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“Only once a year,” said Baji. “Accidentally, in his sleep.”
“Come on,” Unegen said, though he was also smiling. “He’s a good commander.”
“He is a good commander,” Suni agreed. “Better than Tyr.”
Suni’s gentle voice surprised Rin. When he was free of his god, Suni was remarkably quiet, almost timid, and he spoke only after ponderous deliberation.
Rin watched him sitting calmly before the fire. His broad features were relaxed and placid; he seemed utterly at ease with himself. She wondered when he would next lose control and fall prey to that screaming voice in his mind. He was so terrifyingly strong—he had broken men apart in his hands like eggs. He killed so well and so efficiently.
He could have killed Altan. Three nights ago in the mess hall Suni could have broken Altan’s neck as easily as he would wring a chicken’s. The thought made her dry-mouthed with fear.
And she wondered at how Altan had known this and had crossed the distance to Suni anyway, had placed his life completely in the hands of his subordinate.
Baji had somehow extracted a bottle of sorghum spirits from one of the many warehouses of Khurdalain. They passed it around the circle. They had just scored a major combat victory; they could afford to be off guard for just one night.
“Hey, Rin.” Ramsa rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin up on his hands.
“Yeah?”
“Does this mean the Speerlies aren’t extinct after all?” he inquired. “Are you and Altan going to make babies and repopulate the Speerly race?”
Qara snorted loudly. Unegen spat out a mouthful of sorghum wine.
Rin turned bright red. “Not likely,” she said.
“Why not? You don’t like Altan?”
The cheeky little shit. “No, I mean I can’t,” she said. “I can’t have children.”
“Why not?” Ramsa pressed.
“I had my womb destroyed at the Academy,” she said. She hugged her knees up to her chest. “It was, um, interfering with my training.”
Ramsa looked so bewildered then that Rin burst out laughing. Qara snickered into her canteen.
“What?” Ramsa asked, indignant.
“I’ll tell you one day,” Baji promised. He’d imbibed twice as much wine as the rest of them; he was already slurring his words together. “When your balls have dropped.”
“My balls have dropped.”
“When your voice drops, then.”
They passed the bottle around in silence for a moment. Now that the frenzy at the marsh was over, the Cike seemed diminished somehow, like they had been animated only by the presence of their gods, and now in the gods’ absence they were empty, shells that lacked vitality.
They seemed eminently human—vulnerable and breakable.
“So you’re the last of your kind,” said Suni after a short silence. “That’s sad.”
“I guess.” Rin poked a stick at the fire. She still didn’t feel quite acclimated to her new identity. She had no memories of Speer, no real attachments to it. The only time she felt like being a Speerly meant something was when she was with Altan. “Everything about Speer is sad.”
“It’s that idiot queen’s fault,” said Unegen. “They never would have died off if Tearza hadn’t stabbed herself.”
“She didn’t stab herself,” said Ramsa. “She burned to death. Imploded from inside. Boom.” He spread his fingers in the air.
“Why did she kill herself?” Rin asked. “I never understood that story.”
“In the version I heard, she was in love with the Red Emperor,” said Baji. “He comes to her island, and she’s immediately besotted with him. He turns around and threatens to invade the island if Speer doesn’t become a tributary state. And she’s so distraught at his betrayal that she flees to her temple and kills herself.”
Rin wrinkled her nose. Every version she heard of the myth made Tearza seem more and more stupid.
“It is not a love story.” Qara spoke up from her corner for the first time. Their eyes flickered toward her with mild surprise.
“That myth is Nikara propaganda,” she continued flatly. “The story of Tearza was modeled on the myth of Han Ping, because the story makes for a better telling than the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” asked Rin.
“You don’t know?” Qara fixed Rin with a somber gaze. “Speerlies especially ought to know.”
“Obviously I don’t. So how would you tell it?”
“I would tell it not as a love story, but as a story of gods and humans.” Qara’s voice dropped to such a low volume that the Cike had to lean in to hear her. “They say Tearza could have called the Phoenix and saved the isle. They say that if Tearza had summoned the flames, Nikan never would have been able to annex Speer. They say that if she wanted to, Tearza could have summoned such a power that the Red Emperor and his armies would not have dared set foot on Speer, not for a thousand years.”
Qara paused. She did not take her eyes off Rin.
“And then?” Rin pressed.
“Tearza refused,” Qara said. “She said the independence of Speer did not warrant the sacrifice the Phoenix demanded. The Phoenix declared that Tearza had broken her vows as the ruler of Speer, and so it punished her for it.”
Rin was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Do you think she was right?”
Qara shrugged. “I think Tearza was wise. And I think that she was a bad ruler. Shamans should know when to resist the power of the gods. That is wisdom. But rulers should do everything in their power to save their country. That is responsibility. If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own. Once you accept the title of ruler, your choices are made for you. In those days, to rule Speer meant serving the Phoenix. Speer used to be a proud race. A free people. When Tearza killed herself, the Speerlies became little more than the Emperor’s mad dogs. Tearza has the blood of Speer on her hands. Tearza deserved what she got.”
When Altan returned from reporting to the Warlords, most of the Cike had drifted off to sleep. Rin remained awake, staring at the flickering bonfire.
“Hey,” he said, and sat down next to her. He smelled of smoke.
She drew her knees up to her chest and tilted her head sideways to look at him. “How’d they take it?”
Altan smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him smile since they came to Khurdalain. “They couldn’t believe it. How are you doing?”
“Embarrassed,” she said frankly, “and still a little high.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. His smile disappeared. “What happened?”
“Couldn’t concentrate,” she said. Got scared. Held off. Did everything you told me not to do.
Altan looked faintly puzzled, and more than a little disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice.
“No, it’s my fault.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I threw you into combat before you were ready. At the Night Castle, you would have trained for months before we put you in the field.”
This was meant to make her feel better, but Rin only felt ashamed.
