The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  She wondered if he had done this before with Altan.

  “She’ll be all right,” Suni said.

  Rin looked up to see who he was talking to, and saw Vaisra standing in the shadows.

  It couldn’t have taken him long to respond to the soldiers’ calls. Had he been there the entire time, watching without speaking?

  “I heard you came out to get some air,” he said.

  She wiped vomit off her cheek with the back of her hand. Vaisra’s gaze flickered to her stained clothing and back to her face. She couldn’t read his expression.

  “I’ll be okay,” she whispered.

  “Will you?”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Suni said.

  A brief pause. Vaisra gave Suni a curt nod.

  After another moment Suni helped her up and walked her back to her cabin. He kept one arm around her shoulders, warm, solid, comforting. The ship rocked against a particularly violent wave, and she staggered into his side.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” Suni said. “And don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

  Five days later the Seagrim sailed over a submerged town. At first when Rin saw the tops of buildings emerging from the river she thought they were driftwood, or rocks. Then they got close enough that she could see the curving roofs of drowned pagodas, thatched houses lying under the surface. An entire village peeked up at her through river silt.

  Then she saw the bodies—half-eaten, bloated and discolored, all with empty sockets because the glutinous eyes had already been nibbled away. They blocked up the river, decomposing at such a rate that the crew had to sweep away the maggots that threatened to climb on board.

  Sailors lined up at the prow to shift bodies aside with long poles to make way for the ship. The corpses started piling up on the river’s sides. Every few hours sailors had to climb down and drag them into a pile before the Seagrim could move—a duty the crew drew lots for with dread.

  “What happened here?” Rin asked. “Did the Murui run its banks?”

  “No. Dam breach.” Nezha looked pale with fury. “Daji had the dam destroyed to flood the Murui river valley.”

  That wasn’t Daji. Rin knew whose handiwork this was.

  But did no one else know?

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  “Sure. It took out the Federation contingents in the north. Holed them up long enough for the northern Divisions to make mincemeat out of them. But then the floodwaters caught several hundred villages, which makes several thousand people who don’t have homes now.” Nezha made a fist. “How does a ruler do this? To her own people?”

  “How do you know it was her?” Rin asked cautiously.

  “Who else could it be? Something that big had to be an order from above. Right?”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Who else would it be?”

  Rin found the twins sitting together at the stern of the ship. They were perched on the railing, staring down at the wreckage trailing behind them. When they saw Rin approaching, they both jumped down and turned around, regarding her warily, as if they knew exactly why she had come.

  “So how does it feel?” Rin asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chaghan said.

  “You did it, too,” she said gleefully. “It wasn’t just me.”

  “Go back to sleep,” he said.

  “Thousands of people!” she crowed. “Drowned like ants! Are you proud?”

  Qara turned her head away, but Chaghan lifted his chin indignantly. “I did what Altan ordered.”

  That made her screech with laughter. “Me too! I was just acting on orders! He said I had to get vengeance for the Speerlies, and so I did, so it’s not my fault, because Altan said—”

  “Shut up,” Chaghan snapped. “Listen—Vaisra thinks that Daji ordered the opening of those dikes.”

  She was still giggling. “So does Nezha.”

  He looked alarmed. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, obviously. I’m not stupid.”

  “You can’t tell anyone the truth,” Qara cut in. “Nobody in the Dragon Republic can know.”

  Of course Rin understood that. She knew how dangerous it would be to give the Dragon Army a reason to turn on the Cike. But in that moment all she could think of was how terribly funny it was that she wasn’t the only one with mass murder on her hands.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell. I’ll be the only monster. Just me.”

  The twins looked stricken, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She wondered how it had felt, the moment before the wave hit. The civilians might have been making dinner, playing outside, putting their children to bed, telling stories, making love, before a crushing force of water swept over their homes, destroyed their villages, and snuffed out their lives.

  This was what the balance of power looked like now. People like her waved a hand and millions were crushed within the confines of some elemental disaster, flung off the chessboard of the world like irrelevant pieces. People like her—shamans, all of them—were like children stomping around over entire cities as if they were mud castles, glass houses, fungible entities that could be targeted and demolished.

  On the seventh morning after they’d left Ankhiluun, the pain receded.

  She woke up without a fever. No headache. She took a hesitant step toward the door and was pleasantly surprised at how steady her feet felt on the floor, how the world didn’t whirl and shift around her. She opened the door, wandered out onto the upper deck, and was stunned by how good the river spray felt on her face.

  Her senses felt sharper. Colors seemed brighter. She could smell things she hadn’t before. The world seemed to exist with a vibrancy that she hadn’t been aware of.

  And then she realized that she had her mind to herself.

  The Phoenix wasn’t gone. She felt the god lingering still at the forefront of her mind, whispering tales of destruction, trying to control her desires.

  But this time she knew what she wanted.

  And she wanted control.

  She’d been victim to the god’s urges because she’d been keeping her own mind weak, dousing away the flame with a temporary and unsustainable solution. But now her head was clear, her mind was present—and when the Phoenix screamed, she could shut it down.

  She requested to see Vaisra. He sent for her within minutes.

  He was alone in his office when she arrived.

  “You’re not afraid of me?” she asked.

  “I trust you,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “Then I trust you more than you trust yourself.” He was acting like an entirely different person. The harsh persona was gone. His voice sounded so gentle, so encouraging that she was suddenly reminded of Tutor Feyrik.

  She hadn’t thought about Tutor Feyrik in a long time.

  She hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

  Vaisra leaned back in his chair. “Go on, then. Try calling the fire for me. Just a little bit.”

  She opened her hand and focused her eyes on her palm. She recalled the rage, felt the heat of it coil in the pit of her stomach. But this time it didn’t come all at once in an uncontrollable torrent, but manifested as a slow, angry burn.

  A small burst of flame erupted in her palm. And it was just the burst; no more, no less, though she could increase its size, or if she wanted to, force it even smaller.

  She closed her eyes, breathing slowly; cautiously she raised the flame higher and higher, a single ribbon of fire swaying over her hand like a reed, until Vaisra commanded her, “Stop.”

  She closed her fist. The fire went out.

  Only afterward did she realize how fast her heart was beating.

  “Are you all right?” Vaisra asked.

  She managed a nod.

  A smile spread over his face. He looked more than pleased. He looked proud. “Do it again. Make it bigger. Brighter. Shape it for me.”

  She reeled. “I can’t. I
don’t have that much control.”

  “You can. Don’t think about the Phoenix. Look at me.”

  She met his eyes. His gaze was an anchor.

  A fire sparked out of her fist. She shaped it with trembling hands until it took on the image of a dragon, coils undulating in the space between her and Vaisra, making the air shimmer with the heat of the blaze.

  More, said the Phoenix. Bigger. Higher.

  Its screams pushed at the edge of her mind. She tried to shut it down.

  The fire didn’t recede.

  She started to shake. “No, I can’t—I can’t, you have to get out—”

  “Don’t think about it,” Vaisra whispered. “Look at me.”

  Slowly, so faintly she was afraid she was imagining it, the red behind her eyelids subsided.

  The fire disappeared. She collapsed to her knees.

  “Good girl,” Vaisra said softly.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, rocked back and forth on the floor, and tried to remember how to breathe.

  “May I show you something?” Vaisra asked.

  She looked up. He crossed the room to a cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a cloth-covered parcel. She flinched when he jerked the cloth off, but all she saw underneath was the dull sheen of metal.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  But she already knew. She would recognize this weapon anywhere. She had spent hours gazing upon that steel, the metal etched with evidence of countless battles. It was metal all the way through, even at the hilt, which would normally be made of wood, because Speerlies needed weapons that wouldn’t burn through when they held them.

  Rin felt a sudden light-headedness that had nothing to do with opium withdrawal and everything to do with the sudden and terribly vivid memory of Altan Trengsin walking down the pier to his death.

  A harsh sob rose in her throat. “Where did you get that?”

  “My men recovered it from the Chuluu Korikh.” Vaisra bent down and held the trident out before her. “I thought you might want to have it.”

  She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “You—why were you there?”

  “You’ve got to stop thinking I know less than I do. We were looking for Altan. He would have been, ah, useful.”

  She snorted through her tears. “You think Altan would have joined you?”

  “I think Altan wanted any opportunity to rebuild this Empire.”

  “Then you don’t know anything about him.”

  “I knew his people,” Vaisra said. “I led the soldiers that liberated him from the research facility, and I helped train him when he was old enough to fight. Altan would have fought for this Republic.”

  She shook her head. “No, Altan just wanted to make things burn.”

  She reached out, grasped the trident, and hefted it in her hands. It felt awkward in her fingers, too heavy at the front and oddly light near the back. Altan had been much taller than she, and the weapon seemed too long for her to wield comfortably.

  It couldn’t function like a sword. It was no good for lateral blows. This trident had to be wielded surgically. Killing strikes only.

  She held it away from her. “I shouldn’t have this.”

  “Why not?”

  She barely got the words out, she was crying so hard. “Because I’m not him.”

  Because I should have died, and he should be alive and standing here.

  “No, you’re not.” Vaisra continued to stroke her hair with one hand, though he’d already smoothed it behind her ears. The other hand closed over her fingers, pressing them harder around the cool metal. “You’ll be better.”

  When Rin was sure she could stomach solid food without vomiting, she joined Nezha abovedeck for her first actual meal in more than a week.

  “Don’t choke.” Nezha sounded amused.

  She was too busy ripping apart a steamed bun to respond. She didn’t know if the food on deck was ridiculously good, or if she was just so famished that it tasted like the best thing she’d ever eaten.

  “It’s a pretty day,” he said while she swallowed.

  She made a muffled noise in agreement. The first few days she hadn’t been able to bear standing outside in the direct sunlight. Now that her eyes no longer burned, she could look out over the bright water without wincing.

  “Kitay’s still sulking?” she asked.

  “He’ll come around,” Nezha said. “He’s always been stubborn.”

  “That’s putting it lightly.”

  “Have a little sympathy. Kitay never wanted to be a soldier. He spent half his time wishing he’d gone to Yuelu Mountain, not Sinegard. He’s an academic at heart, not a fighter.”

  Rin remembered. All Kitay had ever wanted to do was be a scholar, go to the academy at Yuelu Mountain, and study science, or astronomy, or whatever struck his fancy at the moment. But he was the only son of the defense minister to the Empress, so his fate had been carved out before he was even born.

  “That’s sad,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t have to be a soldier unless you want to.”

  Nezha rested his chin on his hand. “Did you want to?”

  She hesitated.

  Yes. No. She hadn’t thought there was anything else for her. She hadn’t thought it mattered if she wanted to.

  “I used to be scared of war,” she finally said. “Then I realized I was very good at it. And I’m not sure I’d be good at anything else.”

  Nezha nodded silently, gazing out at the river, pulling mindlessly at his steamed bun without eating it.

  “How’s your . . . uh . . .” Nezha gestured toward his temples.

  “Good. I’m good.”

  For the first time she felt as if she had a handle on her anger. She could think. She could breathe. The Phoenix was still there, looming in the back of her mind, ready to burst into flame if she called it—but only if she called it.

  She looked down to discover the steamed bun was gone. Her fingers were clutching nothing. Her stomach reacted to this by growling.

  “Here,” Nezha said. He handed her his somewhat mangled bun. “Have mine.”

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite right now. And you look emaciated.”

  “I’m not taking your food.”

  “Eat,” he insisted.

  She took a bite. It slid thickly down her throat and settled in her stomach with a wonderful heaviness. She hadn’t been so full for such a long time.

  “How’s your face?” Nezha asked.

  She touched her cheek. Sharp twinges of pain lanced through her lower face whenever she spoke. The bruise had blossomed while the opium seeped out of her system, as if one had to trade off with the other.

  “It feels like it’s just getting worse,” she said.

  “Nah. You’ll be fine. Father doesn’t hit hard enough to injure.”

  They sat awhile in silence. Rin watched fish jumping out of the water, leaping and flailing as if begging to be caught.

  “And your face?” she asked. “Does it still hurt?”

  In certain lights Nezha’s scars looked like angry red lines someone had carved all over his face. In other lights they looked like a delicately painted crosshatch of brush ink.

  “It hurt for a long time. Now I just can’t feel anything.”

  “What if I touched you?” She was struck by the urge to run her thumb over his scars. To caress them.

  “I wouldn’t feel that, either.” Nezha’s fingers drifted to his cheek. “I suppose it scares people, though. Father makes me wear the mask whenever I’m around civilians.”

  “I thought you were just being vain.”

  Nezha smiled but didn’t laugh. “That too.”

  Rin ripped large chunks from the steamed bun and barely chewed before swallowing.

  Nezha reached out and touched her hair. “That’s a good look on you. Nice to see your eyes again.”

  She’d shorn her hair close to her head. Not until she’d seen her discarded locks on the floo
r had she realized how disgusting it had become; the scraggly tendrils had grown out greasy and tangled, a nesting site for lice. Her hair was shorter than Nezha’s now, close-cropped and clean. It made her feel like a student again.

  “Has Kitay eaten anything?” she asked.

  Nezha shifted uncomfortably. “No. Still hiding in his room. We don’t keep it locked, but he won’t come out.”

  She frowned. “If he’s that furious, then why don’t you let him go?”

  “Because we’d rather have him on our side.”

  “Then why not just use him as leverage against his father? Trade him as a hostage?”

  “Because Kitay’s a resource,” Nezha said frankly. “You know the way his mind works. It’s not a secret. He knows most things and he remembers everything. He has a better grasp on strategy than anyone should. My father likes to keep his best pieces around for as long as he can. Besides, his father was at Sinegard before they abandoned it. There’s no guarantee he’s alive.”

  “Oh” was all she could say. She looked down and realized that she had finished Nezha’s bun, too.

  He laughed. “You think you can handle something more than bread?”

  She nodded. He signaled for a servant, who disappeared into the cabin and reemerged a few minutes later with a bowl that smelled so good that a disgusting amount of saliva filled Rin’s mouth.

  “This is a delicacy near the coast,” Nezha said. “We call it the wawa fish.”

  “Why?” she asked through a full mouth.

  Nezha turned it over with his chopsticks, deftly separating the white flesh from the spine. “Because of the way it shrieks. Flails in the water crying like a baby with a rash. Sometimes the cooks boil them to death just for fun. Didn’t you hear it in the galley?”

  Rin’s stomach turned. “I thought there might be a baby on board.”

  “Aren’t they hilarious?” Nezha picked up a slice and put it in her bowl. “Try it. Father loves them.”

  Chapter 8

  “If you have an open shot at Daji, take it.” Captain Eriden jabbed the blunt end of his spear at Rin’s head as he spoke. “Don’t give her a chance to seduce you.”

  She ducked the first blow. The second whacked her on the nose. She shook off the pain, winced, and readjusted her stance. She narrowed her eyes at Eriden’s legs, trying to predict his movements by watching only his lower body.