The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War Trilogy #2)

“Did you know that Ankhiluun has a special government office dedicated to figuring out how much weight the city can sustain?” Ramsa asked brightly.

He was the only one of them who could navigate the Floating City with ease. He hopped ahead, effortlessly navigating the narrow footbridges that lined the sludgy canals, while the rest inched warily along the wobbly planks.

“And how much weight is that?” Baji asked, humoring him.

“I think they’re approaching maximum capacity,” Ramsa said. “Someone’s got to do something about the population, or Ankhiluun’s going to start sinking.”

“You could send them inland,” Baji said. “Bet we’ve lost a couple hundred thousand people in the last few months.”

“Or just have them fight another war. Good way to kill people off.” Ramsa skipped off toward the next bridge.

Rin followed clumsily behind, blinking blearily under the unforgiving southern sun.

She hadn’t left her cabin on the ship for days. She’d taken the smallest possible daily dose of opium that worked to keep her mind quiet while leaving her functional. But even that amount fucked so badly with her sense of balance that she had to cling to Baji’s arm as they walked inland.

Rin hated Ankhiluun. She hated the salty, tangy ocean odor that followed her wherever she went; she hated the city’s sheer loudness, the pirates and merchants screaming at each other in Ankhiluuni pidgin, an unintelligible mix of Nikara and western languages. She hated that the Floating City teetered over open water, roiling back and forth with each incoming wave, so that even standing still, she felt like she was about to fall.

She wouldn’t have come here except out of utter necessity. Ankhiluun was the single place in the Empire where she was close to safe. And it was home to the only people who would sell her weapons.

And opium.

At the end of the First Poppy War, the Republic of Hesperia sat down with delegates from the Federation of Mugen to sign a treaty that established two neutral zones on the Nikara coastline. The first was at the international port of Khurdalain. The second was at the floating city of Ankhiluun.

Back then Ankhiluun had been a humble port—just a smattering of nondescript one-story buildings without basements because the flimsy coastal sands couldn’t support any larger architecture.

Then the Trifecta won the Second Poppy War, and the Dragon Emperor bombed half the Hesperian fleet to smithereens in the South Nikan Sea.

In the absence of foreigners, Ankhiluun flourished. The locals occupied the half-destroyed ships like ocean parasites, linking them together to form the Floating City. Now Ankhiluun extended precariously from the coastline like an overreaching spider, a series of wooden planks that formed a web of walkways between the myriad ships anchored to shore.

Ankhiluun was the juncture through which poppy in all its forms entered the Empire. Moag’s opium clippers sailed in from the western hemisphere and deposited their cargo in giant, empty husks of ships that served as repositories, from which long, thin smuggling boats picked it up and poured through branches of tributaries spreading out from the Murui River, steadily infusing the Empire’s bloodstream like seeping poison.

Ankhiluun meant cheap, abundant opium, and that meant glorious, peaceful oblivion—hours upon hours when she didn’t have to think about or remember anything at all.

And that, above all, was why Rin hated Ankhiluun. It made her so terribly afraid. The more time she spent here, locked alone in her cabin while she drifted on Moag’s drugs, the less she felt able to leave.

“Odd,” said Baji. “You’d think we’d get more of a welcome.”

To get to the city center, they’d passed floating markets, garbage piles strewn along the canals, and rows of distinctive Ankhiluuni bars that had no benches or chairs—only ropes strung across walls where patrons could hang drunk by their armpits.

But they had been walking for more than half an hour now. They were well within the heart of the city, in full view of its residents, and no one had intercepted them.

Moag had to know they were back. Moag knew everything that happened in the Floating City.

“That’s just how Moag likes to play power politics.” Rin stopped walking to catch her breath. The shifting planks made her want to vomit. “She doesn’t seek us out. We have to go to her.”

Getting an audience with Chiang Moag was no easy affair. The Pirate Queen surrounded herself with so many layers of security that no one knew where she was at any given time. Only the Black Lilies, her cohort of spies and assistants, could be counted upon to get word directly to her, and the Lilies could only be found at a gaudy pleasure barge floating in the center of the city’s main canal.

Rin looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. “There.”

The Black Orchid wasn’t so much a ship as it was a floating three-story mansion. Garishly colorful lanterns hung from its sloped pagoda roofs, and bawdy, energetic music drifted constantly from its papered windows. Each day starting at noon, the Black Orchid crawled up and down the still canal, picking up patrons who rowed out to its decks in bright red sampans.

Rin dug around in her pockets. “Anyone got a copper?”

“I do.” Baji tossed a coin toward the sampan boatman, who guided his vessel toward the shore to ferry the Cike onto the pleasure barge.

A handful of Lilies, perched lightly on the second-story railing, waved insouciantly at them as they approached. Baji whistled back.

“Stop that,” Rin muttered.

“Why?” Baji asked. “It makes them happy. Look, they’re smiling.”

“No, it makes them think you’re an easy target.”

The Lilies were Moag’s private army of terribly attractive women, all with breasts the size of pears and waists so narrow they looked in danger of snapping in half. They were trained martial artists, linguists, and uniformly the most obnoxious group of women Rin had ever met.

A Lily stopped them at the top of the gangplank, her tiny hand stretched out as if she could physically stop them from boarding. “You don’t have an appointment.”

She was clearly a new girl. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Her face bore only small dabs of lipstick, her breasts were just little buds poking through her shirt, and she didn’t seem to realize she was standing in front of a handful of the most dangerous people in the Empire.

“I’m Fang Runin,” said Rin.

The girl blinked. “Who?”

Rin heard Ramsa turn his snicker into a cough.

“Fang Runin,” she repeated. “I don’t need an appointment.”

“Oh, love, that’s not how it works here.” The girl tapped slim fingers against her impossibly narrow waist. “You’ve got to make an appointment, and we’re booked up days in advance.” She peered over Rin’s shoulder at Baji, Suni, and Ramsa. “Also, it’s extra for groups larger than four. The girls don’t like it when you share.”

Rin reached for her blade. “Look here, you little shit—”

“Back up.” Suddenly the girl was holding a fistful of needles she must have concealed in her sleeve. Their tips were purple with poison. “No one touches a Lily.”

Rin fought the sudden urge to slap the girl across her face. “If you don’t move aside this second, I’ll shove this blade so far up your—”

“Well, this is a surprise.” The silk sheets over the main doors rustled, and a voluptuous figure emerged on deck. Rin stifled a groan.

It was Sarana, a Black Lily of the highest distinction and Moag’s personal favorite. She’d been Moag’s go-between with the Cike since they landed at Ankhiluun three months ago. She possessed an unbearably sharp tongue, an obsession with sexual innuendo, and—according to Baji—the most perfect breasts south of the Murui.

Rin hated her.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Sarana approached, cocking her head to the side. “We thought you weren’t interested in women.”

She had a way of shimmying when she spoke, accentuating each word with a shake of her hips. Baji made a choking noise. Ramsa was staring unabashedly at Sarana’s chest.

“I need to see Moag,” Rin said.

“Moag’s busy,” Sarana replied.

“I think Moag knows better than to keep me waiting.”

Sarana raised her finely drawn eyebrows. “She also doesn’t like to be disrespected.”

“Must I be blunt?” Rin snapped. “Unless you want this boat going up in flames, you go get your mistress and tell her I want an audience.”

Sarana feigned a yawn. “Be nice to me, Speerly. Else I’ll tattle.”

“I could sink your barge in minutes.”

“And Moag would have you shot full of arrows before you could even get off the boat.” Sarana gave her a dismissive wave. “Get going, Speerly. We’ll send for you when Moag is ready.”

Rin saw red.

The fucking nerve.

Sarana might have thought it an insult, but Rin was a Speerly. She’d single-handedly won the Third Poppy War. She’d sunk a fucking country. She hadn’t come this far just to banter with some stupid Lily whore.

Her hands shot out and grabbed Sarana by the collar. Sarana moved for her hairpiece, which was no doubt poisoned, but Rin slammed her against the wall, wedged one elbow against her throat, and pinned her right wrist down with the other.

She leaned forward to press her lips against Sarana’s ear. “Maybe you think you’re safe now. Maybe I’ll just turn and walk away. You’ll brag to the other bitches how you scared the Speerly off! Lucky you! Then one night, when you’ve turned off the lanterns and rolled up the gangplank, you’ll smell smoke in your quarters. You’ll run out onto the deck, but by then the flames will be burning so hot you can’t see two feet in front of you. You’ll know it’s me, but you’ll never be able to tell Moag, because a sheet of fire will burn all your pretty skin off, and the last thing you’ll see before you leap off the ship into boiling-hot water is my laughing face.” Rin dug her elbow deeper into Sarana’s pale throat. “Don’t fuck with me, Sarana.”

Sarana patted frantically at Rin’s wrists.

Rin tilted her head. “What was that?”

Sarana’s voice was a strangled whisper. “Moag . . . might make an exception.”

Rin let go. Sarana collapsed back against the wall, frantically fanning her face.

The red haze ebbed from the edges of Rin’s vision. She closed a fist and opened it, let loose a long breath, and wiped her palm against her tunic. “That’s more like it.”

“We’re here,” Sarana announced.

Rin reached up to remove the blindfold from her face. Sarana had made her come alone—the others were more than happy to stay on the pleasure barge—and her naked vulnerability had kept her twitching and sweating during their entire journey through the canals.

At first she saw nothing but darkness. Then her eyes adjusted to the dim lights, and she saw that the room was lit up with tiny, flickering fire lamps. She saw no windows, no glints of sunshine. She couldn’t tell whether they were in a ship or in a building; whether nighttime had fallen or if the room was simply sealed so well that no outside light could get in. The air indoors was much cooler than outside. She thought she could still feel the rocking sea beneath her legs, but only faintly, and she couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined.

Wherever she was, the building was massive. A grounded warship? A warehouse?

She saw blocky furniture with curved legs that surely had to be of foreign origin; they didn’t carve tables like that in the Empire. Along the walls hung portraits, though they couldn’t have been of Nikara men; the subjects were pale-skinned, angry-looking, and all wearing absurdly shaped white wigs. A massive table, large enough to seat twenty, occupied the center of the room.

On the other side, flanked by a squadron of Lily archers, sat the Pirate Queen herself.

“Runin.” Moag’s voice was a gravelly drawl, deep and oddly compelling. “Always a pleasure.”

In the streets of Ankhiluun, they called Moag the Stone Widow. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, more handsome than pretty. They said she was a prostitute from the bay who’d married one of Ankhiluun’s many pirate captains. Then he died under circumstances that were never properly examined, and Moag rose steadily through the ranks of Ankhiluun’s pirate hierarchy and consolidated a fleet of unprecedented strength. She was the first to ever unite the pirate factions of Ankhiluun under one flag. Until her reign, the disparate bandits of Ankhiluun had been at war with one another in the same way the twelve provinces of Nikan had been at war since the death of the Red Emperor. In a way, she had managed to do what Daji never could. She’d convinced disparate factions of soldiers to serve a single cause—herself.

“I don’t think you’ve ever been to my private office.” Moag gestured around the room. “Nice place, isn’t it? The Hesperians were unbearably annoying, but they knew how to decorate.”

“What happened to the original owners?” Rin asked.

“Depends. I assume the Hesperian Navy taught their sailors how to swim.” Moag pointed to the chair opposite her. “Sit.”

“No, thanks.” Rin couldn’t bear sitting in chairs anymore. She hated the way that tables blocked her legs—if she jumped or tried to run, her knees would slam against the wood, costing her precious escape time.

“Have it your way, then.” Moag cocked her head to the side. “I heard Adlaga didn’t go well.”

“Got derailed,” Rin said. “Had a surprise encounter with Daji.”

“Oh, I know,” Moag said. “The whole coastline knows about it. You know how Sinegard has spun this, right? You’re the rogue Speerly, traitor to the crown. Your Mugenese captors drove you mad, and now you’re a threat to everyone you come across. The bounty on your head has been raised to six thousand Imperial silvers. Double if you’re alive.”

“That’s nice,” Rin said.

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“They’re not wrong about anything.” Rin leaned forward. “Look, Yang Yuanfu is dead. We couldn’t bring back his head, but your scouts will confirm everything as soon as they can get to Adlaga. It’s time to pay up.”

Moag ignored that, resting her chin on her fingertips. “I don’t get it. Why go to all this trouble?”

“Moag, come on—”

Moag lifted a hand to cut her off. “Talk me through this. You have power beyond what most people could dream of. You could do anything you want. Become a warlord. Become a pirate. Hell, captain one of my ships if you want to. Why keep picking this fight?”

“Because Daji started this war,” Rin said. “Because she killed my friends. Because she remains on the throne and she shouldn’t. Because someone has to kill her, and I’d rather it be me.”

“But why?” Moag pressed. “No one hates our Empress as much as I do. But understand this, little girl: you’re not going to find allies. Revolution is fine in theory. But nobody wants to die.”

“I’m not asking anyone else to risk it. Just give me weapons.”

“And if you fail? You don’t think the Militia will track where your supplies came from?”

“I killed thirty men for you,” Rin snapped. “You owe me any supplies I want; those were the terms. You can’t just—”

“What can’t I do?” Moag leaned forward, ringed fingers circling the hilt of her dagger. She looked deeply amused. “You think I owe you? By what contract? Under what laws? What will you do, take me to court?”

Rin blinked. “But you said—”

“‘But you said,’” Moag mocked in a high-pitched voice. “People say things they don’t mean all the time, little Speerly.”

“But we had an agreement!” Rin raised her voice, but her words came out plaintive, not dominant. She sounded childish even to her own ears.

Several Lilies began to titter into their fans.

Rin’s hands tightened into fists. The residual opium kept her from erupting into fire, but still a haze of scarlet entered her vision.

She took a deep breath. Calm.

Murdering Moag might feel good in the moment, but she doubted even she could get out of Ankhiluun alive.

“You know, for someone of your pedigree, you’re incredibly stupid,” Moag said. “Speerly abilities, Sinegard education, Militia service, and you still don’t understand the way the world works. If you want to get things done, you need brute force. I need you, and I’m the only one who can pay you, which means you need me. Complain all you want. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But you’re not paying me.” Rin couldn’t help it. “So fuck you.”

Eleven arrowheads pointed to her forehead before she could move.

“Stand down,” Sarana hissed.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Moag examined her lacquered nails. “I’m trying to help you, you know. You’re young. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you. Why waste it on revenge?”

“I need to get to the capital,” Rin insisted stubbornly. “And if you won’t give me supplies, then I’ll go elsewhere.”

Moag sighed theatrically, pressed her fingers against her temples, and then folded her arms on the table. “I propose a compromise. One more job, and then I’ll give you everything you want. Will that work?”

“What, I’m supposed to trust you now?”

“What choice do you have?”

Rin chewed on that. “What kind of job?”

“How do you feel about naval battles?”

“Hate them.” Rin didn’t like being over open water. She’d only agreed to jobs on land so far, and Moag knew that. Around the ocean, she was too easily incapacitated.

Fire and water didn’t mix.

“I’m sure a healthy reward would change your mind.” Moag rummaged in her desk, pulled out a charcoal rendering of a ship and slid it across the table. “This is the Heron. Standard opium skimmer. Red sails, Ankhiluuni flag, unless the captain’s changed it. He’s been coming up short in the books for months.”

Rin stared at her. “You want me to kill someone based on accounting errors?”

“He’s keeping more than his fair share of his profits. He’s been very clever about it, too. Got an accountant to fudge the numbers so that it took me weeks to detect. But we keep triple copies of everything. The numbers don’t lie. I want you to sink his ship.”

Rin considered the rendering. She recognized the ship build. Moag had at least a dozen skimmers just like it sitting in Ankhiluun’s harbor. “Is he still in the city?”

“No. But he’s scheduled to return to port in a few days. He thinks I don’t know what he’s done.”

“Then why don’t you get rid of him yourself?”

“Under regular circumstances I would,” said Moag. “But then I’d have to give him the pirate’s justice.”

“Since when does Ankhiluun care about justice?”

“The fact that we’re independent from the Empire doesn’t make us an anarchy, dear. We’d hold a trial. It’s standard procedure with embezzlement cases. But I don’t want to give him a fair trial. He’s well-liked, he has too many friends in this city, and punishment by my hand would certainly provoke retaliation. I’m not in the mood for politics. I want him blown out of the water.”

“No prisoners?”

Moag grinned. “Not a high priority.”

“Then I’ll need to borrow a skimmer.”

Moag’s smile widened. “Do this for me and you can keep the skimmer.”

This wasn’t optimal. Rin needed a ship with Militia colors, not a smuggling vessel, and Moag might still withhold the weapons and money. No—she had to take it for granted Moag would cheat her, some way or another.

But she had no leverage. Moag had the ships, she had the soldiers, so she could dictate the terms. All Rin had was the ability to kill people, and no one better to sell it to.

She had no better options. She was strategically backed into a corner, and she couldn’t think her way out.

But she knew someone who could.

“There’s something else I want,” she said. “Kitay’s address.”

“Kitay?” Moag narrowed her eyes. Rin could watch the thoughts spinning in her head, trying to determine if it was a liability, if it was worth the charity.

“We’re friends,” Rin said as smoothly as she could. “We were classmates. I care about him. That’s all it is.”

“And you’re only asking about him now?”

“We’re not going to flee the city, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, you’d never manage that.” Moag gave her a pitying look. “But he asked me not to tell you where to find him.”

Rin supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. It still stung.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I still want the address.”

“I gave him my word I’d keep it a secret.”

“Your word means nothing, you old hag.” Rin couldn’t suppress her impatience. “Right now you’re just dithering for the fun of it.”

Moag laughed. “Fair enough. He’s in the old foreign district. A safe house at the very end of the walkway. You’ll see Red Junk Fleet symbols on the doorposts. I’ve posted a guard there, but I’ll tell them to stand down if they see you. Shall I let him know you’re coming?”

“Please don’t,” Rin said. “I’ll surprise him.”

The old foreign district was still and silent, a rare oasis of calm in the never-ending cacophony that comprised Ankhiluun. Half these houses were abandoned—no one had lived here since the Hesperians left, and the remaining buildings were used only to store inventory. The bright lights that littered the rest of Ankhiluun were absent. This place lay uncomfortably far from the open central square, where Moag’s guards had easy access.

Rin didn’t like that.

But Kitay had to be safe. Tactically, it would be a terrible idea to let him get hurt. He was a remarkable reserve of knowledge. He read everything and forgot nothing. He was best kept alive as an asset, and Moag had surely realized it since she’d put him under house arrest.

The lone house at the end of the road floated a little ways off from the rest of the bobbing street, tethered only by two long chains and a hazardous floating walkway made of badly spaced planks.

Rin stepped gingerly over the planks, then rapped on the wooden door. No response.

She tried the handle. It didn’t even have a lock—she couldn’t see a keyhole. They’d made it impossible for Kitay to keep visitors out.

She pushed the door open.

The first thing she noticed was the mess—a sprawl of yellowing books, maps, and ledgers that littered every visible surface. She blinked around in the dim lamplight until she finally saw Kitay sitting in the corner with a thick tome over his lap, nearly buried under stacks of leather-bound books.

“I’ve already eaten,” he said without looking up. “Come back in the morning.”

She cleared her throat. “Kitay.”

He looked up. His eyes widened.

“Hello,” she said.

Slowly he set his books to the side.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Kitay stared at her for a long moment before waving her inside. “Fine.”

She shut the door behind her. He made no move to get up, so she picked her way through the papers toward him, taking care not to step on any pages. Kitay had always hated when anyone disturbed his carefully arranged messes. During exam season at Sinegard, he’d thrown temper tantrums whenever someone moved his inkwells.

The room was so cramped that the only empty space was a patch of floor against the wall right beside him. Taking care not to touch him, she slid down, crossed her legs, and placed her hands on her knees.

For a moment they simply stared at each other.

Rin wanted desperately to reach out and touch his face. He looked weak, and far too thin. He had healed some since Golyn Niis, but even now his collarbone protruded to a frightening degree, and his wrists looked so fragile she might snap them with one hand. He had grown his hair out in a long, curly mess that he’d bunched up at the back of his head, which pulled at the edges of his face and made his cheekbones stick out more than they already did.

He didn’t remotely resemble the boy she’d met at Sinegard.

The difference was in his eyes. They used to be so bright, lit up with a feverish curiosity about everything. Now they were just dull and blank.

“Can I stay?” she asked.

“I let you in, didn’t I?”

“You told Moag to keep your address from me.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yes. I did do that.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She knew him well enough to know that this meant he was furious with her, but after all these months, she still didn’t know precisely why.

No—she did, she just wouldn’t admit that she was wrong about it. The one time they’d fought about it, really fought about it, he’d slammed the door shut on her and hadn’t spoken to her until they reached dry land.

She hadn’t let herself think about it since. It went into the chasm, just like every other memory that made her start craving her pipe.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m under house arrest. How do you think I’m doing?”

She looked around at the papers splayed out across the table. They littered the floor, pinned down with inkwells.

Her eyes landed on the ledger he’d been scribbling in. “She’s kept you busy, at least?”

“‘Busy’ is a word for it.” He slammed the ledger shut. “I’m working for one of the Empire’s most wanted criminals, and she’s got me doing her taxes.”

“Ankhiluun doesn’t pay taxes.”

“Not taxes to the Empire. To Moag.” Kitay twirled the ink brush in his fingers. “Moag’s running a massive crime ring with a taxation scheme that’s just as complicated as any city bureaucracy’s. But the record-keeping system they’ve been using so far, it’s . . .” He waved his hands in the air. “Whoever designed this didn’t understand how numbers work.”

What a brilliant move on Moag’s part, Rin thought. Kitay had the mental dexterity of twenty scholars combined. He could add impossibly large sums without blinking, and he had a mind for strategy that had rivaled Master Irjah’s. He might be grumpy under house arrest, but he couldn’t resist a puzzle when presented with one. The ledgers may as well have been a bucket of toys.

“Are they treating you all right?” she asked.

“Well enough. I get two meals a day. Sometimes more, if I’ve been good.”

“You look thin.”

“The food’s not very good.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. She ventured to place a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry Moag’s kept you here.”

He jerked away. “Wasn’t your decision. I’d do the same if I’d taken myself prisoner.”

“Moag’s really not so bad. She treats her people well.”

“And she uses violence and extortion to run a massively illegal city that has been lying to Sinegard for twenty years,” said Kitay. “I’m worried you’re starting to lose your sense of scale here, Rin.”

She rankled at that. “Her people are still better off than the Empress’s subjects.”

“The Empress’s subjects would be fine if her generals weren’t running around trying to commit treason.”

“Why are you so loyal to Sinegard?” Rin demanded. “It’s not like the Empress has done anything for you.”

“My family has served the crown at Sinegard for ten generations,” said Kitay. “And no, I’m not helping you with your personal vendetta just because you think the Empress got your stupid commander killed. So you can stop pretending to be my friend, Rin, because I know that’s all you came for.”

“I don’t just think that,” she said. “I know it. And I know the Empress invited the Federation onto Nikara land. She wanted this war, she started the invasion, and everything you saw at Golyn Niis was Daji’s fault.”

“False accusations.”

“I heard it from Shiro’s mouth!”

“And Shiro didn’t have any motivation to lie to you?”

“Daji doesn’t have any motivation to lie to you?”

“She’s the Empress,” Kitay said. “The Empress doesn’t betray her own. Do you understand how absurd this is? There’s literally no political advantage—”

“You should want this!” she yelled. She wanted to shake him, hit him, do anything to make that maddening blankness in his face go away. “Why don’t you want this? Why aren’t you furious? Didn’t you see Golyn Niis?”

He stiffened. “I want you to leave.”

“Kitay, please—”

“Now.”

“I’m your friend!”

“No, you’re not. Fang Runin was my friend. I’m not sure who you are, but I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Why do you keep saying that? What did I ever do to you?”

“How about what you did to them?” He grabbed for her hand. She was so surprised that she let him. He slammed her palm over the lamp beside him, forced it down directly over the fire. She yelped from the sudden pain—a thousand tiny needles, pressing deeper and deeper into her palm.

“Have you ever been burned before?” he whispered.

For the first time Rin noticed little burn scars dotting his palms and forearms. Some were recent. Some looked inflicted yesterday.

The pain intensified.

“Shit!” She kicked out. She missed Kitay but hit the lamp. Oil spilled over the papers. The fire whooshed up. For a second she saw Kitay’s face illuminated in the flame, absolutely terrified, and then he yanked a blanket off the floor and threw it over the fire.

The room went dark.

“What the hell was that?” she screamed.

She didn’t raise her fists, but Kitay flinched away as if she had—his shoulder hit the wall, and then he curled toward the ground with his head buried under his arms, raw sobs shaking his thin frame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what . . .”

The throbbing pain in her hand made her breathless, almost light-headed. Almost as good as it felt when she got high. If she thought about it too hard she would start crying, and if she started crying it might tear her apart, so she tried laughing instead, and that turned into tortured hiccups that shook her entire frame.

“Why?” she finally managed.

“I was trying to see what it was like,” he said.

“For who?”

“How they felt. In the moment that it happened. In their very last seconds. I wanted to know how they felt when it ended.”

“It doesn’t feel like anything,” she said. A wave of agony shot up her arm again, and she slammed her fist against the floor in an attempt to numb out the pain. She clenched her teeth until it passed.

“Altan told me about it once,” she said. “After a bit you’re not able to breathe. And then you’re gasping so hard you can’t feel it hurt anymore. You don’t die from the burning, you die from lack of air. You choke, Kitay. That’s how it ends.”