The Dragon Republic

by R. F. Kuang

  She gave him a wary look. “What?”

  “You’ve known Nezha for a few years,” he said. “You met him when he’d perfected his masks and pretensions. But I’ve known him since we were children. You think that he’s invincible, but he is more fragile than you think. Yes, I know he’s a prick. But I also know that he’d throw himself off a cliff for you. Please stop trying to break him.”

  The trial of Ang Tsolin took place the next morning on a raised dais before the palace. Republican soldiers crowded the courtyard below, wearing uniform expressions of cold resentment. Civilians had been barred from attendance. Word of Tsolin’s betrayal was common knowledge by now, but Vaisra didn’t want a riot. He didn’t want Tsolin to die in chaos. He wanted to give his old master a precise, cleanly executed death, every silent second drawn out as long as possible.

  Captain Eriden and his guards led Tsolin to the top of the platform. They’d let him keep his dignity—he was neither blindfolded nor bound. Under different circumstances he might have been receiving the highest honors.

  Vaisra met Tsolin at the center of the dais, handed him a wrapped sword, and leaned forward to murmur something into his ear.

  “What’s happening?” Rin murmured into Kitay’s ear.

  “He’s giving him the option of suicide,” Kitay explained. “A respectable end for a disgraceful traitor. But only if Tsolin confesses to and repents for his wrongs.”

  “Will he?”

  “Doubt it. Even an honorable suicide can’t overcome that kind of disgrace.”

  Tsolin and Vaisra stood still on the dais, silently regarding each other. Then Tsolin shook his head and handed the sword back.

  “Your regime is a puppet democracy,” he said aloud. “And all you have done is hand your country over to be ruled by the blue-eyed devils.”

  A murmur of unease swept through the soldiers.

  Vaisra’s eyes roved the crowd and fell on Rin. He beckoned to her with one finger.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She glanced around her, hoping he was pointing to someone else.

  “Go,” Kitay muttered.

  “What does he want with me?”

  “What do you think?”

  She blanched. “I’m not doing this.”

  He gave her a gentle nudge. “It’s best if you don’t think too much about it.”

  She shuffled forward, leaning heavily on her cane. She could still only barely walk. The worst was the pain in her lower back, because it wasn’t localized. The node seemed connected to every muscle in her body—every time she took a step or moved her arms, she felt like she’d been stabbed.

  The soldiers parted to clear her a path to the platform. She ascended with slow, shaking steps. Every step pulled painfully at the stitches in her lower back.

  Finally she stopped before the Snake Warlord. He met her gaze with tired eyes. Even now, even when he was completely at her mercy, he still looked like he pitied her.

  “A puppet to the end,” Tsolin whispered, so softly that only she could hear. “When are you going to learn?”

  “I’m not a puppet,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I thought you might be the smart one. But you let him take everything he needed from you and just rolled over like a whore.”

  She would have responded, but Vaisra spoke over her.

  “Do it,” he said coldly.

  She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She knew what he wanted from her. Right now, unless she wanted to arouse suspicion, she needed to be Vaisra’s obedient weapon of the Republic.

  She placed her right palm on Tsolin’s chest, just over his heart, and pushed. Her curled fingers seared with flames so hot her nails went straight into his flesh as if she were clawing at soft tofu.

  Tsolin twitched and jerked but kept his mouth shut. She paused, marveling at how long he managed not to scream.

  “You’re brave,” she said.

  “You’re going to die,” he gasped. “You fool.”

  Her fingers closed around something that she thought might be his heart. She squeezed. Tsolin’s head dropped. Over his slumped shoulder, she saw Vaisra nod and smile.

  Rin wanted to get out of Arlong immediately after that. But Kitay argued, and she reluctantly agreed, that they wouldn’t make it a mile out of the channel. She still couldn’t walk properly, much less run. Her open wounds required daily checkups in the infirmary that neither of them had the medical knowledge to conduct on their own.

  They also didn’t have an escape plan. They’d heard only silence from Moag. If they left now, they’d have to travel on foot unless they could steal a riverboat, and Arlong’s dock security was too good for them to manage that.

  They had no choice other than to wait, at least until Rin had healed up enough to hold her own in a fight.

  Everything hung in a tense equilibrium. Rin received no word from Vaisra or the Hesperians. Sister Petra hadn’t summoned her for an examination in months. Rin and Kitay made no overt moves to escape. Vaisra didn’t have any reason to suspect her allegiances had shifted, so she was operating on a fairly loose leash. That gave her time to figure out her next move. She was a mouse inching closer to a trap. It would spring when she moved to escape, but only then.

  A week after Tsolin’s execution, the palace servants delivered a heavy, silk-wrapped package to her room. When she unwrapped it she found a ceremonial dress with instructions to put it on and appear on the dais in an hour.

  Rin still couldn’t lift her hands all the way over her head, so she enlisted Venka’s assistance.

  “What the fuck do I do with this?” Rin held up a loose rectangle of cloth.

  “Calm down. It’s a shawl, you drape it just under your shoulders.” Venka took the cloth from Rin and wrapped it loosely over Rin’s upper arms. “Like so. So that it flows like water, see?”

  Rin was getting too hot and frustrated to care how well her clothes flowed. She snatched up another loose rectangle that looked identical to her shawl. “Then what about this?”

  Venka blinked at her as if she were an idiot. “You tie that around your waist.”

  The biggest injustice, Rin thought, was that despite her injuries, they were still forcing her to walk in the victory parade. Vaisra had insisted it was crucial for decorum. He wanted to put on a show for the Hesperians. A display of Nikara gratitude and etiquette. Proof they were civilized.

  Rin was so tired of having to prove her humanity.

  The robe was quickly wearing down her patience. The damned thing was hot, stifling, and so tight it restricted her mobility in ways that made her breathing quicken. Putting it on required so many moving pieces she was tempted to throw the whole pile in the corner and set it on fire.

  Venka made a noise of disgust as she watched Rin fasten the sash around her waist with a quick sailor’s knot. “That looks horrendous.”

  “It’s going to come undone otherwise.”

  “There’s more than one way to tie a knot. And that’s far too loose besides. You look like you’ve been caught getting frisky with a courtier.”

  Rin pulled at the sash until it pressed into her ribs. “Like this?”

  “Tighter.”

  “But I can’t breathe.”

  “That’s the point. Stop only when it feels like your ribs are going to crack.”

  “I think my ribs have cracked. Twice over now.”

  “Then a third time can’t do much more damage.” Venka took the sash out of Rin’s hands and began retying the knot herself. “You are incredible.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “How did you come this far without learning any feminine wiles?”

  That was such an absurd phrase that Rin snorted into her sleeve. “We’re soldiers. Where did you learn feminine wiles?”

  “I’m aristocracy. My whole life my parents were determined to get me married to some minister.” Venka smirked. “They were a little miffed when I joined the military instead.”

  “They d
idn’t want you at Sinegard?” Rin asked.

  “No, they hated the idea. But I insisted on it. I wanted glory and attention. Wanted them to write stories about me. Look how that turned out.” Venka yanked the knot tight. “You have a visitor, by the way.”

  Rin turned around.

  Nezha stood in the doorway, hands dangling awkwardly by his sides. He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

  Venka patted Rin’s shoulder. “Have fun.”

  “That’s a pretty knot,” Nezha said.

  Venka winked as she flounced past him. “Even prettier on the wearer.”

  The creak as the door swung shut might have been the loudest noise Rin had ever heard.

  Nezha crossed the room to stand beside her in front of the mirror. They looked at each other in the glass. She was struck by the imbalance between them—how much taller he was, how pale his skin looked next to hers, how elegant and natural he looked in ceremonial garb.

  She looked ridiculous. He looked like he belonged.

  “You look good,” he said.

  She snorted. “Don’t lie to my face.”

  “I would never lie to you.”

  The following silence felt oppressive.

  It seemed obvious what they should be talking about, but she didn’t know how to raise the subject. She never knew how to bring things up around him. He was so unpredictable, warm one minute and cold to her the next. She never knew where she stood with him; never knew if she could trust him, and that was so damn frustrating because aside from Kitay he was the one person whom she wanted to tell everything.

  “How do you feel?” she finally asked.

  “I’ll live,” he said lightly.

  She waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

  She was terrified to say anything more. She knew a chasm had opened between them, she just didn’t know how to close it.

  “Thank you,” she tried.

  He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “You didn’t have to save me,” she said. “You didn’t have to . . . do what you did.”

  “Yes, I did.” She couldn’t tell if the lightness in his tone was forced or not. “How would it go over if I let our Speerly die?”

  “It hurt you,” she said. And I had you smoke enough opium to kill a calf. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “We’re fine.”

  But they weren’t fine. Something had shattered between them, and she was sure that it was her own fault. She just didn’t know how to make it right.

  “Okay.” She broke the silence. She couldn’t stand this anymore; she needed to flee. “I’m going to go find—”

  “Did you see her die?” Nezha asked abruptly, startling her.

  “Who?”

  “Daji. We never found a body.”

  “I gave your father my report,” she said. She’d told Vaisra and Eriden that Daji was dead, drowned, sunk at the bottom of the Murui.

  “I know what you told him. Now I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  Nezha’s voice hardened. “Don’t lie to me.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why would I lie about that?”

  “Because they haven’t found a body.”

  “I was trapped under a fucking mast, Nezha. I was too busy trying not to die to think.”

  “Then why did you tell Father that she’s dead?”

  “Because I think she is!” Rin quickly pulled an explanation out of thin air. “I saw Feylen crash that ship. I saw her fall into the water. And if you can’t find a body that just means she’s buried down there with the other ten thousand corpses clogging up your channel. What I don’t understand is why you’re acting like I’m a traitor when I just killed a god for you.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nezha sighed. “No, you’re right. I just—I want us to be able to trust each other.”

  His eyes looked so sincere. He’d really bought it.

  Rin exhaled, marveling at how narrowly she’d gotten away.

  “I’ve never lied to you.” She placed a hand on his arm. It was so easy to act. She didn’t have to fake her affection for him. It felt good to tell Nezha what he wanted to hear. “And I never will. I swear.”

  Nezha gave her a smile. A real smile. “I like when we’re on the same side.”

  “Me too,” she said, and that, finally, wasn’t a lie. How desperately she wished they could stay that way.

  The parade turnout was pathetic. That didn’t surprise Rin. In Tikany, people came out for festivals only because they bore the promise of free food and drink, but battle-wrecked Arlong didn’t have the resources to spare either. Vaisra had ordered an extra ration of rice and fish distributed across the city, but to civilians who had just lost their homes and relatives, that was little cause to celebrate.

  Rin still could only barely walk. She’d stopped using her cane, but she couldn’t move more than fifty yards without getting exhausted, and both her arms and legs were riddled by a tight, sore ache that seemed to only be getting worse.

  “We can have you ride on a sedan chair if you need,” Kitay said when she faltered on the dais.

  Rin clutched his proffered arm. “I’ll walk.”

  “But you’re hurting.”

  “Entire city’s hurting,” she said. “That’s the point.”

  She hadn’t seen the city outside the infirmary until now, and the devastation was painful to look at. The fires in the outer city had burned for nearly a day after the battle, extinguished only by rainfall. The palace remained intact, though blackened at the bottom. The lush greenery of the canal islands had been replaced by withered dead trees and ash. The infirmaries were overcrowded with the wounded. The dead lay in neat lines by the beach, awaiting a proper burial.

  Vaisra’s parade wasn’t a testament to victory, but an acknowledgment of sacrifice. Rin appreciated that. There were no gaudy musicians, no flagrant displays of wealth and power. The army walked the streets to show that they had survived. That the Republic was alive.

  Saikhara headed the procession, breathtaking in robes of cerulean and silver. Vaisra strode just behind her. His hair was streaked with far more white than it had been months ago, and he walked with just the barest hint of a limp, but even those signs of weakness seemed only to add to his dignity. He was dressed like an Emperor, and Saikhara looked like his Empress. She was their divine mother and he was their savior, father, and ruler all at once.

  Behind that celestial couple stood the entire military might of the west. Hesperian soldiers lined the streets. Hesperian dirigibles drifted slowly through the air above them. Vaisra may have promised to usher in a democratic government, but if he intended to stake his claim to the entire Empire, Rin doubted that anyone could stop him.

  “Where are the southern Warlords?” Kitay asked. He kept twisting around to get a look at the line of generals. “Haven’t seen them all day.”

  Rin searched the crowd. He was right; the Warlords were absent. She couldn’t see a single southern refugee, either.

  “Do you think they’ve left?” she asked.

  “I know they haven’t. The valleys are still full of refugee camps. I think they chose not to come.”

  “What for, a show of protest?”

  “I suppose it makes sense,” he said. “This wasn’t their victory.”

  Rin could understand that. The victory at the Red Cliffs had solved very few of the south’s problems. Southern troops had bled for a regime that only continued to treat them as a necessary sacrifice. But the Warlords were sacrificing prudence for symbolic protest. They needed Hesperian troops to clear out the Federation enclaves in their home provinces. They should have been doing their best to win back Vaisra’s favor.

  Instead, they’d made clear their loyalties, just as they had to her in that alley days ago.

  She wondered what that meant for the Republic. The south hadn’t submitted an open declaration of war. But they’d hardly demonstrated obedient cooperation, either. Would V
aisra now send those armed dirigibles to conquer Tikany?

  Rin planned to be gone long before it came to that.

  The procession culminated in a funeral rite for the dead on the riverbank. The turnout for this was much larger. A mass of civilians lined up under the cliffs. Rin couldn’t tell if the water was only reflecting the Red Cliffs, but it seemed as if the channel was still shot through with blood.

  Vaisra’s generals and admirals stood in a straight line on the beach. Ribbons on posts marked those with rank who were absent. Rin counted more ribbons than people.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of digging.” She looked out over the stacks of drenched, rotting corpses. The soldiers had spent days trawling the water for bodies, which otherwise would have poisoned the water with the foul taste of decay for years.

  “They don’t bury their dead in Arlong,” Kitay said. “They send them out to sea.”

  They watched as soldiers loaded pyramids of bodies onto rafts, then pushed them out into the water one by one. Each pyre was draped with a funeral shroud dipped in oil. At Vaisra’s command, Eriden’s men shot a barrage of flaming arrows onto the fleet of bodies. Each one found its target. The pyres caught fire with a sharp, satisfying crackle.

  “I could have done that,” Rin said.

  “It means less when you do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the only thing that makes it significant is the possibility that they don’t aim true.” Kitay nodded over her shoulder. “Look who’s here.”

  She followed his line of sight to find Ramsa, Baji, and Suni standing by the edge of the shore a little ways away from a huddle of civilians. They were looking back at her. Ramsa gave her a little wave.

  She couldn’t help grinning in relief.

  She hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to the Cike since the eve of the battle. She’d known they were all right, but they hadn’t been permitted in the infirmary, and she didn’t want to make a fuss for fear of arousing Hesperian suspicion. This might be their only chance to talk privately.

  She leaned close to murmur in Kitay’s ear. “Is anyone looking?”

  “I think you’re fine,” he said. “Hurry.”