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Chaghan didn’t answer.
She released his collar. “Get out.”
He packed up his satchel and left without a word. She almost called him back, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say before he slammed the door.
Once Chaghan was gone, Rin shouted down the hallway until she got the attention of a physician, whom she berated until she obtained a sleeping draught in twice the recommended dosage. She swallowed that in two large gulps, crawled back onto her bed, and fell into the deepest sleep she’d had in a long time.
When she woke, the physician refused her another sleeping draught for another six hours. So she waited in fearful apprehension, anticipating a visit from Jinzha or Nezha or even Vaisra himself. She didn’t know what to expect, only that it couldn’t be anything good. Who had any use for a Speerly who couldn’t summon fire?
But her only visitor was Captain Eriden, who instructed her that she was to continue acting as if she were in full command of her abilities. She was still Vaisra’s trump card, Vaisra’s hidden weapon, and she was still to appear at his side, even if only as a psychological weapon.
He didn’t convey Vaisra’s disappointment. He didn’t have to. Vaisra’s absence stung more than anything else.
She chugged down the next sleeping draught they gave her. The sun had set by the time she woke again. She was terribly hungry. She stood up, unlocked the door, and walked down the hallway, barefoot and groggy, with the vague intention of demanding food from the first person she saw.
“Well, fuck you, too!”
Rin stopped walking.
The voice came from a door near the end of the hallway. “What was I supposed to do? Hang myself like the women of Lü? I bet you’d like that.”
Rin recognized that voice—shrill, petulant, and furious. She tiptoed down the hall and stood just beyond the door.
“The women of Lü preserved their dignity.” A male voice this time, much older and deeper.
“And who put my dignity in my cunt?”
Rin caught her breath. Venka. It had to be.
“Would you prefer I were a lifeless corpse?” Venka screamed. “Would you prefer my spine were broken, my body crushed, just so long as nothing had gone between my legs?”
The male voice again. “I wish you had never been taken. You know that.”
“You’re not answering the question.” A choked noise. Was Venka crying? “Look at me, Father. Look at me.”
Venka’s father said something in response, too softly for Rin to hear. A moment later the door slammed open. Rin ducked around the corner and froze until she heard the footsteps recede down the hall in the opposite direction.
She exhaled in relief. She considered for a moment, then walked toward the door. It was open, hanging slightly ajar. She placed her fingertips on the wooden panel and pushed.
It was Venka. She had shorn her hair off completely—and clearly some time ago, because it was starting to grow back in little dark patches. But her face was the same—ridiculously pretty, all sharp angles and piercing eyes.
“What the hell do you want?” Venka demanded. “Can I help you?”
“You were being loud,” Rin said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Next time my father disowns me, I’ll keep it down.”
“You were disowned?”
“Well. Probably not. It’s not like he’s got other heirs to spare.” Venka’s eyes were red around the rims. “I wish he would, it’s better than him trying to tell me what to do with my own body. When I was pregnant—”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Was.” Venka scowled. “No thanks to that fucking doctor. He kept saying that fucking cunt Saikhara didn’t permit abortions.”
“Saikhara?”
“Nezha’s mother. She’s got some funny ideas about religion. Grew up in Hesperia, did you know that? She worships their stupid fucking Maker. She doesn’t just pretend for diplomatic reasons, she actually believes in that shit. And she runs around obeying everything he wrote in some little book, which apparently includes forcing women to bear the children of their rapists.”
“So what did you do?”
Venka’s throat pulsed. “Got creative.”
“Ah.”
They both stared at the floor for a minute. Venka broke the silence. “I mean, it only hurt a little bit. Not as bad as—you know.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what I thought about when I did it. Kept thinking about their piggy little faces, and then it wasn’t difficult. And the Lady Saikhara can go fuck herself.”
Rin sat down on the edge of her bed. It felt oddly good to be around Venka—angry, impatient, abrasive Venka. Venka gave voice to the raw anger that everyone else seemed to have patched over, and for that Rin was grateful.
“How are your arms?” she asked. Last time she’d seen Venka her arms were swathed in so many bandages that Rin wasn’t sure if she’d lost use of them altogether. But her bandages were gone now, and her arms weren’t dangling uselessly by her sides.
Venka flexed her fingers. “Right one’s healed. Left one won’t, ever. It was bent all funny, and I can’t move three fingers on my left hand.”
“Can you still shoot?”
“Works just as well as long as I can hold a bow. They had a glove designed for me. Keeps the three fingers bent back so I don’t have to. I’d be just fine on the field with a little practice. Not like anyone believes me.” Venka shifted in her bed. “But what are you doing here? Did Nezha win you over with his pretty words?”
Rin shifted. “Something like that.”
Venka was looking at her with something that might have been jealousy. “So you’re still a soldier. Lucky you.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Rin said.
“Why not?”
For a moment Rin considered telling Venka everything—about the Vipress, about the Seal, about what she had seen with Chaghan. But Venka didn’t have the patience for details. Venka didn’t care that much.
“I just—I can’t do what I did anymore. Not like that.” She hugged her chest with her arms. “I don’t think I’ll ever do that again.”
Venka pointed to her eyes. “Is that what you’ve been crying about?”
“No—I just . . .” Rin took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I’m useful anymore.”
Venka rolled her eyes. “Well, you can still hold a sword, can’t you?”
Chapter 12
In the following week, three more provinces announced their independence from the Empire.
As Nezha predicted, the southern Warlords capitulated first. After all, the south had no reason to stay loyal to the Empire or Daji. The Third Poppy War had hit them the hardest. Their refugees were starving, their bandit epidemic had exploded, and the attack at the Autumn Palace had destroyed any chance that they might win concessions or promises of aid at the Lusan summit.
The southern Warlords notified Arlong of their intentions to secede through breathless delegates traveling over land if they were close enough, and by messenger pigeon if they weren’t. Days later the Warlords themselves arrived at Arlong’s gates.
