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“So how did you manage the Seal?” Daji asked. “I was rather convinced that it was unbreakable. It can’t have been one of the twins; they would have done it long ago if they could.” She tilted her head. “Oh, no, let me guess. Did you find the Sorqan Sira? Is that old bat still alive?”
“Fuck you, murderer,” Rin said.
“I presume that means you’ve found yourself an anchor, too?” Daji’s eyes flitted toward Nezha. He wasn’t moving. “I do hope it’s not him. That one’s almost gone.”
“Don’t you dare touch him,” Rin hissed.
Daji knelt over Nezha, fingers tracing over the scars on his face. “He’s very pretty, isn’t he? Despite everything. He reminds me of Riga.”
I must get her away from him. Rin strained to move, eyes bulging, but her limbs remained fixed in place. The flame wouldn’t come, either; when she reached for the Phoenix, all her rage crashed pointlessly against her own mind, like waves crashing against cliffs.
“The Ketreyids showed me what you’ve done,” she said loudly, hoping it would distract Daji.
It worked. Daji stood up. “Really.”
“The Sorqan Sira showed us everything. You can try to convince me that you’re trying to save the Empire, but I know what kind of person you are—you betray those who help you and you throw lives away like they’re nothing. I saw you attack them, I saw you three murder Tseveri—”
“Be quiet,” Daji said. “Don’t say that name.”
Rin’s jaw locked shut.
Rin stood frozen, heart slamming against her ribs, as Daji approached her. She had just been spinning words out of the air, hurling everything she could to get Daji away from Nezha.
But something had pissed Daji off. Two high spots of color rose in her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed. She looked furious.
“The Ketreyids should have surrendered,” she said quietly. “We wouldn’t have hurt them if they weren’t so fucking stubborn.”
Daji stretched a pale hand out and ran her knuckles over Rin’s cheeks. “Always such a hypocrite. I acted from necessity, just like you. We are precisely the same, you and I. We’ve acquired more power than any mortal should have the right to, which means we have to make the decisions no one else can. The world is our chessboard. It’s not our fault if the pieces get broken.”
“You hurt everything you touch,” Rin whispered.
“And you’ve killed in numbers exponentially greater than we ever managed. What really separates us, darling? That you committed your war crimes by accident, and mine were intentional? Would you really do things differently, if you had another chance?”
The hold on Rin’s jaw loosened.
Daji had given her permission to answer.
She couldn’t say yes. She could lie, of course, but it wouldn’t matter; not here, where no one but Daji was listening, and Daji already knew the truth.
Because if she had another chance, if she could go back to that moment in time when she stood in the temple of the Phoenix and faced her god, she would make the same decision. She would release the volcano. She would encase Mugen in tons of molten stone and choking ash.
She would destroy the country completely and without mercy, the same way that its armies had treated her. And she’d laugh.
“Do you understand now?” Daji tucked a strand of hair behind Rin’s ear. “Come with me. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Fuck off,” Rin said.
Daji’s mouth pressed in a thin line. The compulsion seized Rin’s legs and forced her to move, shuddering, toward Daji. One by one Rin’s feet dragged through the sand. Sweat beaded on her temples. She tried to shut her eyes and couldn’t.
“Kneel,” Daji commanded.
No, spoke the Phoenix.
The god’s voice was terribly quiet, a tiny echo across a vast plain. But it was there.
Rin struggled to remain standing. A horrible pain shot through her legs, forcing them down, growing stronger every moment that she refused. She wanted to scream but couldn’t open her mouth.
Daji’s eyes flashed yellow. “Kneel.”
You will not kneel, said the Phoenix.
The pain intensified. Rin gasped, fighting the pull, her mind split between two ancient gods.
Just another battle. And, as always, anger was her greatest ally.
Rage drowned out the Vipress’s hypnosis. Daji had sold out the Speerlies. Daji had killed Altan, and Daji had started this war. Daji didn’t get to lie to her anymore. Didn’t get to torture and manipulate her like prey.
The fire came in fits and bursts, little balls of flame that Rin hurled desperately from her palms. Daji only dodged daintily to the side and flicked a wrist out. Rin jerked aside to avoid a needle that wasn’t there. The sudden movement pulled the broken contraption deeper into her back.
She yelped and doubled over.
Daji laughed. “Had enough?”
Rin screeched.
A thin stream of fire lanced over her entire body—enveloping her, protecting her, amplifying her every movement.
This was power like she’d never felt.
That’s a state of ecstasy, Altan told her once. You don’t get tired. . . . You don’t feel pain. All you do is destroy.
Rin had always felt so unhinged—volleying between powerlessness and utter subjugation to the Phoenix—but now the fire was hers. Was her. And that made her feel so giddy that she almost screamed with laughter because for the first time ever, she had the upper hand.
Daji’s resistance was nothing. Rin backed her easily up against the hull of the nearest beached ship. Her fist smashed into the wood next to Daji’s face, missing it by an inch. Wood cracked, splintered, and smoked under her knuckles. The entire ship groaned. Rin drew her fist back again and slammed it into Daji’s jaw.
Daji’s head jerked to the side like a broken doll’s. Rin had split her lip; blood trickled down her chin. Yet still she smiled.
“You’re so weak,” she whispered. “You have a god but you have no idea what you’re doing with it.”
“Right now, I know exactly what I want to do with it.”
She placed her glowing-hot fingers around Daji’s neck. Pale flesh crackled and burned under her touch. She started to squeeze. She thought she’d feel a thrill of satisfaction.
It didn’t come.
She couldn’t just kill her. Not like this. This was too quick, too easy.
She had to destroy her.
She moved her hands up. Placed her thumbs under the bases of Daji’s eye sockets. Dug her nails into soft flesh.
“Look at me,” Daji hissed.
Rin shook her head, eyes squeezed tight.
Something popped under her left thumb. Warm liquid streamed down her wrist.
“I’m already dying,” Daji whispered. “Don’t you want to know who I am? Don’t you want to know the truth about us?”
Rin knew she should end things right then.
She couldn’t.
Because she did want to know. She’d been tortured by these questions. She had to understand why the Empire’s greatest heroes—Daji, Riga, and Jiang, her Master Jiang—had become the monsters they had. And because here, at the end of things, she doubted now more than ever that she was fighting for the right side.
