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He squeezed her hand. “I would never lie to you.”
Rin wanted desperately to believe that.
“Excuse me,” said Captain Eriden.
They turned around.
For once, Eriden did not look immaculately groomed, was not standing at perfect attention. The captain was wan and diminished, shoulders slouching, lines of worry etched across his face. He dipped his head toward them. “The Dragon Warlord would like to see you.”
“I’ll go right now,” Nezha said.
“Not you,” said Eriden. He nodded to Rin. “Just her.”
Rin was surprised to find Vaisra sitting upright behind the table, wearing a fresh military uniform free of blood. When he breathed, he winced, but only slightly; otherwise he looked as if he had never been injured.
“They told me you dragged me out of the palace,” he said.
She sat down across from him. “My men helped.”
“And why would you do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said frankly. She was still trying to figure that out herself. She might have left him in the throne room. Alone, the Cike would have a better chance at survival—they didn’t need to ally themselves with a province that had declared open war on the Empire.
But then what? Where did they go from here?
“Why are you still with us?” Vaisra asked. “We failed. And I thought you weren’t interested in being a foot soldier.”
“Why does it matter? Do you want me to leave?”
“I would prefer to know why people serve in my army. Some do it for silver. Some do it for the sheer thrill of battle. I don’t think you are here for either.”
He was right. But she didn’t know how to answer. How could she explain to him why she’d stayed when she couldn’t articulate it to herself?
All she knew was that it felt good to be part of Vaisra’s army, to act on Vaisra’s orders, to be Vaisra’s weapon and tool.
If she wasn’t making the decisions, then nothing could be her fault.
She couldn’t put the Cike in danger if she didn’t tell them what to do. And she couldn’t be blamed for anyone she killed if she was acting on orders.
And she didn’t just crave the simple absolution of responsibility. She craved Vaisra. She wanted his approval. Needed it. He provided her with structure, control, and direction that she hadn’t had since Altan died, and it felt so terribly good.
Since she’d set the Phoenix on the longbow island she’d been lost, spinning in a void of guilt and anger, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was drifting anymore.
She had a reason to live past revenge.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she said finally. “Or who I’m supposed to be. Or where I came from, or—or . . .” She broke off, trying to make sense of the feelings swirling through her mind. “All I know is that I’m alone, I’m the only one left, and it’s because of her.”
Vaisra leaned forward. “Do you want to fight this war?”
“No. I mean—I don’t—I hate war.” She took a deep breath. “At least I think I should. Everyone is supposed to hate war, or there’s something wrong with you. Right? But I’m a soldier. That’s all I know how to be. So isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? I mean, sometimes I think maybe I can stop, maybe I can just run away. But what I’ve seen—what I’ve done—I can’t come back from that.”
She looked at him beseechingly, desperate for him to disagree, but Vaisra only shook his head. “No. You can’t.”
“Is it true?” she asked in a small, scared voice. “What the Warlords said?”
“What did they say?” he asked gently.
“They said I’m like a dog. They said I’d be better off dead. Does everyone want me dead?”
Vaisra reached out and took her hands in his. His grip was soft. Tender, almost.
“No one else is going to say this to you. So listen closely, Runin. You have been blessed with immense power. Don’t guilt yourself for using it. I won’t permit it.”
She couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Her voice broke. “I just wanted to—”
“Stop crying. You’re better than that.”
She choked back a sob.
His voice turned steely. “It doesn’t matter what you want. Don’t you understand that? You are the most powerful creature in this world right now. You have an ability that can begin or end wars. You could launch this Empire into a glorious new and united age, and you could also destroy us. What you don’t get to do is remain neutral. When you have the power that you do, your life is not your own.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “People will seek to use you or destroy you. If you want to live, you must pick a side. So do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.”
Part II
Chapter 11
Nezha pushed her door open. “You awake?”
“What’s going on?” Rin yawned. It was still dark outside her porthole, but Nezha was dressed in full uniform. Behind him stood Kitay, looking half-asleep and very crabby.
“Come upstairs,” said Nezha.
“He wants to show us the view,” Kitay grumbled. “Get a move on so I can go back to sleep.”
Rin followed them down the hall, hopping on one foot as she pulled her shoes on.
The Seagrim was blanketed in such a dense blue mist that they might have been sailing through clouds. Rin could not see the landmarks surrounding them until they were close enough for shapes to emerge through the fog. On her left, great cliffs guarded the narrow entrance to Arlong: a dark sliver of space inside the yawning stone wall. Against the light of the rising sun, the rock face glimmered a bright crimson.
Those were the famous Red Cliffs of the Dragon Province. The cliff walls were said to shine a brighter red with every failed invasion against the stronghold, painted with the blood of sailors whose ships had been dashed against those stones.
Rin could just make out massive characters etched into the walls—words that she could see only if she tilted her head the right way and if the faint sunlight hit them just so. “What do those say?”
“Can’t you read it?” Kitay asked. “It’s just Old Nikara.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. “Translate for me, then.”
“You actually can’t,” Nezha said. “All of those characters have layers upon layers of meaning, and they don’t obey modern Nikara grammar rules, so any translation must be imperfect and unfaithful.”
Rin had to smile. Those were words recited straight from the Linguistics texts they’d both read at Sinegard, back when their biggest concern was the next week’s grammar quiz. “So which translation do you think is right?”
“‘Nothing lasts,’” said Nezha, at the same time that Kitay said, “‘The world doesn’t exist.’”
Kitay wrinkled his nose at Nezha. “‘Nothing lasts’? What kind of translation is that?”
“The historically accurate one,” Nezha said. “The last faithful minister of the Red Emperor carved those words into the cliffs. When the Red Emperor died, his empire fragmented into provinces. His sons and generals snapped up prize pieces of land like wolves. But the minister of the Dragon Province didn’t pledge allegiance to any of the newly formed states.”
