The Burning God (The Poppy War Book 3)

Of all twelve provinces, Dog Province was the true wasteland of the Empire.

Rat Province was dirt poor, Monkey Province was an agriculturally barren backwater, and Boar Province was a lawless plain crawling with bandits. But Dog Province was remote, mountainous, and so sparsely populated that the yaks outnumbered the people—the only reason, perhaps, that it had not yet been invaded by the Republic.

When Rin and her troops descended the mountains over the border into the Scarigon Plateau, they saw no sign of human civilization.

She supposed it had been a foolish hope, that the Dog Warlord and his army might be waiting for them with open arms at the foothills of the Baolei Mountains. That rendezvous had always been an empty dream, a lie she’d told the southerners from the outset of the march to give them a reason to keep going. It had just been so long since they’d escaped from the Anvil that she’d started to believe it herself.

They might still find allies. Dog Province was a vast, open land, and they had only reached the southeastern edge of its border. Perhaps they might still find the nomadic herds of sheep and yaks that the Dog Province was known for. But Rin knew it would drive her mad to keep her eyes fixed on distant plains, hoping for silhouettes to appear on the horizon.

They could not assume aid would come. Their only option was to keep pushing forward to Mount Tianshan, alone.

The march across the plateau proceeded far more easily than their journey through the mountains. They were still exhausted; their numbers were still dwindling from starvation and disease. But now that the ground did not slip treacherously under their feet and the air couldn’t bite hard enough to kill, they covered thrice the distance each day as they had on the Baolei range. Morale improved. The whispers of dissent grew quieter. And as the distant Tianshan range grew closer day by day, no longer a hazy line on the horizon but a distinct, ridged silhouette against the north sky, Rin began daring to hope that they might actually make it. That all their plans, all their talk of the Trifecta that up until now had seemed like a distant fantasy, might actually come to pass.

She just still hadn’t figured out what she might do if they did.

“Rin.” Kitay nudged her shoulder. “Look.”

She’d been stumbling along in a daze, half-asleep from fatigue. “What?”

He tilted her chin up to stop her staring at the ground. He pointed. “Over there.”

She didn’t believe it when she saw it, but then a cheer went up through the column that confirmed everyone saw what she did—the outline of a village, clearly visible against the steppe. Thick clouds of smoke billowing up from rooftops of rounded huts that promised shelter, warmth, and a cooked dinner.

The column quickened its pace.

“Wait,” Rin said. “We don’t know if they’re friendly.”

Kitay shot her a wry look. Around them, the southerners marched with their hands on their weapons. “I don’t think it matters much whether we’re invited.”

“You’re smaller than I thought you’d be,” said the Dog Warlord, Quan Cholang.

Rin shrugged. “The last time a person said that to me, I had him torn apart by a mob.”

She didn’t elaborate. She was too busy chewing her way through the spread on the mat before her—tough, dry mutton; grainy steamed buns; sheep-stock gruel; and a cold, sour glass of yak’s milk to wash it down. It was, by any standard, awful—Dog Province was often lampooned for its tough, tasteless food. But after months in the mountains, her tongue craved any flavors other than the dull sting of chili-boiled water.

She knew she was being rude. But as long as no one was actively trying to kill her, she was going to eat.

She sucked the last juicy mouthful of sheep marrow from bone, took a deep and satisfied breath, then wiped her hand on her pants.

“I don’t recognize you at all,” she said bluntly. “Leadership transition?”

She’d met the former Dog Warlord once before, just briefly, at the Empress’s postwar summit in Lusan. He hadn’t made much of an impression; she could only barely remember his features well enough to know that the man she dined with now was thinner, taller, and far younger. But she could also detect some family resemblances in his features—Cholang had the same long, narrow eyes and high forehead as the man Rin assumed had been his father.

Cholang sighed. “I told my father not to answer Vaisra’s summons. He should have known better to assume the Dragon Warlord merely wanted to talk.”

“Stupid of him,” Kitay agreed. “Did Vaisra send back his head?”

“Vaisra would never be so compassionate.” Cholang’s voice hardened. “He sent me a series of scrolls threatening to skin my father alive and deliver to me his tanned hide if Dog Province didn’t capitulate.”

Kitay’s tone was utterly neutral, without judgment. “So you let your father die.”

“I know the kind of man my father was,” Cholang said. “He would have fallen on his own blade rather than bow. Vaisra did send a parcel. I never opened it; I buried it.”

His voice shook, just barely, as he finished speaking. He’s young, Rin realized. Cholang carried himself like a general, and his men clearly treated him as such, but his voice betrayed a fragility that his sun-weathered skin and bushy beard couldn’t hide.

He was just like them. Young, scared, without a clue about what he was doing, yet trying his best to pretend otherwise.

Kitay gestured around the camp. “I take it this is not the permanent capital?”

Cholang shook his head. “Gorulan is a lovely place. Temples carved into the mountainside, great statues the height of buildings everywhere you look. We abandoned it the moment they sent what I presume was my father’s head back in a basket. Wasn’t keen to get stabbed in my bed.”

“Looks like you’ve been given a stay of execution for now,” Rin said.

Cholang shot her a wry look. “Only because we’ve never figured largely on the Nikara chessboard before. No one quite knows what to do with us.”

That was true. Dog Province had always been an outlier in Imperial politics. They were too distant from centers of power to feel the yoke of any regime, but none of the heartland emperors had ever tried very hard to exert more control, because the sparse, arid plateau held so very little worth controlling. The Dogs herded livestock for subsistence and they didn’t trade. Their land wasn’t worth cultivating; nothing but grass could take root in the thin, rocky soil.

“But you must know the Republic won’t ignore you forever,” Rin said.

“We’re well aware.” Cholang sighed. “It’s about principle, I expect. Regime change requires total domination. Otherwise, if you’ve got cracks in your foundation even before you’ve begun to rule, that sets a poor precedent.”

“It’s not just that,” Kitay said. “It’s your minerals. Nezha told me the Hesperians were discussing it. They think there’s coal, tungsten, and silver under this plateau. They’re very excited about it—they’ve prepared all kinds of machines to drill beneath the earth’s surface once they know it’s safe to move in.”

Cholang seemed unsurprised. “And I expect their definition of safe involves our complete removal.”

“More or less,” Kitay said.

“Then we’re on the same page,” Rin said eagerly. Perhaps too eagerly—she could hear the naked hunger in her own voice—but the Southern Army had marched for so long on only the smallest shreds of hope that she was desperate to solidify this alliance. “You need us. We need you. We’ll take whatever hospitality you can offer—my soldiers are starved, but they’re disciplined—and then we can take stock of how many forces we’ve got—”

Cholang held up a hand to cut her off. “You won’t find your alliance here, Speerly.”

She faltered. “But the Republic is your enemy.”

“The Republic has enforced sanctions on the plateau since your march began.” Cholang’s voice bore no trace of hostility, only wary resignation. “We’re barely holding out ourselves. And we have no defenses to mount. Our population has always been a fraction of those of other provinces, and we have no weapons other than bows and farming implements. Certainly no fire powder. I can offer you a good meal and a night’s rest. But if you’re looking for an army here, you won’t find it.”

Rin knew that. She’d noticed the obvious poverty in Cholang’s camp. She could guess the extent of Dog Province’s forces based on his paltry personal guard. She knew this was not a base from which she could mount a resistance—it was too bare, too open, too vulnerable to air raids. She knew there was no army here, and certainly not one that could defeat a horde of dirigibles.

But she hadn’t come here for the army.

“This isn’t about troop numbers,” she said. “We just need a guide up the mountains.”

Cholang’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you trying to go?”

She nodded to the ridges in the distance.

His eyes widened. “Mount Tianshan?”

“There’s something up there that will help us win,” Rin said. “But you’ve got to escort us there.”

He looked skeptical. “Are you planning on telling me what it is?”

Rin exchanged a glance with Kitay, who shook his head.

“It’s best you don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Even my own officers don’t know.”

Cholang was quiet, examining her.

Rin understood his hesitation. He was a newly minted Warlord, saddled with his murdered father’s legacy, trying to find some way to keep his people alive when all the options looked bleak. And here she was, the Republic’s most wanted fugitive, asking him to defy caution to help her climb a distant mountain for a purpose he couldn’t discern.

This proposal was ludicrous. But he had to know, after the death of his father, that this was the only choice he had. Defiance was ludicrous. Hope was ludicrous. And the longer Cholang sat in silence, brows furrowed, the surer Rin was that he’d realized this as well.

“They tell stories about that mountain,” he said at last.

“What stories?” she asked.

“The mists up there are dense as walls,” he said. “The paths don’t act like paths should; they twist and loop back on themselves and send you walking in circles. If you lose your way, you’ll never find it again. And no one who’s ventured to the peak has come back alive.”

“Three people have,” Rin said. “And it’s about to be four.”

Cholang offered them hospitality in his settlement for the night. “It’s not much of a shelter,” he apologized. “This is a temporary outpost; it won’t be very comfortable. And we haven’t got the space to house everyone. But we can feed you, give you blankets, and send our physicians to tend to your wounded. My quarters are yours, if you want them.”

At first Rin declined out of etiquette, insisting that her tent was enough. But then Cholang showed her and Kitay to his rounded hut, an impressively sturdy structure that could provide far better shelter against the howling night winds than the flimsy, tattered walls of her tent, and she immediately acquiesced.

“Take it,” Cholang said. “I’ll sleep under the stars tonight.”

It had been so long since anyone had offered Rin such a simple kindness with no expectation of anything in return that it took her a moment to remember how to respond. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Rest well, Speerly.” He turned to leave. “We’ll march for Tianshan at dawn.”

A padded sleeping mat, at least two inches thick, occupied the center of the hut. Rin’s back and shoulders ached just looking at it. After weeks sleeping curled on the cold, hard dirt, it seemed an unimaginable luxury.

“Nice digs,” Kitay said, echoing her thoughts. “Do you want me to take the first watch?”

“No, you go ahead and sleep,” she said. “I want to think.”

She knew he was exhausted; she’d caught his eyes slipping closed more than once during their audience with Cholang. She sat cross-legged next to the mat, waited for Kitay to crawl under the covers, and then took his hand.

His fingers curled around hers. “Rin.”

“Yeah?”

His voice sounded very small in the dark. “I hope we know what we’re doing.”

She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and squeezed his fingers. “Me too.”

It was a meaningless, inadequate exchange, and didn’t come close to expressing the worries that weighed on both their minds, nor the enormity of what was coming next. But she knew what he meant. She knew his confusion, his fear, and his deep, bone-rattling terror that none of their choices were good—that they were navigating a jungle of snakes carrying the weight of the south’s future on their shoulders, and a single misstep would destroy it all.

They were going to wake Riga.

This, after many whispered debates, they’d decided. The calculation hadn’t changed.

They weren’t fools. They understood the risks, understood Jiang’s cryptic warnings. They knew the Trifecta would not be so benevolent as Daji claimed—that whatever Riga was, when at last he awoke, might be more dangerous than Nezha or the Republic.

But the Trifecta were Nikara. Yin Riga, unlike his nephew, would never bow to the Hesperians. They might have committed atrocities, and they might do so again, but their regime at least was anathema to Hesperian encroachment.

To mount an armed resistance without them was suicide; to surrender to the Republic would lead them to a fate worse than death. The Trifecta had been monsters—and Rin knew with certainty that they would become so again—but she needed monsters on her side. What other choice did they have?

Necessity didn’t make this any easier. Rin still felt, with every step they took toward Mount Tianshan, like a small animal walking into a trap. But they’d made their choice, and there was nothing they could do now but see it through and hope they came out alive.

She sat still in the darkness, holding Kitay’s hand tight until finally his breaths settled into a slow, easy rhythm.

“Don’t panic.”

Rin jumped to her feet. Fire shrouded her body. She crouched, ready to spring. She’d have to fight with flame—her sword was lying on the other side of the sleeping mat, too far to reach.

Should have known better. Her thoughts raced. Shouldn’t have trusted Cholang so easily, should have known he’d sell us out—

“Don’t panic,” the intruder said again, hands stretched out before him.

This time, his voice gave her pause. Rin recognized that voice. And she recognized the intruder’s face, too, once he stepped forward and his features became visible in the dim firelight.

“Holy fuck.” Despite herself, she burst out laughing. “It’s you.”

“Hello,” said Chaghan. “Could I steal you for a chat?”

“How did you know I would be here?” Rin asked.

They walked through Cholang’s camp unbothered. The sentries dipped their heads as they approached the perimeter and let them leave without question.

So Cholang must have known Chaghan was here. What’s more, he must have permitted him entry into her hut without warning her.

Asshole, Rin thought.

“I’ve been tracking you since you left Arabak,” Chaghan said. “I’m sorry for the surprise, by the way. I didn’t want to announce my presence.”

“How’d you convince Cholang to let you sneak through his camp?”

“The Hundred Clans have close ties to the frontier provinces,” Chaghan said. “In the Red Emperor’s time, Sinegard posted their poor bottom-ranked graduates out there to kill us.”

“I take it that’s not how things turned out.”

“When you’re alone on the front, waging unprovoked warfare is the last thing you want to do,” Chaghan said. “We established strong trade relations a long time ago. We liked the Dog Province soldiers. We drew unofficial lines in the sand and agreed not to cross them, so long as they refrained from encroaching on our territory. It’s worked so far.”

Rin kept glancing sideways at him as they walked, amazed by how different he seemed. He was so much more solid. Before he’d been like a wraith, an ethereal spirit moving through the world like light passes through the air, present but never quite belonging. But now when he walked, he seemed as if he actually left footsteps.

“You’re staring at me,” he said.

“I’m curious,” she said. “You look different.”

“I feel different,” he said. “When I leave the material plane now, there’s no one on the other side pulling me back. I’ve had to learn to be my own anchor. It feels . . .”

She didn’t ask what it was like to miss Qara, every second of every day. She didn’t have to guess at the gaping pain, the clawing absence of that loss. She knew.

A thought struck her. “Then are you—”

“No. I’m dying,” he said bluntly. He didn’t seem bothered by this; he said it as casually as if informing her that he’d be going to market next week. “It gets harder every time—reaching the gods, I mean. I’m never going to be able to go as far out, or to stay as long, as I used to. Not if I want to wake up again. But I can’t stand spending all my time in this realm, this horribly . . . solid place.” He gestured about the steppe with disdain. “So I can’t stop. And one day I’ll go out too far. And I’m not going to come back.”

“Chaghan.” She stopped walking. She didn’t know what to say. “I . . .”

“I’m not particularly worried,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. “And I’d very much like to talk about something else.”

She changed the subject. “So how did you get on back home?” The last time she’d seen Chaghan, he’d been racing north on a warhorse following his cousin Bekter’s murderous coup. Back then, she’d feared he was riding to his death. But from the looks of it, he’d emerged from that power struggle unscathed, in charge, and with ample troops and resources.

“Well enough,” said Chaghan. “Obviously, Bekter’s not a problem anymore.”

Rin was impressed, if not terribly surprised. “How did you manage that?”

“Murder and conspiracy. The usual means, of course.”

“Of course. You lead the Ketreyids now, then?”

“Please, Rin.” He shot her a thin-lipped smile. “I lead the Hundred Clans. For the first time in a century we are united, and I speak here on their behalf.”

He nodded toward something in front of them. Rin glanced up. She had assumed they were only walking out of earshot of anyone in Cholang’s settlement, but when she followed Chaghan’s line of sight she saw campfires and lean silhouettes against the moonlight. They drew closer, and she made out dozens of cloth tents, resting horses, and sentries with bows at the ready. An army camp.

“You’ve brought a full contingent,” she said.

“Of course,” Chaghan said. “I wouldn’t march against the Trifecta with anything less.”

Rin stopped walking. The camaraderie between them vanished. She curled her palm into a fist, readying herself for a fight. “Chaghan—”

“I am here as a friend.” He held his hands up to display that he had no weapon, though Rin knew that with Chaghan, it didn’t matter. “But I know what you intend to do, and we desperately need to speak. Will you sit?”

“I want all your archers to leave their bows and quivers in a pile beside me,” she said. “And I want you to swear on your mother’s grave that I’ll be back safe with the southerners before dawn.”

“Rin, come on. It’s me.”

She held firm. “I’m not joking.”

She’d last parted with Chaghan on friendly terms. She knew their interests, at least in regard to the Republic, were aligned. But she still didn’t trust Chaghan, nor any of the Ketreyids, not to put an arrow in her forehead if they decided she was a threat. She’d dealt with Ketreyid justice before; she knew she’d only escaped because the Sorqan Sira had deemed her useful.

“As you wish.” Chaghan signaled to his men, who reluctantly obeyed. “I swear on the grave of Kalagan of the Naimads that we won’t harm you. Better?”

“Much.” Rin sat and crossed her legs. “Go on.”

“Thank you.” Chaghan knelt down opposite her. He unrolled his satchel, pulled out a vial of cobalt-blue powder, and popped the cork off before offering it to her. “Lick your fingertip and dab it onto your tongue. Once should do. And get comfortable. It takes effect quickly, you remember—”

“Hold on.” She didn’t touch the vial. “Tell me what’s going on before I hurl my spirit into the abyss with you. Which god are we visiting now?”

“Not the gods,” he said. “The dead.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Altan? Did you find him?”

“No.” A shadow of discomfort flitted across Chaghan’s face. “He’s not—I’ve never—no. But she is a Speerly. Most spirits dissolve into nothing when they pass. That’s why it’s hard to commune with the dead; they’ve already disappeared from the realm of conscious things. But your kind linger. They’re bound by resentment and a god that feeds on it, which means often they can’t let go. They’re hungry ghosts.”

Rin licked the tip of her index finger and poked it into the vial, swiveling it around until soft, downy powder coated her skin up to the first joint. “Are we speaking to Tearza?”

“No.” Chaghan took the vial back and did the same. “Someone more recent. I don’t believe you’ve met.”

She glanced up. “Who?”

“Hanelai,” Chaghan said bluntly.

Without hesitation Rin put her powder-covered finger in her mouth and sucked.

Immediately the Ketreyid campsite blurred and dissolved like paints swirled in water. Rin closed her eyes. She felt her spirit flying up, fleeing her heavy body, that clumsy sack of bones and organs and flesh, soaring toward the heavens like a bird freed from its cage.

“We’ll wait here,” Chaghan said. They floated together in a dark expanse—a plane not quite pitch-black, but rather shrouded in hazy twilight. “When I found out you were marching to Tianshan, I went searching. I needed to understand the risks. I know there’s no one alive who could push you off the path you’ve chosen.” He nodded toward a red ball of light in the void, a distant star that grew larger as it approached. “But she might.”

The star became a pillar of flame and then a woman, drawn close before them, glowing red-hot like she was burning up from the inside.

Rin stared, speechless.

She knew this face. Knew that pointed chin, that straight jaw, and those hard, sullen eyes. She’d seen that face staring back at her from mirrors.

“Hello, Hanelai,” Chaghan said. “This is the friend I’ve told you so much about.”

Hanelai turned toward Rin, eyes roving imperiously over her like a queen surveying her subject. A curious feeling seized Rin’s heart, some strange and unnameable longing. She’d felt it only once before, two years ago, when she’d held her fingers up against Altan’s and marveled at how their dusky skin matched. She never thought she’d feel it again.

She suspected her relation to Hanelai. She’d suspected it for a long time. Now, staring at that face, she knew it was undeniable. She knew the word for it, a word she’d never used with anyone before. She dared not say it out loud.

Yet Hanelai showed no hint of recognition.

“You are the one traveling with Jiang Ziya?” she asked.

“Yes,” Rin said. “And you’re—”

Hanelai snarled. Her eyes glowed red. Her flames jumped and unfurled like an explosion suspended in time, deathly orange petals blooming outward at Rin.

“Don’t be afraid,” Chaghan said quickly. “The dead can’t harm you. Those flames aren’t real, they’re only projections.”

He was right. Hanelai frothed and snarled, screaming incoherently as fire shot out of every part of her body. But she never drew closer to Rin. Her flames bore no heat; though they curled and jumped, the twilight plane remained as neutrally cool as it had always been.

Still, she was terrifying. It took all Rin’s willpower not to shrink away. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s dead,” Chaghan said. “She’s been dead for a long time. And when souls don’t fade back into the abyss, they need tethers, their lingering hatreds that keep them from passing. She’s not a person anymore. She’s rage.”

“But I’ve seen Tearza before. Tearza wasn’t—”

“Tearza had control,” Chaghan said. “Her rage was tempered, because she chose the circumstances of her own death. Hanelai didn’t.”

Rin regarded Hanelai. Now her pulsing flames and twisted scowl didn’t seem so frightening. They seemed wretched.

How long had Hanelai been drifting in her fury?

“You’ve nothing to be afraid of,” Chaghan said. “She wants to talk to you, she just doesn’t know how. If you speak to her, she’ll answer. Go ahead.”

Rin knew what she had to ask.

This was her chance, at last, to excavate the truth—the secret that had festered so long between her, Jiang, and Daji. She didn’t want to know; she was afraid to know. It was like digging a knife into a poisoned wound to draw out the venom; the pain was daunting. But even if this secret destroyed her, she had to hear it. She had to climb that mountain with clear eyes.

She looked straight into Hanelai’s furious, anguished face.

“What did he do to you?” she asked.

Hanelai howled.

Voices flew at Rin like an assault of arrows—not all of them Hanelai’s, not all of them adult. Fragments of hundreds of grievances assaulted her like a mosaic of pain, cobbling together the details of a painting which, until now, she’d only glimpsed from a distance.

—Riga—

—when they took our children—

—no other choice—

—would you have chosen?—

—it didn’t matter, none of it mattered—

—they wanted the gods, they only ever wanted the gods, and we felt sorry for them because we could not imagine—

—for our children—

—Riga—

—would have left us alone—

—just leave us alone, we never wanted—

—then Riga—

—Riga—

—Riga!—

“I understand,” Rin said. She didn’t, not fully, but she’d heard enough to piece together the outline and that was enough; she couldn’t bear to hear more; she couldn’t think of Jiang like that. “I understand, stop—”

But the voices did not stop, they only built, screams stacking upon screams at an unbearable volume.

—and Jiang didn’t—

—Jiang never—

—he promised—

—when Riga—

—Ziya—

—he said he loved us—

He said he loved me.

“Stop it,” Rin said. “I can’t—”

“Can’t?” Chaghan’s voice cut through her mind like a shard of ice. “Or you don’t want to know?”

The voices consolidated back into one.

“Traitor,” Hanelai screeched, flying at Rin. “Stupid, imperialist, pathetic traitor—”

Her voice distorted into deep double timbre, which then split into a chorus. When Hanelai spoke, her mouth moved not only for herself but for a crowd of deceased. Rin could almost see them, a horde of Speerlies behind Hanelai, all spitting rage in her face.

“You hear our testimony and you refuse us, you defile the graves of your ancestors, you who escaped, you who carry our blood, how dare you call yourself a Speerly, how dare you—”

“Enough,” Rin said. “Make her stop—”

“Listen to her,” Chaghan said.

Fury surged in Rin. “I said enough.”

Every time she’d used this drug before, Chaghan had guided her back from the world of spirit, dragging her bewildered, terrified soul into the land of the living. But Rin was done with wandering around like a lost child. Done with letting Chaghan manipulate her with wraiths and shadows.

The moment her soul hit her body, jolting her back into awareness like a swimmer breaking the surface, Rin clambered to her knees and seized him by the shoulders.

“What the hell was that?”

“You had to know,” Chaghan said. “You weren’t going to believe it from anyone else’s mouth.”

“So what, you were going to scare me off with a fucking ghost?”

“Rin. You’re talking about reviving the man who murdered your race.”

“The Mugenese murdered the Speerlies—”

“And Riga let them. Did you hear Hanelai? That’s the full story. That’s what the Vipress was never going to tell you. The Federation kidnapped Speerly children and demanded the secrets to shamanism as a ransom. Riga knew Hanelai was going to reveal everything to the Mugenese, he knew she cared more about those twenty children than the fate of the mainland, and he slaughtered her people for it. He thought the Speerlies were animals. Disposable. And you think he’ll treat you any differently? Your ancestors would be disgusted. Altan wouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” she said harshly. “Don’t speak to me of Altan. You know very well what Altan would have done.”

He opened his mouth to retort, saw the look on her face, and then closed it. He swallowed. “Rin, I’m just—”

“Riga is our best and only chance at winning this war,” she said firmly.

“Perhaps. But what comes after that? Who rules the Empire then, you or them?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?”

“You can’t be this daft,” he said, exasperated. “Surely you’ve considered this power struggle. It’s not just about the enemy. It’s about what the world looks like after. And if you intend to stay in charge, then you’d better start weighing your chances against the Trifecta combined. You think you can take them?”

“I don’t know,” she said again. “But I know one thing for certain. Without them, I have absolutely no chance against the Republic and the Hesperians. And they’re the only opponents who matter right now.”

“That’s not true. Hesperian occupation will be difficult. But it is survivable—”

“Survivable to you,” she scoffed, “only because you hide in a desert wasteland so dry and dead that no one would bother encroaching on your territory. Don’t debate the stakes with me, Chaghan. You’ll be just fine up north in your shithole no matter what happens.”

“Watch how you speak to me,” Chaghan said sharply.

Rin glared at him, incredulous. She remembered now why she had always resented him so, why she had always felt such an urge to smack the grim, all-knowing expression off his face. It was the sheer condescension. The way he always spoke as if he knew better, as if he were lecturing foolish children.

“I’m not the girl you met at Khurdalain anymore,” she said. “I’m not the failed commander of the Cike. I know what I’m doing now. You’re trying to protect your people. I understand that. But I’m trying to protect mine. I know what the Trifecta did to you, and I know you want your vengeance, but right now I need them. And you can’t give me orders.”

“Your obstinacy is going to destroy you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“Don’t start with that,” he said, exasperated. “Rin, I came here as a friend.”

She summoned a tiny spark of flame into her palm. “So did I.”

“I’m not going to fight you. But you should know what you’re getting into—”

“I know very well,” she said loudly. “I know exactly what kind of man Jiang is, I know exactly what Daji is planning, and I don’t care. Without Riga we have nothing. No army. No weapons. The dirigibles will bomb us out in seconds and that’ll be it; this whole struggle will be over and we’ll be nothing more than a blip in history. But the Trifecta give us a fighting chance. I’ll deal with the fallout later. But I’m not crawling into oblivion with a whimper, and you should have known that before you came here. If you were this afraid of the Trifecta, then you should have tried to kill me. You shouldn’t even have given me the choice.”

She stood up. The Ketreyid archers swiveled to face her, alarmed, but she ignored them. She knew they wouldn’t dare hurt her. “But you can’t, can you? Because your hands are tied, too. Because you know that when the Hesperians are done with us, they’ll come for you. You know about their Maker and how they look at the world. And you know their vision for the future of this continent does not include you. Your territories will shrink smaller and smaller, until the day the Hesperians decide they want you off the map, too. And you need me for that fight. The Sorqan Sira knew that. You’re doomed without me.”

She picked her knife off the floor. This audience was over. “I’m setting out for Mount Tianshan tomorrow. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Chaghan regarded her with narrow, calculating eyes. “My men will be outside that mountain, ready to shoot at whatever emerges.”

“Then aim well,” she said. “So long as you’re not aiming at me.”