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“I guess they didn’t like it much,” Rin said.
“What do you expect? No one flees a good job to join rebel bandits. From what I’ve heard, those mines were hell. The machines were death traps. Some of those men weren’t allowed to see sunlight for days. They joined up the minute they saw us coming.”
It took Rin nearly two hours to move through the tunnels. Everyone wanted to speak to her, to hear her voice, to touch her. They didn’t believe that she was back or that she was alive. They had to see her fire with their own eyes.
“I’m real,” she assured them, over and over again. “I’m back. And I’ve got a plan.”
Quickly their doubt and confusion turned to wonder, then gratitude, and then clear and adamant loyalty. The more Rin spoke to the troops, the more she understood how the past day had played out in their minds. They had been on the brink of extermination, trapped for weeks in tunnels without enough food or water, awaiting imminent death from bullets, incineration, or starvation. Then Rin had shown up, returned from the stone mountain with barely a scratch and two of the Trifecta in tow, and reversed their fortunes in a single chaotic morning.
To them, what had just happened was divine intervention.
They might have been skeptical of her before. They couldn’t be skeptical now. She’d proven without a shadow of a doubt that Souji was wrong—that the Republic would never show them mercy, and that she was the south’s best hope for survival. And Rin realized, as she walked through the crowds of awed, grateful faces, that this army was finally hers for good.
Jiang wasn’t getting better.
He had recovered consciousness shortly after they reached the cavern, but he hadn’t spoken an intelligible word since. He gave no indication that he saw Rin as she approached his sleeping mat, where he sat like a child with his knees drawn up into his chest. He seemed lost somewhere inside himself, somewhere troubled and terrifying, and although Rin could tell from the way his mouth twitched and his eyes darted back and forth that he was fighting to claw his way back, she had no idea how to reach him.
“Hello, Master,” she said.
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. His fingers fidgeted mindlessly at the hem of his shirt. He’d turned ghastly pale, sapphire veins visible under his skin like watery calligraphy.
She knelt down beside him. “I suppose we should thank you.”
She put her hand on his, hoping that physical contact might calm him. He yanked it away. Only then did he look directly at her. Rin saw fear in his eyes—not the momentary flinch of surprise, but a deep, bone-wrenching terror from which he couldn’t break free.
“He’s been like that for hours,” Daji said. She was curled up against the wall several feet away, gnawing at a strip of dried pork. “You won’t get any other response. Leave him alone, he’ll be fine.”
Rin couldn’t believe how indifferent she sounded. “He doesn’t look fine.”
“He’ll get over it. He’s been like that before.”
“I’m sure you’d know. You did that to him.”
Rin knew she was being cruel. But she meant to hurt. She wanted her words to twist like daggers, because the pained expression they elicited on Daji’s face was the only outlet for the confused dread she felt when she looked at Jiang.
“I am the only reason why he’s alive at all,” Daji said in a hard voice. “I did what I had to do to give him the only chance at peace he’d ever get.”
Rin glanced back at Jiang, who was now hunched over, whispering nonsense into his curled fingers. “And that’s peace?”
“Back then his mind was killing him,” Daji said. “I silenced it.”
“We’ve got a problem,” Kitay announced, appearing around the cavern wall. “You need to do something about Souji and Gurubai.”
Rin groaned. “Shit.”
She hadn’t seen a glimpse of Souji or Gurubai since the breakout began. They hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d been so caught up in the exhilaration of the escape, in the sole objective of rescuing the south, she’d completely forgotten that not all of them might welcome her back.
“They’re making noises,” Kitay continued. “Telling their troops they need to split off when we’ve found the exit. We fix this tonight, or we’re facing a desertion or coup in the morning.”
“The boy is right,” Daji said. “You need to act now.”
“But there’s nothing to—oh.” Rin’s exhausted mind finally grasped what Daji was implying. “I see.”
She stood.
“What?” Kitay’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Daji. “We haven’t—what are you—”
“Execution.” Rin said. “Plain and simple. Do you know where they are?”
“Wait.” Kitay blinked at her, stunned by this sudden escalation. “That doesn’t mean—I mean, you just saved their lives—”
“Those two sold her to the Republic without a second thought,” Daji drawled. “If you think they won’t betray you again, then you’re too stupid to live.”
Kitay glared at Rin. “Was this her idea?”
“It’s the only option you’ve got,” Daji said.
“Is that how you ruled?” Kitay inquired. “Killing everyone who disagreed with you?”
“Of course,” Daji said, unfazed. “You cannot lead effectively when you have dissidents with this much influence. Riga had many enemies. Ziya and I took care of them for him. That was how we kept the Nikara front united.”
“That didn’t last very long.”
“They didn’t last very long. I lasted twenty years.” Daji arched an eyebrow. “And it wasn’t by being lenient.”
“We’ve done this before,” Rin told Kitay. “Ma Lien—”
“Ma Lien was on his deathbed,” Kitay snapped. “And that was different. We were operating from a point of weakness then, we didn’t have any other choices—”
“We’ve got no other choices now,” Rin said. “The ranks might obey me for the time being, but that loyalty isn’t sustainable. Not where we’re going. And Gurubai and Souji are too clever. They’re intensely charismatic in a way that I’ll never be, and given time and space they will find a way to oust me.”
“That’s not predetermined,” Kitay said. “Mistakes aside, they’re good leaders. You could work with them.”
It was a weak argument, and Rin could tell that he knew it. They all knew that this night had to end in blood. Rin could not continue sharing power with a coalition that had defied, obstructed, and betrayed her at every turn. If she was going to lead the south, she had to do it by her own vision. Alone and unopposed.
Kitay stopped trying to argue. They both knew there was nothing he could say. They had only one option; he was too smart not to see it. He might hate her for this, but he would forgive her, as he always did. He’d always had to forgive her for necessity.
Daji calmly pulled her knife from its sheath and handed it hilt-first to Rin.
“I don’t need that,” Rin said.
“Blades are quieter,” Daji said. “Fire agonizes. And you don’t want their screams to disturb the sleeping.”
