The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War Trilogy #2)

War came in the water.

Rin awoke to shouting outside the barracks. She threw her uniform on in a panicked frenzy; blindly attempted to force her right foot into her left shoe before she gave up and ran out the door barefoot, trident in hand.

Outside, half-dressed soldiers ran around and into one another in a confused swarm of activity while commanders shouted contradicting orders. But nobody had weapons drawn, projectiles weren’t flying through the air, and Rin couldn’t hear the sound of cannon fire.

Finally she noticed that most of the troops were running toward the beachfront. She followed them.

At first she didn’t understand what she was looking at. The water was dusted over with spots of white, as if a giant had blown dandelion puffs over the surface. Then she reached the edge of the pier and saw in closer detail the silver crescents hanging just beneath the surface. Those spots of white were the bloated underbellies of fish.

Not just fish. When she knelt by the water she saw puffy, discolored corpses of frogs, salamanders, and turtles. Something had killed every living thing in the water.

It had to be poison. Nothing else could kill so many animals so quickly. And that meant the poison had to be in the water—and all the canals in Arlong were interconnected—which meant that perhaps every drinking source in Arlong was now tainted . . .

But why would anyone from Dragon Province poison the water? For a minute Rin stood there stupidly, thinking, assuming that it must have been someone from within the province itself. She didn’t want to consider the alternative, which was that the poison came from upriver, because that would mean . . .

“Rin! Fuck—Rin!”

Ramsa tugged at her arm. “You need to see this.”

She ran with him to the end of the pier, where the Cike were huddled around a dark mass on the planks. A massive fish? A bundle of clothes? No—a man, she saw that now, but the figure was hardly human.

It stretched a pale, skeletal hand toward her. “Altan . . .”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Aratsha?”

She had never before seen him in his human form. He was an emaciated man, covered from head to toe in barnacles embedded in blue-white skin. The lower half of his face was concealed by a scraggly beard so littered with sea worms and small fish that it was difficult to parse out the human bits of him.

She tried to slide her arms beneath him to help him up, but pieces of him kept coming away in her hands. A clump of shells, a stick of bone, and then something crackly and powdery that crumbled to nothing in her fingers. She tried not to push him away in disgust. “Can you speak?”

Aratsha made a strangled noise. At first she thought he was choking on his own spit, but then frothy liquid the color of curdled milk bubbled out the sides of his mouth.

“Altan,” he repeated.

“I’m not Altan.” She reached for Aratsha’s hand. Was that something she should do? It felt like something she should do. Something comforting and kind. Something a commander would do.

But Aratsha didn’t seem to even notice. His skin had gone from bluish white to a horrible violet color in seconds. She could see his veins pulsing beneath, a sludgy, inky black.

“Ahh, Altan,” said Aratsha. “I should have told you.”

He smelled of seawater and rot. Rin wanted to vomit.

“What?” she whispered.

He peered up at her through milky eyes. They were filmy like the eyes of a fish at market, oddly unfocused, staring out at two sides like he’d spent so long in the water that he didn’t know what to make of the things on land.

He murmured something under his breath, something too quiet and garbled for her to decipher. She thought she heard a whisper that sounded like “misery.” Then Aratsha disintegrated in her hands, flesh bubbling into water, until all that was left was sand, shells, and a pearl necklace.

“Fuck,” Ramsa said. “That’s gross.”

“Shut up,” Baji said.

Suni wailed loudly and buried his head in his hands. No one comforted him.

Rin stared numbly at the necklace.

We should bury him, she thought. That was proper, wasn’t it?

Should she be grieving? She couldn’t feel grief. She kept waiting to feel something, but it never hit, and it never would. This was not an acute loss, not the kind that had left her catatonic after Altan’s death. She had barely known Aratsha; she’d just given him orders and he had obeyed, without question, loyal to the Cike until the day he died.

No, what sickened her was that she felt disappointed, irritated that now that Aratsha was gone they didn’t have a shaman who could control the river. All he’d ever been to her was an immensely useful chess piece, and now she couldn’t use him anymore.

“What’s going on?” Nezha asked, panting. He’d just arrived.

Rin stood up and brushed the sand off her hands. “We lost a man.”

He looked down at the mess on the pier, visibly confused. “Who?”

“One of the Cike. Aratsha. He’s always in the water. Whatever hit the fish must have hit him, too.”

“Fuck,” Nezha said. “Were they targeting him?”

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “That’s a lot of trouble for one shaman.”

This couldn’t be about just one man. Fish were floating dead across the entire harbor. Whoever had poisoned Aratsha had meant to poison the entire river.

The Cike were not the target. The Dragon Province was.

Because yes, Su Daji was that crazy. Daji was a woman who had welcomed the Federation into her territory to keep her throne. She would easily poison the southern provinces, would readily sentence millions to starvation, to keep the rest of her empire intact.

“How many troops?” Vaisra demanded.

All of them were crammed into the office—Captain Eriden, the Warlords, the Hesperians, and a smattering of whatever ranked officers were available. Decorum did not matter. The room had turned into a din of frantic shouting. Everyone spoke at once.

“We haven’t counted the men who haven’t made it to the infirmary—”

“Is it in the aquifers?”

“We have to shut down the fish markets—”

Vaisra shouted over the noise. “How many?”

“Almost the entire First Brigade has been hospitalized,” said one of the physicians. “The poison was meant to affect the wildlife. It’s weaker on men.”

“It’s not fatal?”

“We don’t think so. We’re hoping to see full recovery in a few days.”

“Is Daji insane?” General Hu asked. “This is suicide. This doesn’t just affect us, it kills everything that the Murui touches.”

“The north doesn’t care,” Vaisra said. “They’re upstream.”

“But that means they’d need a constant source of poison,” said Eriden. “They’d have to introduce the agent to the stream daily. And it can’t be as far as the Autumn Palace, or they screw over their own allies.”

“Hare Province?” Nezha suggested.

“That’s impossible,” Jinzha said. “Their army is pathetic; they barely have defense capabilities. They’d never strike first.”

“If they’re pathetic, then they’d do whatever Daji told them.”

“Are we sure it’s Daji?” Takha asked.

“Who else would it be?” Tsolin demanded. He turned to Vaisra. “This is the answer to your blockade. Daji’s weakening you before she strikes. I wouldn’t wait around to see what she does next.”

Jinzha banged a fist on the table. “I told you, we should have sailed up a week ago.”

“With whose troops?” Vaisra asked coolly.

Jinzha’s cheeks turned a bright red. But Vaisra wasn’t looking at his son. Rin realized his remarks were meant for General Tarcquet.

The Hesperians had been watching silently at the back of the room, expressions impassive, standing with their arms crossed and lips pursed like teachers observing a classroom of unruly students. Every so often Sister Petra would scratch something into the writing pad she carried around everywhere, her lips curled in amusement. Rin wanted to hit her.

“This neutralizes our blockade,” Tsolin said. “We can’t wait any longer.”

“But water moves steadily out to sea,” said Lady Saikhara. “You never step in the same stream twice. In a matter of days the poisonous agent should have washed out into Omonod Bay, and we’ll be fine.” She looked imploringly around the table for someone to agree. “Shouldn’t it?”

“But it’s not just the fish.” Kitay’s voice was a strangled whisper. He said it again, and this time the room fell quiet when he spoke. “It’s not just the fish. It’s the entire country. The Murui supplies tributaries to all of the major southern regions. We’re talking about all agricultural irrigation channels. Rice paddies. The water doesn’t stop flowing there; it stays, it lingers. We are talking about massive crop failure.”

“But the granaries,” Lady Saikhara said. “Every province has stockpiled grain for lean years, yes? We could requisition those.”

“And leave the south to eat what?” Kitay countered. “You force the south to give up their grain stores, and you’re going to start bleeding allies. We don’t have food, we don’t even have water—”

“We have water,” Saikhara said. “We’ve tested the aquifers, they’re untouched. The wells are fine.”

“Fine,” said Kitay. “Then you’ll just starve to death.”

“What about them?” Charouk jabbed a finger in Tarcquet’s direction. “They can’t send us food aid?”

Tarcquet raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at Vaisra.

Vaisra sighed. “The Consortium will not make investments until they feel better assured of our chances at victory.”

There was a pause. The entire council looked toward General Tarcquet. The Warlords wore uniform expressions of desperate, pathetic, pleading hope. Sister Petra continued to scratch at her writing pad.

Nezha broke the silence. He spoke in deliberate, unaccented Hesperian. “Millions of people are going to die, sir.”

Tarcquet shrugged. “Then you’d better get this campaign started, hadn’t you?”

The Empress’s ploy had the effect of setting fire to an anthill. Arlong erupted in a frenzy of activity, finally triggering battle plans that had been in place for months.

A war over ideology had suddenly become a war of resources. Now that waiting out the Empire was clearly no longer an option, the southern Warlords had no choice but to donate their troops to Vaisra’s northern campaign.

Executive orders went out to generals, then filtered down through commanders to squadron leaders to soldiers. Within minutes Rin had orders to report to the Fourteenth Brigade on the Swallow, departing in two hours from Pier Three.

“Nice, you’re in the first fleet,” Nezha said. “With me.”

“Joyous day.” She stuffed a change of uniform into a bag and hoisted it over her shoulder.

He reached over to ruffle her hair. “Look alive, little soldier. You’re finally getting what you wanted.”

En route to the pier they dodged through a maze of wagons carrying hemp, jute, lime for caulking, tung oil, and sailing cloth. The entire city smelled and sounded like a shipyard; it echoed everywhere with the same faint, low groan, the noise of dozens of massive ships detaching their anchors, paddle wheels beginning to turn.

“Move!” A wagon driven by Hesperian soldiers narrowly missed running them over. Nezha pulled Rin to the side.

“Assholes,” he muttered.

Rin’s eyes followed the Hesperians to the warships. “I guess we’ll finally get to see Tarcquet’s golden troops in action.”

“Actually, no. Tarcquet’s only bringing a skeleton platoon. The rest are staying in Arlong.”

“Then why are they even going?”

“Because they’re here to observe. They want to know if we’re capable of coming close to winning this war, and if we are, if we’re capable of running this country effectively. Tarcquet told Father some babble about stages of human evolution last night, but I think they really just want to see if we’re worth the trouble. Everything Jinzha does gets reported to Tarcquet. Everything Tarcquet sees goes back to the Consortium. And the Consortium decides when they want to lend their ships.”

“We can’t take this Empire without them, and they won’t help us until we take the Empire.” Rin made a face. “Those are the terms?”

“Not quite. They’ll intervene before this war is over, once they’re sure it isn’t a lost cause. They’re willing to tip the scales, but we have to prove first that we can pull our own weight.”

“So just another fucking test,” Rin said.

Nezha sighed. “More or less, yes.”

The sheer arrogance, Rin thought. It must be nice, possessing all the power, so that you could approach geopolitics like a chess game, popping in curiously to observe which countries deserved your aid and which didn’t.

“Is Petra coming with us?” she asked.

“No. She’ll stay on Jinzha’s ship.” Nezha hesitated. “But, ah, Father told me to make it clear that your meetings resume as usual when we rejoin my brother’s fleet.”

“Even on campaign?”

“They’re most interested in you on campaign. Petra promised it wouldn’t be much. An hour every week, as agreed.”

“It doesn’t sound like much to you,” Rin muttered. “You’ve never been someone’s lab rat.”

Three fleets were preparing to sail out from the Red Cliffs. The first, commanded by Jinzha, would go up the Murui through the center of Hare Province, the agricultural heartland of the north. The second fleet, led by Tsolin and General Hu, would race up the rugged coastline around Snake Province to destroy Tiger Province ships before they could be deployed inland to fend off the main vanguard.

Combined, they were to squeeze the northeastern provinces between the inland attack and the coast. Daji would be forced to fight an enemy on two fronts, and both over water—a terrain the Militia had never been comfortable with.

In terms of sheer manpower, the Republic was still outnumbered. The Militia had tens of thousands of men on the Republican Army. But if Vaisra’s fleet did its job, and if the Hesperians kept their word, there was a good chance they might win this war.

“Guys! Wait!”

“Oh, shit,” Nezha muttered.

Rin turned around to see Venka running barefoot down the pier toward them. She clutched a crossbow to her chest.

Nezha cleared his throat as Venka came to a halt in front of him. “Uh, Venka, this isn’t a good time.”

“Just take this,” Venka panted. She passed the crossbow into Rin’s hands. “I took it from my father’s workshop. Latest model. Reloads automatically.”

Nezha shot Rin an uncomfortable glance. “This isn’t really—”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Venka asked. She ran her fingers over the body. “See this? Intricate trigger latch mechanism. We finally figured out how to get it to work; this is just the prototype but I think it’s ready—”

“We’re boarding in minutes,” Nezha interrupted. “What do you want?”

“Take me with you,” Venka said bluntly.

Rin noticed Venka had a pack strapped to her back, but she didn’t have a uniform.

“Absolutely not,” Nezha said.

Venka’s cheeks reddened. “Why not? I’m all better now.”

“You can’t even bend your left arm.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Rin said. “Not if she’s firing a crossbow.”

“Are you insane?” Nezha demanded. “She can’t run around with a crossbow that big; she’ll be exhausted—”

“Then we’ll mount it on the ship,” Rin said. “And she’ll be removed from the heat of the battle. She’ll need protection between rounds to reload, so she’ll be surrounded by a unit of archers. It’ll be safe.”

Venka looked triumphantly at Nezha. “What she said.”

“Safe?” Nezha echoed, incredulous.

“Safer than the rest of us,” Rin amended.

“But she’s not done . . .” Nezha looked Venka up and down, hesitating, clearly at a loss for the right words. “You’re not done, uh . . .”

“Healing?” Venka asked. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Venka, please.”

“How long did you think I’d need? I’ve been sitting on my ass for months. Come on, please, I’m ready.”

Nezha looked helplessly at Rin, as if hoping she’d make the entire situation dissipate. But what did he expect her to say? Rin didn’t even understand the problem.

“There has to be room on the ships,” she said. “Let her go.”

“That’s not your call. She could die out there.”

“Occupational hazard,” Venka shot back. “We’re soldiers.”

“You are not a soldier.”

“Why not? Because of Golyn Niis?” Venka barked out a laugh. “You think once you’re raped you can’t be a soldier?”

Nezha shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it is. Even if you won’t say it, that’s what you’re thinking!” Venka’s voice rose steadily in pitch. “You think that because they raped me, I’m never going to go back to normal.”

Nezha reached for her shoulder. “Meimei. Come on.”

Meimei. Little sister. Not by blood, but by virtue of the closeness of their families. He was trying to invoke his ritual concern for her to dissuade her from going. “What happened to you was horrible. Nobody blames you. Nobody here agrees with your father, or my mother—”

“I know that!” Venka shouted. “I don’t give a shit about that!”

Nezha looked pained. “I can’t protect you out there.”

“And when have you ever protected me?” Venka slapped his hand away from her shoulder. “Do you know what I thought when I was in that house? I kept hoping someone might come for me, I really thought someone was coming for me. And where the fuck were you? Nowhere. So fuck you, Nezha. You can’t keep me safe, so you might as well let me fight.”

“Yes, I can,” Nezha said. “I’m a general. Go back. Or I’ll have someone drag you back.”

Venka grabbed the crossbow back from Rin and pointed it at Nezha. A bolt whizzed out, narrowly missed Nezha’s cheek, and embedded itself into a post several feet behind his head, where it quivered in the wood, humming loudly.

“You missed,” Nezha said calmly.

Venka tossed the crossbow on the pier and spat at Nezha’s feet. “I never miss.”

Captain Salkhi of the Swallow stood waiting for the Cike at the base of the gangplank. She was a lean, petite woman with closely cropped hair, narrow eyes, and pinkish-brown skin—not the dusky tint of a southerner, but the tanned hue of a pale northerner who had spent too much time in the sun.

“I’m assuming I’m to treat you lot as I would any other soldiers,” she said. “Can you handle ground operations?”

“We’ll be fine,” said Rin. “I’ll walk you through their specialties.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Salkhi paused. “And what about you? Eriden told me about your, ah, problem.”

“I’ve still got two arms and two legs.”

“And she has a trident,” Kitay said, walking up behind her. “Very helpful for catching fish.”

Rin turned around, pleasantly surprised. “You’re coming with us?”

“It’s either your ship or Nezha’s. And frankly, he and I have been getting on each other’s nerves.”

“That’s mostly your fault,” she said.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he said. “Don’t care. Besides, I like you better. Aren’t you flattered?”

That was about as close to a peace offering from Kitay as she was going to get. Rin grinned. Together they boarded the Swallow.

The vessel was no multidecked warship. This was a sleek, tiny model, similar in build to an opium skimmer. A single row of cannons armed it on each side, but no trebuchets mounted its decks. Rin, who had gotten used to the amenities of the Seagrim, found the Swallow uncomfortably cramped.

The Swallow belonged to the first fleet, one of seven light, fast skimmers capable of tight tactical maneuvers. They would sail ahead two weeks in advance while the heavier fleet commanded by Jinzha prepared to ship out.

During that time they would be cut off from the chain of command at Arlong.

That didn’t matter. Their instructions were short and simple: find the source of the poison, destroy it, and punish every last man involved. Vaisra hadn’t specified how. He’d left that up to the captains, which was why everyone wanted to get to them first.