The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War Trilogy #2)
The Dragon Republic: Part 2 – Chapter 20

“A puzzle for you,” said Kitay. “The water erupts around the ships, blows holes in the sides like cannonballs, and yet we never see a hint of an explosion above the water. How does the Militia do this?”

“I assume you’re about to tell me,” Rin said.

“Come on, Rin, just play along.”

She fiddled with the shrapnel fragments strewn across his worktable. “Could have been archers aiming at the base. They could have fixed rockets on the front ends of their arrows?”

“But why would they do that? The deck’s more vulnerable than the hull. And we would have seen them in the air if they were alight, which they’d have to be to explode on impact.”

“Maybe they found out a way to hide the heat glow,” she said.

“Maybe,” he said. “But then why the chain reaction? Why start with the skimmers, instead of aiming directly at the Kingfisher or the tower ships?”

“I don’t know. Scare tactics?”

“That’s stupid,” he said dismissively. “Here’s a hint: The explosives were in the water to begin with. That’s why we never saw them. They really were underwater.”

She sighed. “And how would they have managed that, Kitay? Why don’t you just tell me the answer?”

“Animal intestines,” he said happily. He pulled out a rather disgusting translucent tube from under the table, inside of which he’d threaded a thin fuse. “They’re completely waterproof. I’m guessing they used cow intestines, since they’re longer, but any animal would do, really, because it just has to keep the fuse dry enough to let it burn down. Then they rig up the interior so that slow-burning coils light the fuse on impact. Cool, eh?”

“Sort of like the pig stomachs.”

“Sort of. But those were designed to erode over time. Depending on how slow the coils burn, these could keep a fuse dry for days if they were sealed well enough.”

“That’s incredible.” Rin stared at the intestines, considering the implications. The mines were ingenious. The Militia could win riverine battles without even being present, as long as they could guarantee that the Republican Fleet would travel over a given stretch of water.

When had the Militia developed this technology?

And if they had this capability, were any of the river routes safe?

The door slammed open. Jinzha strode in unannounced, holding a rolled-up scroll in one hand. Nezha followed in his wake, still limping on his walking stick. He refused to meet Rin’s eye.

“Hello, sir.” Kitay cheerfully waved a cow intestine at him. “I’ve solved your problem.”

Jinzha looked repulsed. “What is that?”

“Water mines. It’s how they blew up the fleet.” Kitay offered the intestine up to Jinzha for inspection.

Jinzha wrinkled his nose. “I’ll trust your word for it. Did you figure out how to deactivate them?”

“Yes, it’s easy enough if we just puncture the waterproofing. The hard part is finding the mines.” Kitay rubbed his chin. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any expert divers on deck.”

“I can figure that part out.” Jinzha spread his scroll over Kitay’s table. It was a closely detailed map of Rat Province, on which he’d circled in red ink a spot just inland of a nearby lake. “I need you to draw up detailed plans for an attack on Boyang. Here’s all the intelligence we have.”

Kitay leaned forward to examine the map. “This is for a springtime operation?”

“No. We attack as soon as we can get there.”

Kitay blinked twice. “You can’t be considering taking Boyang with a damaged fleet.”

“A full three-fourths of the fleet is serviceable. We’ve mostly lost skimmers—”

“And the warships?”

“Can be repaired in time.”

Kitay tapped his fingers on the table. “Do you have men to man those ships?”

Irritation flickered over Jinzha’s face. “We’ve redistributed the troops. There will be enough.”

“If you say so.” Kitay chewed at his thumbnail, staring intensely down at Jinzha’s scribbles. “There’s still a slight problem.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, Lake Boyang’s an interesting natural phenomenon—”

“Get to the point,” Jinzha said.

Kitay traced his finger down the map. “Usually lake water levels go down during the summer and go up during colder seasons. That should advantage deep-hulled ships like ours. But Boyang gets its water source directly from Mount Tianshan, and during the winter—”

“Tianshan freezes,” Rin realized out loud.

“So what?” Jinzha asked. “That doesn’t mean the lake drains immediately.”

“No, but it means the water level goes down every day,” Kitay said. “And the shallower the lake, the less mobility your warships have, especially the Seahawks. I’m guessing the mines were put there to stall us.”

“Then how long do we have?” Jinzha pressed.

Kitay shrugged. “I’m not a prophet. I’d have to see the lake.”

“I told you it’s not worth it.” Nezha spoke up for the first time. “We should head back south while we still can.”

“And do what?” Jinzha demanded. “Hide? Grovel? Explain to Father why we’ve come home with our tails tucked between our legs?”

“No. Explain about the territory we’ve taken. The men we’ve added to our ranks. We regroup, and fight from a position of strength.”

“We have plenty of strength.”

“The entire Imperial Fleet will be waiting for us in that lake!”

“So we will take it from them,” Jinzha snarled. “We’re not running home to Father because we were scared of a fight.”

This isn’t really an argument, Rin thought. Jinzha had made up his mind, and he would shout down anyone who opposed him. Nezha—the younger brother, the inferior brother—was never going to change Jinzha’s mind.

Jinzha was hungry for this fight. Rin could read it so clearly on his face. And she could understand why he wanted it so badly. A victory at Boyang might effectively end this war. It might achieve the final and devastating proof of victory that the Hesperians were demanding. It might compensate for Jinzha’s latest string of failures.

She’d known a commander who made decisions like that before. His bones, if any had survived incineration, were lying at the bottom of Omonod Bay.

“Aren’t your troops worth more than your ego?” she asked. “Don’t sentence us to death just because you’ve been humiliated.”

Jinzha didn’t even deign to look at her. “Did I authorize you to talk?”

“She has a point,” Nezha said.

“I am warning you, brother.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Nezha said. “You’re just not listening because you’re terrified that someone else is right.”

Jinzha strode over to Nezha and casually slapped him across the face.

The crack echoed around the little room. Rin and Kitay sat frozen in their seats. Nezha’s head whipped to the side, where it stayed. Slowly he touched his fingers to his cheek, where a red mark was blooming outward over his scars. His chest rose and fell; he was breathing so heavily that Rin thought for sure he would strike back. But he did nothing.

“We could probably get to Boyang in time if we leave immediately,” Kitay said neutrally, as if nothing had happened.

“Then we’ll set sail within an hour.” Jinzha pointed to Kitay. “You get to my office. Admiral Molkoi will give you full access to scout reports. I want attack plans by the end of the day.”

“Oh, joy,” Kitay said.

“What’s that?”

Kitay sat up straight. “Yes, sir.”

Jinzha stormed out of the room. Nezha lingered by the doorway, eyes darting between Rin and Kitay as if unsure of whether he wanted to stay.

“Your brother’s losing it,” Rin informed him.

“Shut up,” he said.

“I’ve seen this before,” she said. “Commanders break under pressure all the time. Then they make shitty decisions that get people killed.”

Nezha sneered at her, and for an instant he looked identical to Jinzha. “My brother is not Altan.”

“You sure about that?”

“Say whatever you want,” he said. “At least we’re not Speerly trash.”

She was so shocked that she couldn’t think of a good response. Nezha stalked out and slammed the door shut behind him.

Kitay whistled under his breath. “Lovers’ spat, you two?”

Rin’s face suddenly felt terribly hot. She sat down beside Kitay and busied herself by pretending to fiddle with the cow intestine. “Something like that.”

“If it helps, I don’t think you’re Speerly trash,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Let me know if you do.” Kitay shrugged. “Incidentally, you could try being more careful about how you talk to Jinzha.”

She made a face. “Oh, I’m aware.”

“Are you? Or do you like not having a seat at the table?”

“Kitay . . .”

“You’re a Sinegard-trained shaman. You shouldn’t be a foot soldier; it’s below you.”

She was tired of having that argument. She changed the subject. “Do we really have a chance at taking Boyang?”

“If we work the paddle wheels to death. If the Imperial Fleet is as weak as our most optimistic estimates say.” Kitay sighed. “If the heaven and the stars and the sun line up for us and we’re blessed by every god in that Pantheon of yours.”

“So, no.”

“I honestly don’t know. There are too many moving pieces. We don’t know how strong the fleet is. We don’t know their naval tactics. We’ve probably got superior naval talent, but they’ll have been there longer. They’ll know the lake terrain. They had time to booby-trap the rivers. They’ll have a plan for us.”

Rin searched the map, looking for any possible way out. “Then do we retreat?”

“It’s too late for that now,” Kitay said. “Jinzha’s right about one thing: we don’t have any other options. We don’t have supplies to last out the winter, and chances are if we escape back to Arlong, then we’ll lose all the progress we’ve made—”

“What, we can’t just hunker down in Ram Province for a few months? Have Arlong ship up some supplies?”

“And give Daji the entire winter to build a fleet? We’ve gotten this far because the Empire has never had a great navy. Daji has the men, but we have the ships. That’s the only reason we’re at parity. If Daji gets three months’ leeway, then this is all over.”

“Some Hesperian warships would be great right around now,” Rin muttered.

“And that’s the root of it all.” Kitay gave her a wry look. “Jinzha’s being an ass, but I think I understand him. He can’t afford to look weak, not with Tarcquet sitting there judging his every move. He’s got to be bold. Be the brilliant leader his father promised. And we’ll blaze forward right with him, because we simply have no other option.”

“How many of you can swim?” Jinzha asked.

Prisoners stood miserably in line on the slippery deck, heads bent as rain poured down on them in relentless sheets. Jinzha paced up and down the deck, and the prisoners flinched every time he stopped in front of them. “Show of hands. Who can swim?”

The prisoners glanced nervously at one another, no doubt wondering which response would keep them alive. No hands went up.

“Let me put it this way.” Jinzha crossed his arms. “We don’t have the rations to feed everyone. No matter what, some of you are going to end up at the bottom of the Murui. It’s only a question of whether you want to starve to death. So raise your hand if you’ll be useful.”

Every hand shot up.

Jinzha turned to Admiral Molkoi. “Throw them all overboard.”

The men started screaming in protest. Rin thought for a second that Molkoi might actually comply, and that they would have to watch the prisoners clawing over each other in the water in a desperate bid to survive, but then she realized that Jinzha didn’t really intend to execute them.

He was watching to see who wouldn’t resist.

After a few moments Jinzha pulled fifteen men out of the line and dismissed the rest to the brig. Then he held up a water mine wrapped in cow intestine and passed it through the line so the men could take a better look at the fuse.

“The Militia’s been planting these in the water. You will swim through the water and disable them. You will be tethered to the ship with ropes, and you will be given sharp rocks to do the job. If you find an explosive, cut the intestine and ensure that water floods the tube. Try to escape, and my archers will shoot you in the water. Leave any mines intact, and you will die with us. It’s in your interest to be thorough.”

He tossed several lines of rope at the men. “Go on, then.”

Nobody moved.

“Admiral Molkoi!” Jinzha shouted.

Molkoi signaled to his men. A line of guards strode forward, blades out.

“Do not test my patience,” Jinzha said.

The men scrambled hastily for the ropes.

The storms only intensified in the following week, but Jinzha forced the fleet forward to Boyang at an impossible pace. The soldiers were exhausted at the paddle wheels trying to meet his demands. Several prisoners dropped dead after being forced to paddle consecutive shifts without a night’s sleep, and Jinzha had their bodies tossed unceremoniously overboard.

“He’s going to tire his army out before we even get there,” Kitay grumbled to Rin. “Bet you wish we’d brought those Federation troops along now, don’t you?”

The army was both weary and hungry. Their rations had been dwindling. They now received dried fish twice a day instead of three times, and rice only once in the evenings. Most of the extra provisions they’d obtained in Xiashang had been lost in the explosions. Morale drooped by the day.

The soldiers became even more disheartened when scouts returned with details of the lake defense. The Imperial Navy was indeed stationed at Boyang, as all of them had feared, and it was far better equipped than Jinzha had anticipated.

The navy rivaled the size of the fleet that had sailed out from Arlong. The one consolation was that it was nowhere near the technological level of Jinzha’s armada. The Empress had hastily constructed it in the months since Lusan, and the lack of preparation time showed—the Imperial Fleet was a messy amalgamation of badly constructed new ships, some with unfinished decks, and conscripted old merchant boats with no uniformity of build. At least three were leisure barges without firing capacity.

But they had more ships, and they had more men.

“Ship quality would have mattered if they were out over the ocean,” Kitay told Rin. “But the lake will turn this battle into a crucible. We’ll all be crammed in together. They just need to get their men to board our ships, and it’ll be over. Boyang’s going to turn red with blood.”

Rin knew one way the Republic could easily win. They wouldn’t even have to fire a shot. But Nezha refused to speak to her. She only ever saw him when he came aboard the Kingfisher for meetings in his brother’s office. Each time they crossed paths he hastily looked away; if she called his name, he only shook his head. Otherwise, they might have been complete strangers.

“Do we expect anything to come of this?” Rin asked.

“Not really,” Kitay said. He held his crossbow ready against his chest. “It’s just a formality. You know how aristocrats are.”

Rin’s teeth chattered as the Imperial flagship drifted closer to the Kingfisher. “We shouldn’t have even come.”

“It’s Jinzha. Always worried about his honor.”

“Yes, well, he might try worrying more about his life.”

Against the counsel of his admirals, Jinzha had demanded a last-minute negotiation with the flagship of the Imperial Navy. Gentlemen’s etiquette, he called it. He had to at least give the Wolf Meat General a chance to surrender. But the negotiation would not even be a charade; it was only a risk, and a stupid one.

Chang En had refused a private meeting. The most he would acquiesce to was a temporary cease-fire and a confrontation held over the open water, and that meant their ships were forced to draw dangerously close together in the final moments before the firing began.

“Hello, little dragon!” Chang En’s voice rang over the still, cold air. For once, the waters were calm and quiet. Mist drifted from the surface of Boyang Lake, shrouding the assembled fleets in a cloudy fog.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Master,” Jinzha called. “Admiral of the Imperial Navy, now?”

Chang En spread his arms. “I take what I want when I see it.”

Jinzha lifted his chin. “You’ll want to take this surrender, then. You can retain your position in my father’s employ.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Chang En’s jackal laughter rang high and cruel across the lake.

Jinzha raised his voice. “There’s nothing Su Daji can do for you. Whatever she’s promised you, we’ll double it. My father can make you a general—”

“Your father will give me a cell in Baghra and relieve me of my limbs.”

“You’ll have immunity if you lay down your arms now. I give you my word.”

“A Dragon’s word means nothing.” Chang En laughed again. “Do you think me stupid? When has Vaisra ever kept a vow he’s made?”

“My father is an honorable man who only wants to see this country unified under a just regime,” Jinzha said. “You’d serve well by his side.”

He wasn’t just posturing. Jinzha spoke like he meant it. He seemed to truly hope that he could convince his former master to switch loyalties.

Chang En spat into the water. “Your father’s a Hesperian puppet dancing for donations.”

“And you think Daji is any better?” Jinzha asked. “Stand by her, and you’re guaranteeing years of bloody warfare.”

“Ah, but I’m a soldier. Without war, I’m out of a job.”

Chang En lifted a gauntleted hand. His archers lifted their bows.

“Negotiator’s honor,” Jinzha cautioned.

Chang En smiled widely. “Talks are over, little dragon.”

His hand fell.

A single arrow whistled through the air, grazed Jinzha’s cheek, and embedded itself in the bulkhead behind him.

Jinzha touched his fingers to his cheek, pulled them away, and watched his blood trickle down his pale white hand as if shocked that he could bleed.

“Let you off easy that time,” Chang En said. “Wouldn’t want the fun to be over too quick.”

Lake Boyang lit up like a torch. Flaming arrows, fire rockets, and cannon fire turned the sky red, while below, smokescreens went off everywhere to shroud the Imperial Navy behind a murky gray veil.

The Kingfisher sailed straight into the mist.

“Bring me his head,” Jinzha ordered, ignoring his men’s frantic shouts for him to duck down.

The rest of the fleet spread out across the lake to decrease their vulnerability to incendiary attacks. The closer they clumped, the faster they would all go up in flames. The Seahawks and trebuchets started to return the fire, launching missile after missile over the Kingfisher and into the opaque wall of gray.

But their spread-out formation only made the Republicans weak against Imperial swarming tactics. Tiny, patched-up skimmers shot into the gaps between the Republican warships and pushed them farther apart, isolating them to fight on their own.

The Imperial Navy targeted the tower ships first. Imperial skimmers attacked the Crake with relentless cannon fire from all sides. Without its own skimmer support, the Crake began shaking in the water like a man in his death throes.

Jinzha ordered the Kingfisher to come to the Crake’s aid, but it, too, was trapped, cut off from the fleet by a phalanx of old Imperial junks. Jinzha ordered round after round of cannon fire to clear them a path. But even the bombed-out junks took up space in the water, which meant all they could do was stand and watch as the Wolf Meat General’s men swarmed aboard the Crake.

The Crake’s men were exhausted and spread too thin to begin with. The Wolf Meat General’s men were out for blood. The Crake never stood a chance.

Chang En cut a ferocious path through the upper deck. Rin saw him raise a broadsword over his head and cleave a soldier’s skull in half so neatly he might have been slicing a winter melon. When another soldier took the opportunity to charge him from behind, Chang En twisted around and shoved his blade so hard into his chest that it came out clean on the other side.

The man was a monster. If Rin hadn’t been so terrified for her life, she might have stood there on the deck and simply watched.

“Speerly!” Admiral Molkoi pointed to the empty mounted crossbow in front of her, then waved at the Crake. “Cover them!”

He said something else, but just then a wave of cannons exploded against the Kingfisher’s sides. Rin’s ears rang as she made her way to the crossbow. She could hear nothing else. Hands shaking, she fitted a bolt into the slot.

Her fingers kept slipping. Fuck, fuck—she hadn’t fired a crossbow since the Academy, she’d never served in the artillery, and in her panic she’d almost forgotten completely what to do . . .

She took a deep breath. Wind it up. Aim. She squinted at the end of the Crake.

The Wolf Meat General had cornered a captain near the edge of the prow. Rin recognized her as Captain Salkhi—she must have been reassigned to the Crake after the Swallow was lost in the burning channel. Rin’s stomach twisted in dread. Salkhi still had her weapon, was still trading blows, but it wasn’t even close. Rin could tell that Salkhi was struggling to hold on to her blade while Chang En hacked at her with lackadaisical ease.

Rin’s first shot didn’t even make it to the deck. She had the direction right but the height wrong; the bolt pinged uselessly off the Crake’s hull.

Salkhi brought her sword up to block a blow from above, but Chang En slammed his blade so strongly against hers that she dropped it. Salkhi was weaponless, trapped against the prow. Chang En advanced slowly, grinning.

Rin fitted a new bolt into the crossbow and, squinting, lined up the shot with Chang En’s head. She pulled the trigger. The bolt sailed over the burning seas and slammed into the wood just next to Salkhi’s arm. Salkhi jumped at the noise, twisted around by instinct . . .

She had barely turned when the Wolf Meat General slammed his blade into the side of her neck, nearly decapitating her. She dropped to her knees. Chang En reached down and dragged her upright by her collar until she was dangling a good foot above the ground. He pulled her close, kissed her on her mouth, and tossed her over the side of the ship.

Rin stood frozen, watching Salkhi’s body disappear under the waves.

Slowly the tide of red took over the Crake. Despite a steady stream of arrow fire from the Shrike and the Kingfisher, Chang En’s men dispatched its crew like a pack of wolves falling on sheep. Someone shot a fiery arrow at the masthead, and the Crake’s blue and silver flag went up in flames.

The tower ship now turned on its sister ships. Its catapults and incendiaries were no longer aimed at the Imperial Navy, but at the Kingfisher and the Griffon.

Meanwhile the Imperial skimmers, small as they were, ran circles around Jinzha’s fleet. In shallow waters the Republic’s massive warships simply didn’t have maneuverability. They drifted helplessly like sick whales while a frenzy of smaller fish tore them apart.

“Put us by the Shrike,” Jinzha ordered. “We have to keep at least one of our tower ships.”

“We can’t,” Molkoi said.

“Why not?”

“The water level’s too low on that side of the lake. The Shrike’s been grounded. Any farther and we’ll get stuck in the mud ourselves.”

“Then at least get us away from the Crake,” Jinzha snapped. “We’re about to be stuck as is.”

He was right. While Chang En wrestled for control of the Crake, the tower ship had drifted so far into shallow waters that it could not extricate itself.

But the Kingfisher and the Griffon still had more firepower than the Imperial junks. If they just kept shooting, they might cement their hold on the deeper end of the lake. They had to. They had no other way out.

The Imperial Navy, however, had ground to a halt around the Crake.

“What on earth are they doing?” Kitay asked.

They didn’t seem to be stuck. Rather, Chang En seemed to have ordered his fleet to sit completely still. Rin scoured the decks for any sign of activity—a lantern signal, a flag—and saw nothing.

What were they waiting for?

Something dark flitted across the upper field of her spyglass. She moved her focus up to the mast.

A man stood at the very top.

He wore neither a Militia nor a Republican uniform. He was garbed entirely in black. Rin could hardly make out his face. His hair was a straggly, matted mess that hung into his eyes and his skin was both pale and dark, mottled like ruined marble. He looked as if he’d been dragged up from the bottom of the ocean.

Rin found him oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before.

“What are you looking at?” Kitay asked.

She blinked into the spyglass, and the man was gone.

“There’s a man.” She pointed. “I saw him, he was right there—”

Kitay frowned, squinting at the mast. “What man?”

Rin couldn’t speak. Dread pooled at the bottom of her stomach.

She’d remembered. She knew exactly who that was.

A sudden chill had fallen over the lake. New ice crackled over the water’s surface. The Kingfisher’s sails suddenly dropped without warning. Its crew looked around the deck, bewildered. No one had given that order. No one had lowered the sails.

“There’s no wind,” Kitay murmured. “Why isn’t there a wind?”

Rin heard a whooshing noise. A blur shot past her eyes, followed by a scream that grew fainter and fainter until it abruptly cut off.

She heard a crack in the air far above her head.

Admiral Molkoi appeared suddenly on the cliff wall, his body bent at grotesque angles like a broken doll on display. He hung there for a moment before skidding down the rock face and into the lake, leaving behind a crimson streak on gray.

“Oh, fuck,” Rin muttered.

What seemed like a lifetime ago, she and Altan had freed someone very powerful and very mad from the Chuluu Korikh.

The Wind God Feylen had returned.

The Kingfisher’s deck erupted into shouts. Some soldiers ran to the mounted crossbows, aiming their bolts at nothing. Others dropped to the deck and wrapped their arms around their necks as if hiding from wild animals.

Rin finally regained her senses. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Everybody get belowdecks!”

She grabbed Kitay’s arm and pulled him toward the closest hatch, just as a piercing gust of wind slammed into them from the side. They crumpled together against the bulkhead. His bent elbow went straight into her rib cage.

“Ow!” she cried.

Kitay picked himself off the deck. “Sorry.”

Somehow they managed to drag themselves toward the hatch and tumbled more than walked down the stairs to the hold, where the rest of the crew huddled in the pitch darkness. There passed a long silence, pregnant with terror. No one spoke a word.

Light filled the chamber. Gust after gust of wind ripped the wooden panels cleanly away from the ship as if peeling off layers of skin, exposing the cowering and vulnerable crew underneath.

The strange man perched before them on the jagged wood like a bird alighting on a branch. Rin could see his eyes clearly now—bright, gleaming, malicious dots of blue.

“What’s this?” asked Feylen. “Little rats, hiding with nowhere to go?”

Someone shot an arrow at his head. He waved a hand, annoyed. The arrow jerked to the side and came whistling back into the soldiers’ ranks. Rin heard a dull thud. Someone collapsed to the floor.

“Don’t be so rude.” Feylen’s voice was quiet, reedy and thin, but in the eerily still air they could hear every word he said. He hovered above them, effortlessly drifting above the ground, until his bright eyes landed on Rin. “There you are.”

She didn’t think. If she stopped to think, then fear would catch up. Instead she launched herself at him, screaming, trident in hand.

He sent her spinning to the planks with a flick of his fingers. She got up to rush him again but didn’t even get close. He hurled her away every time she approached him, but she kept trying, again and again. If she was going to die, then she’d do it on her feet.

But Feylen was just toying with her. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Finally he yanked her out of the ship and started tossing her around in the air like a rag doll. He could have flung her into the opposite cliff if he’d wanted to; he could have lifted her high into the air and sent her plummeting into the lake, and the only reason he hadn’t was that he wanted to play.

“Behold the great Phoenix, trapped inside a little girl,” sneered Feylen. “Where is your fire now?”

“You’re Cike,” Rin gasped. Altan had appealed to Feylen’s humanity once. It had almost worked. She had to try the same. “You’re one of us.”

“A traitor like you?” Feylen chuckled as the winds hurtled her up and down. “Hardly.”

“Why would you fight for her?” Rin demanded. “She had you imprisoned!”

“Imprisoned?” Feylen sent Rin tumbling so close to the cliff wall that her fingers brushed the surface before he jerked her back in front of him. “No, that was Trengsin. That was Trengsin and Tyr, the pair of them. They crept up on us in the middle of the night, and still it took them until midday to pin us down.”

He let her drop. She hurtled down to the lake, crashed into the water, and was certain she was about to drown just before Feylen yanked her back up by her ankle. He emitted a high-pitched cackle. “Look at you. You’re like a little cat. Drenched to the bone.”

A pair of rockets shot toward Feylen’s head. He swept them carelessly out of the air. They fell to the water and fizzled out.

“Is Ramsa still at it?” he asked. “How adorable. Is he well? We never liked him, we’ll rip out his fingernails one by one after this.”

He tossed Rin up and down by her ankle as he spoke. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.

“Did you really think you were going to fight us?” He sounded amused. “We can’t be killed, child.”

“Altan stopped you once,” she snarled.

“He did,” Feylen acknowledged, “but you’re a far cry from Altan Trengsin.”

He stopped tossing her and held her still in the air, buffeted on all sides by winds so strong she could barely keep her eyes open. He hung before her, arms outstretched, tattered clothes rippling in the wind, daring her to attack and knowing that she couldn’t.

“Isn’t it fun to fly?” he asked. The winds whipped harder and harder around her until it felt like a thousand steel blades jamming into every tender point of her body.

“Just kill me,” she gasped. “Get it over with.”

“Oh, we’re not going to kill you,” said Feylen. “She told us not to do that. We’re just supposed to hurt you.”

He waved a hand. The winds yanked her away.

She flew up, weightless and utterly out of control, and crumpled against the masthead. She hung there, splayed out like a dissected corpse, for just the briefest moment before the drop. She landed in a crumpled heap on the Kingfisher’s deck. She couldn’t draw enough breath to scream. Every part of her body was on fire. She tried making her limbs move but they wouldn’t obey her.

Her senses came back in blurs. She saw a shape above her, heard a garbled voice shouting her name.

“Kitay?” she whispered.

His arms shifted under her midriff. He was trying to lift her up, but the pain of the slightest movement was enormous. She whimpered, shaking.

“You’re okay,” Kitay said. “I’ve got you.”

She clutched at his arm, unable to speak. They huddled against each other, watching the planks continue to peel off the Kingfisher. Feylen was stripping the fleet apart, bit by bit.

Rin could do nothing but convulse with fear. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see. The panic had taken over, and the same thoughts echoed over and over in her mind. We’re going to drown. He’s going to rip the ships apart and we will fall into the water and we will drown.

Kitay shook her shoulder. “Rin. Look.”

She opened her eyes and saw a shock of white hair. Chaghan had climbed out on the broken planks, was teetering wildly on the edge. He looked like a little child dancing on a roof. Somehow, despite the howling winds, he did not fall.

He lifted his arms above his head.

Instantly the air felt colder. Thicker, somehow. Just as abruptly, the wind stopped.

Feylen hung still in the air, as if some invisible force was holding him in place.

Rin couldn’t tell what Chaghan was doing, but she could feel the power in the air. It seemed as if Chaghan had established some invisible connection to Feylen, some thread that only the two of them could perceive, some psychospiritual plane upon which to wage a battle of wills.

For a moment it seemed as if Chaghan was winning.

Feylen’s head jerked back and forth; his legs twitched, as if he were seizing.

Rin’s grip tightened on Kitay’s arm. A bubble of hope rose in her chest.

Please. Please let Chaghan win.

Then she saw Qara hunched over on the deck, rocking back and forth, muttering something over and over under her breath.

“No,” Qara whispered. “No, no, no!”

Chaghan’s head jerked to the side. His limbs moved spastically, flailing without purpose or direction, as if someone who had very little knowledge of the human body was controlling him from somewhere far away.

Qara started to scream.

Chaghan went limp. Then he flew backward, like a little white flag of surrender, so frail that Rin was afraid the winds themselves might rip him apart.

“You think you can contain us, little shaman?” The winds resumed, twice as ferocious. Another gust swept both Chaghan and Qara off the ship into the churning waves below.

Rin saw Nezha watching, horrified, from the Griffon, just close enough to be in earshot.

“Do something!” she screamed. “You coward! Do something!”

Nezha stood still, his mouth open, eyes wide as if he were trapped. His expression went slack. He did nothing.

A gust of wind tore the Kingfisher’s deck in half, ripping the very floorboards from beneath Rin’s feet. She fell through the fragments of wood, bumped and dragged along the rough surface, until she hit the water.

Kitay landed beside her. His eyes were closed. He sank instantly. She wrapped her arms around his chest, kicking furiously to keep them both afloat, and struggled to swim toward the Kingfisher, but the water kept sweeping them backward.

Her gut clenched.

The current.

Lake Boyang emptied into a waterfall on its southern border. It was a short, narrow drop—small enough that its current had little effect on heavy warships. It was harmless to sailors. Deadly to swimmers.

The Kingfisher rapidly receded from Rin’s sight as the current dragged them faster and faster to the edge. She saw a rope drifting beside them and grabbed wildly for it, desperate for anything to hang on to.

Miraculously it was still tethered to the fleet. The line went taut; they stopped drifting. She forced her freezing fingers around the cord against the rushing waters, struggled to wrap it in loops around Kitay’s torso, her wrists.

Her limbs had gone numb with the cold. She couldn’t move her fingers; they were locked tight around the rope.

“Help us!” she screamed. “Someone help!”

Someone stood up from the Kingfisher’s prow.

Jinzha. Their eyes met across the water. His face was wild, frantic—she wanted to think he had seen her, but maybe his attention was fixed only on his own disappearing chance of survival.

Then he disappeared. She couldn’t tell if Jinzha had cut the rope or if he’d simply gone down under another burst of Feylen’s attack, but she felt a jerk in the line just before it went slack.

They spun away from the fleet, hurtling toward the waterfall. There was one second of weightlessness, a confusing and delicious moment of utter disorientation, and then the water claimed them.

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