hunt him like one.”
Elena turned to him, her words born like a phoenix rising, hot and vengeful. “You will propose a deal. Tell Farin that at the council, he will have the opportunity to capture his most coveted enemy. When he asks who, be aloof. You are the master of spies. Tell him it’s someone of the sea. He will come. And I will surprise him there. Chandi told me that the Jantari do not know I’m still alive. When I finally show my face, when the others finally learn of his breach of the Treaty of Borders, when…” And here she paused, gritting her teeth. She had mulled over this for sometime, trying to find sweetness within its misery. It was what she had to do. Still, it hurt. “When I bring the Yumi with me, he will have no choice but to withdraw from Ravence.”
“So you intend to accept General Daz’s offer?”
She swallowed. “Yes. Together, you and I can motion for him to get a seat at the council.”
“You’re sure of this?” Syla eyed her. “Farin is never one to act according to our expectations.”
“Do you know why Farin is targeting the Sesharians?” Her smile was thin, sharp. “It’s because Samson betrayed him. Samson was meant to be his puppet, ready to offer Ravence on a platter once he came calling. But the Butcher turned against him. The metal king burns with jealousy and bitter pride. Bait him with only the idea of Samson’s head, and Farin will come.”
Syla stared at her quietly, and she saw his trepidation, his slow horror. He seemed not to recognize her. Her reflection, caught in the wild green of his eyes, was morphed and foreign even to her, and Elena found not fear in this discovery, but a delayed mourning, like soreness creeping into the body.
She mourned the woman she could have been.
She mourned the queen she was to become.
Perhaps this was regret. Perhaps this was retribution from the gods for her lack of faith, for her inability to protect her home. Or perhaps this was her own selfish desire to look fate in the eyes and scratch her fucking eyes out.
“I saved Samson because he serves a purpose. Nothing more,” she said.
“So you would offer him as your sacrificial lamb?”
“Once I am before Farin, I do not care about Samson’s fate or the Black Scales. I want them out of my kingdom. His death will be of his own making, not mine,” Elena said, each word striking like flint. “I bring him only like a butcher before the ox he cannot kill. It is up to him to save his people, or himself.”
The sound of a hoverpod made them turn, and she recognized Samson’s Agni drawing close. A roar began to build in her ears.
Syla watched her, his eyes sad. “Do not become like him in your anger, Elena.”
“I am nothing like Samson Kytuu.”
“I do not mean Samson. I mean your father.”
