The Dragon Republic

“Useful?” Jun echoed.

“She’s the last of her kind. We’d be fools to throw a weapon like that away.”

“Weapons are only useful if you can wield them,” said the Ox Warlord. “I think you’d have a little trouble taming this beast.”

“Where do you think she went wrong?” The Rooster Warlord leaned forward to get a better look at her.

Rin had privately been looking forward to meeting the Rooster Warlord, Gong Takha. They came from the same province. They spoke the same dialect, and his skin was nearly as dark as hers. Word on the Seagrim was that Takha was the closest to joining the Republic. But if provincial ties counted for anything, Takha didn’t show it. He stared at her with the same sort of fearful curiosity one displayed toward a caged tiger.

“She’s got a wild look in her eyes,” he continued. “Do you think the Mugenese experiments did that to her?”

I’m in the room, Rin wanted to snap. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.

But Vaisra wanted her to be docile. Act stupid, he’d said. Don’t come off as too intelligent.

“Nothing so complex,” said Vaisra. “She was a Speerly straining against her leash. You remember how the Speerlies were.”

“When my dogs go mad, I put them down,” Jun said.

The Empress spoke from the doorway. “But little girls aren’t dogs, Loran.”

Rin froze.

Su Daji had traded her ceremonial robes for a green soldier’s uniform. Her shoulder pads were inlaid with jade armor, and a longsword hung at her waist. It seemed like a message. She was not only the Empress, she was also grand marshal of the Nikara Imperial Militia. She’d conquered the Empire once by force. She’d do it again.

Rin fought to keep her breathing steady as Daji reached out and traced her fingertips over her muzzle.

“Careful,” Jun said. “She bites.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Daji’s voice sounded languid, almost disinterested. “Did she put up a fight?”

“She tried,” Vaisra said.

“I imagine there were casualties.”

“Not as many as you would expect. She’s weak. The drug’s done her in.”

“Of course.” Daji’s lip curled. “Speerlies have always had their predilections.”

Her hand drifted upward to pat Rin gently on the head.

Rin’s fingers curled into fists.

Calm, she reminded herself. The opium hadn’t worn off yet. When she tried to call the fire, she felt only a numb, blocked sensation in the back of her mind.

Daji’s eyes lingered on Rin for a long while. Rin froze, terrified that the Empress might take her aside now like Vaisra had warned. It was too early. If she were alone in a room with Daji, the best she could do was hurl some disoriented fists in her direction.

But Daji only smiled, shook her head, and turned toward the table. “We’ve much to get through. Shall we proceed?”

“What about the girl?” Jun asked. “She ought to be in a cell.”

“I know.” Daji shot Rin a poisonous smile. “But I like to watch her sweat.”

The next two hours were the slowest of Rin’s life.

Once the Warlords had exhausted their curiosity over her, they turned their attention to an enormous roster of problems economic, agricultural, and political. The Third Poppy War had wrecked nearly every province. Federation soldiers had destroyed most of the infrastructure in every major city they’d occupied, set fire to huge swaths of grain fields, and wiped out entire villages. Mass refugee movements had reshaped the human density of the country. This was the kind of disaster that would have taken miraculous effort from a unified central leadership to ameliorate, and the council of the twelve Warlords was anything but.

“Control your damn people,” said the Ox Warlord. “I have thousands streaming into my border as we speak and we don’t have a place for them.”

“What are we supposed to do, create a border guard?” The Hare Warlord had a distinctly plaintive, grating voice that made Rin wince every time he spoke. “Half my province is flooded, we haven’t got food stores to last the winter—”

“Neither do we,” said the Ox Warlord. “Send them elsewhere or we’ll all starve.”

“We’d be willing to repatriate citizens from the Hare Province under a set quota,” said the Dog Warlord. “But they’d have to display provincial registration papers.”

“Registration papers?” the Hare Warlord echoed. “These people had their villages sacked and you’re asking for registration papers? Right, like the first thing they grabbed when their village started going up in flames was—”

“We can’t house everyone. My people are pressed for resources as is—”

“Your province is a steppe wasteland, you’ve got more than enough space.”

“We have space; we don’t have food. And who knows what your sort would bring in over the borders …”

Rin had a difficult time believing that this council, if one could call it that, was really how the Empire functioned. She knew how often the Warlords went to arms over resources, trade routes, and—occasionally—over the best recruits graduating from Sinegard. And she knew that the fractures had been deepening, had gotten worse in the aftermath of the Third Poppy War.

She just hadn’t known it was this bad.

For hours the Warlords had bickered and squabbled over details so inane that Rin could not believe anyone could possibly care. And she had stood waiting in the corner, sweating through her chains, waiting for Daji to drop her front.

But the Empress seemed content to wait. Eriden was right—she clearly relished playing with her food before she ate it. She sat at the head of the table with a vaguely amused expression on her face. Every once in a while, she met Rin’s eyes and winked.

What was Daji’s endgame? Certainly she knew that the opium would wear off in Rin eventually. Why was she running out the clock?

Did Daji want this fight?

The sheer anxiety made Rin feel weak-kneed and light-headed. It took everything she had to remain standing.

“What about Tiger Province?” someone asked.

All eyes turned to the plump child sitting with his elbows up on the table. The young Tiger Warlord looked around with an expression equal parts bewildered and terrified, blinked twice, then peered over his shoulder for help.

His father had died at Khurdalain and now his steward and generals ruled the province in his stead, which meant that the power in Tiger Province really lay with Jun.

“We’ve done more than enough for this war,” Jun said. “We bled at Khurdalain for months. We’re thousands of men down. We need time to heal.”

“Come on, Jun.” A tall man sitting at the far end of the room spat a wad of phlegm on the table. “Tiger Province is full of arable land. Spread some of the goodness around.”

Rin grimaced. This had to be the new Horse Warlord—the Wolf Meat General Chang En. She’d been briefed extensively on this one. Chang En was a former divisional commander who had escaped from a Federation prison camp near the start of the Third Poppy War, taken up the life of a bandit, and assumed rapid control of the upper region of the Horse Province while the former Horse Warlord and his army were busy defending Khurdalain.

They had eaten anything. Wolf meat. Corpses by the roadside. The rumor was that they had paid good money for live human babies.

Now the former Horse Warlord was dead, skinned alive by Federation troops. His heirs had been too weak or too young to challenge Chang En, so the bandit ruler had assumed de facto control of the province.

Chang En caught Rin’s eye, bared his teeth, and slowly licked his upper lip with a thick, mottled black tongue.

She suppressed a shudder and looked away.

“Most of our arable land near the coastline has been destroyed by tsunamis or ash fall.” Jun gave Rin a look of utter disgust. “The Speerly made sure of that.”

Rin felt a twist of guilt. But it had been either that or extinction at Federation hands. She’d stopped debating that trade. She could function only if she believed that it had been worth it.

“You can’t just keep foisting your refugees on me,” Chang En said. “They’re cramming the cities. We can’t get a moment’s rest without their whining in the streets, demanding free accommodations.”

“Then put them to work,” Jun said coldly. “Have them rebuild your roads and buildings. They’ll earn their own keep.”

“And how are we supposed to feed them? If they starve at the borders, that’s your fault.”

Rin noticed it was the northern Warlords—the Ox, Ram, Horse, and Dog Warlords—who did most of the talking. Tsolin sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, saying nothing. The southern Warlords, clustered near the back of the room, largely remained silent. They were the ones who had suffered the most damage, lost the most troops, and thus had the least leverage.

Throughout all of this Daji sat at the head of the table, observing, rarely speaking. She watched the others, one eyebrow arched just a bit higher than the other, as if she were supervising a group of children who had managed to continually disappoint her.

Another hour passed and they had resolved nothing, except for a halfhearted gesture by Tiger Province to allocate six thousand catties of food aid to the landlocked Ram Province in exchange for a thousand pounds of salt. In the grander scheme of things, with thousands of refugees dying of starvation daily, this was hardly a drop in the bucket.

“Why don’t we take a recess?” The Empress stood up from the table. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

“We’ve barely resolved anything,” said Tsolin.

“And the Empire won’t collapse if we break for a meal. Cool your heads, gentlemen. Dare I suggest you consider the radical option of compromising with each other?” Daji turned toward Rin. “Meanwhile, I shall retire for a moment to my gardens. Runin, it’s time for you to head off to your cell, don’t you think?”

Rin stiffened. She couldn’t help but shoot a panicked glance at Vaisra.

He stared forward without meeting her eyes, betraying nothing.

This was it. Rin squared her shoulders. She dipped her head in submission, and the Empress smiled.

Rin and the Empress exited not through the throne room but by a narrow corridor in the back. The servants’ exit. As they walked Rin could hear the gurgling of the irrigation pipes beneath the floors.

Hours had passed since the council began. The Cike should be stationed within the palace by now, but that thought made her no less terrified. For now she was operating alone with the Empress.

But she still didn’t have the fire.

“Are you exhausted yet?” Daji asked.

Rin didn’t respond.

“I wanted you to watch the Warlords at their best. They’re such a troublesome bunch, aren’t they?”

Rin continued pretending she hadn’t heard.

“You don’t talk very much, do you?” Daji glanced over her shoulder at her. Her eyes slid down to the muzzle. “Oh, of course. Let’s get this off you.”

She placed her slim fingers on either side of the contraption and gently pulled it off. “Better?”

Rin kept her silence. Don’t engage her, Vaisra had warned her. Maintain constant vigilance and let her speak her piece.

She only needed to buy herself a few more minutes. She could feel the opium wearing off. Her vision had gotten sharper, and her limbs responded without delay to her commands. She just needed Daji to keep talking until the Phoenix responded to her call. Then she could turn the Autumn Palace to ash.

“Altan was the same,” Daji mused. “You know, the first three years he was with us, we thought he was a mute.”

Rin nearly tripped over a cobblestone. Daji continued walking as if she had noticed nothing. Rin followed behind, fighting to keep her calm.

“I was sorry to hear of his loss,” Daji said. “He was a good commander. One of our very best.”

And you killed him, you old bitch. Rin rubbed her fingers together, hoping for a spark, but still the channel to the Phoenix remained blocked.

Just a little longer.

Daji led her behind the building toward a patch of empty space near the servants’ quarters.

“The Red Emperor built a series of tunnels in the Autumn Palace so that he could escape to and from any room if need be. Ruler of an entire empire, and he didn’t feel safe in his own bed.” Daji stopped beside a well and pushed hard at the cover, bracing her feet against the stone floor. The cover slid off with a loud screech. She straightened and brushed her hands on her uniform. “Follow me.”

Rin crawled after Daji into the well, which had a set of narrow, spiraling steps built into its wall. Daji reached up and slid the stone closed over them, leaving them standing in pitch darkness. Icy fingers wrapped around Rin’s hand. She jumped, but Daji only tightened her grip.

“It’s easy to get lost if you’ve never been here before.” Daji’s voice echoed around the chamber. “Stay close.”

Rin tried to keep count of how many turns they had taken—fifteen, sixteen—but soon enough she lost track of where they were, even in her carefully memorized mental map. How far were they from the council room? Would she have to ignite in the tunnels?

After several more minutes of walking, they resurfaced into a garden. The sudden burst of color was disorienting. Rin peered, blinking, at the resplendent array of lilies, chrysanthemums, and plum trees planted in clusters around rows upon rows of sculptures.

This wasn’t the Imperial Garden—the layout of the walls didn’t match. The Imperial Garden was shaped in a circle; this garden was erected inside a hexagon. This was a private courtyard.

This hadn’t been on the map. Rin had no clue where she was.

Her eyes flickered frantically around her surroundings, seeking out possible exit routes, mapping out useful trajectories and planes of motion for the impending fight, making note of objects that could be weaponized if she couldn’t get the fire back in time. Those saplings looked fragile—she might break a branch off for a club if she got desperate. Best if she could back Daji up against the far wall. If nothing else, she could use those loose cobblestones to smash the Empress’s head in.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Rin realized Daji was waiting for her to say something.

If she engaged Daji in conversation, she’d be walking headfirst into a trap. Vaisra and Eriden had warned her many times how easily Daji would manipulate, could plant thoughts in her mind that weren’t her own.

But Daji would grow bored of talking if Rin stayed silent. And Daji’s interest in playing with her food was the only thing buying Rin time. Rin needed to keep the conversation going until she had the fire back.

“I guess,” she said. “I’m not one for aesthetics.”

“Of course you’re not. You got your education at Sinegard. They’re all crude utilitarians.” Daji put her hands on Rin’s shoulders and slowly turned her about the garden. “Tell me something. Does the palace look new to you?”

Rin glanced around the hexagon. Yes, it had to be new. The lustrous buildings of the Autumn Palace, though designed with the architecture of the Red Emperor, did not bear the stains of time. The stones were smooth and unscratched, the wooden posts gleaming with fresh paint.

“I suppose,” she said. “Is it not?”

“Follow me.” Daji walked toward a small gate built into the far wall, pushed it open, and motioned for Rin to follow her through.

The other side of the garden looked like it had been smashed under a giant’s heel. The midsection of the opposite wall was in pieces, as if it had been blown apart by cannon fire. Statues were strewn across the overgrown grass, limbs shattered, lying at grotesque and awkward angles.

This wasn’t natural decay. Wasn’t the result of failure to keep the grounds. This had to be the deliberate action of an invading force.

“I thought the Federation never reached Lusan,” Rin said.

“This wasn’t the Federation,” Daji said. “This wreckage has been here for over seventy years.”

“Then who …?”

“The Hesperians. History likes to focus on the Federation, but the masters at Sinegard always gloss over the first colonizers. No one remembers who started the First Poppy War.” Daji nudged a statue’s head with her foot. “One autumn day seventy years ago, a Hesperian admiral sailed up the Murui and blasted his way into Lusan. He pillaged the palace, razed it to the ground, poured oil over the wreckage, and danced in the ashes. By that evening the Autumn Palace had ceased to exist.”

“Then why haven’t you rebuilt the garden?” Rin’s eyes darted around the grounds while she spoke. A rake lay in the grass about half a yard from her feet. After all these years it was certainly blunt and covered in rust, but Rin might still use it as a staff.

“So we have the reminder,” Daji said. “To remember how we were humiliated. To remember that nothing good can come of dealing with the Hesperians.”

Rin couldn’t let her eyes linger on the rake. Daji would notice. She carefully reconstructed its position from memory. The sharp end was facing her. If she got close enough, she could kick it up into her grasp. Unless the grass had grown too long … but it was just grass; if she kicked hard it shouldn’t be a problem …

“The Hesperians have always intended to come back,” Daji said. “The Mugenese weakened this country using western silver. We remember the Federation as the face of the oppressor, but the Hesperians and Bolonians—the Consortium of western countries—are the ones with real power. They are who you ought to be afraid of.”

Rin moved just slightly so her left leg was positioned close enough to kick the rake up. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Daji said sharply. “I know what Vaisra intends to do. I know he intends to go to war. I’m trying to show you that it’s the wrong one.”

Rin’s pulse began to race. This was it—Daji knew her intentions, she needed to fight, it didn’t matter if she didn’t have the fire yet, she had to get to the rake—

“Stop that,” Daji ordered.

Rin’s limbs froze suddenly in place, muscles stiffening painfully as if the slightest movement might shatter them. She should be springing to fight. She should have at least crouched down. But somehow her body was arrested where she stood, as if she needed the Empress’s permission to even breathe.

“We are not finished talking,” said Daji.

“I’m finished listening,” Rin hissed through clenched teeth.

“Relax. I haven’t brought you here to kill you. You are an asset, one of the few I have left. It would be stupid to let you go.” Daji stepped in front of her so that they stood face-to-face. Rin hastily averted her eyes. “You’re fighting the wrong enemy, dear. Can’t you see it?”

Sweat beaded on Rin’s neck as she strained to break out of Daji’s hold.

“What did Vaisra promise you? You must know you’re being used. Is it worth it? Is it money? An estate? No … I don’t think you could be swayed by material promises.” Daji tapped her lacquered nails against painted lips. “No—don’t tell me you believe him, do you? Did he say he’d bring you a democracy? And you fell for it?”

“He said he’d depose you,” Rin whispered. “That’s good enough for me.”

“Do you really believe that?” Daji sighed. “What would you replace me with? The Nikara people aren’t ready for democracy. They’re sheep. They’re crude, uneducated fools. They need to be told what to do, even if that means tyranny. If Vaisra takes this nation then he’ll run it into the ground. The people don’t know what to vote for. They don’t even understand what it means to vote. And they certainly don’t know what’s good for them.”

“Neither do you,” Rin said. “You let them die in hordes. You invited the Mugenese in yourself and you traded them the Cike.”

To her surprise, Daji laughed. “Is that what you believe? You can’t trust everything you hear.”

“Shiro had no reason to lie. I know what you did.”

“You understand nothing. I have toiled for decades to keep this Empire intact. Do you think I wanted this war?”

“I think that at least half of this country was disposable to you.”

“I made a calculated sacrifice. The last time the Federation invaded, the Warlords rallied under the Dragon Emperor. The Dragon Emperor is dead. And the Federation was readying itself for a third invasion. No matter what I did, they were going to attack, and we were nowhere near strong enough to resist them. So I brokered a peace. They could have slices of the east if they would let the heartland remain free.”

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