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“I take it that’s not how things turned out.”

“When you’re alone on the front, waging unprovoked warfare is the last thing you want to do,” Chaghan said. “We established strong trade relations a long time ago. We liked the Dog Province soldiers. We drew unofficial lines in the sand and agreed not to cross them, so long as they refrained from encroaching on our territory. It’s worked so far.”

Rin kept glancing sideways at him as they walked, amazed by how different he seemed. He was so much more solid. Before he’d been like a wraith, an ethereal spirit moving through the world like light passes through the air, present but never quite belonging. But now when he walked, he seemed as if he actually left footsteps.

“You’re staring at me,” he said.

“I’m curious,” she said. “You look different.”

“I feel different,” he said. “When I leave the material plane now, there’s no one on the other side pulling me back. I’ve had to learn to be my own anchor. It feels . . .”

She didn’t ask what it was like to miss Qara, every second of every day. She didn’t have to guess at the gaping pain, the clawing absence of that loss. She knew.

A thought struck her. “Then are you—”

“No. I’m dying,” he said bluntly. He didn’t seem bothered by this; he said it as casually as if informing her that he’d be going to market next week. “It gets harder every time—reaching the gods, I mean. I’m never going to be able to go as far out, or to stay as long, as I used to. Not if I want to wake up again. But I can’t stand spending all my time in this realm, this horribly . . . solid place.” He gestured about the steppe with disdain. “So I can’t stop. And one day I’ll go out too far. And I’m not going to come back.”

“Chaghan.” She stopped walking. She didn’t know what to say. “I . . .”

“I’m not particularly worried,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. “And I’d very much like to talk about something else.”

She changed the subject. “So how did you get on back home?” The last time she’d seen Chaghan, he’d been racing north on a warhorse following his cousin Bekter’s murderous coup. Back then, she’d feared he was riding to his death. But from the looks of it, he’d emerged from that power struggle unscathed, in charge, and with ample troops and resources.

“Well enough,” said Chaghan. “Obviously, Bekter’s not a problem anymore.”

Rin was impressed, if not terribly surprised. “How did you manage that?”

“Murder and conspiracy. The usual means, of course.”

“Of course. You lead the Ketreyids now, then?”

“Please, Rin.” He shot her a thin-lipped smile. “I lead the Hundred Clans. For the first time in a century we are united, and I speak here on their behalf.”

He nodded toward something in front of them. Rin glanced up. She had assumed they were only walking out of earshot of anyone in Cholang’s settlement, but when she followed Chaghan’s line of sight she saw campfires and lean silhouettes against the moonlight. They drew closer, and she made out dozens of cloth tents, resting horses, and sentries with bows at the ready. An army camp.

“You’ve brought a full contingent,” she said.

“Of course,” Chaghan said. “I wouldn’t march against the Trifecta with anything less.”

Rin stopped walking. The camaraderie between them vanished. She curled her palm into a fist, readying herself for a fight. “Chaghan—”

“I am here as a friend.” He held his hands up to display that he had no weapon, though Rin knew that with Chaghan, it didn’t matter. “But I know what you intend to do, and we desperately need to speak. Will you sit?”

“I want all your archers to leave their bows and quivers in a pile beside me,” she said. “And I want you to swear on your mother’s grave that I’ll be back safe with the southerners before dawn.”

“Rin, come on. It’s me.”

She held firm. “I’m not joking.”

She’d last parted with Chaghan on friendly terms. She knew their interests, at least in regard to the Republic, were aligned. But she still didn’t trust Chaghan, nor any of the Ketreyids, not to put an arrow in her forehead if they decided she was a threat. She’d dealt with Ketreyid justice before; she knew she’d only escaped because the Sorqan Sira had deemed her useful.

“As you wish.” Chaghan signaled to his men, who reluctantly obeyed. “I swear on the grave of Kalagan of the Naimads that we won’t harm you. Better?”

“Much.” Rin sat and crossed her legs. “Go on.”

“Thank you.” Chaghan knelt down opposite her. He unrolled his satchel, pulled out a vial of cobalt-blue powder, and popped the cork off before offering it to her. “Lick your fingertip and dab it onto your tongue. Once should do. And get comfortable. It takes effect quickly, you remember—”

“Hold on.” She didn’t touch the vial. “Tell me what’s going on before I hurl my spirit into the abyss with you. Which god are we visiting now?”

“Not the gods,” he said. “The dead.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Altan? Did you find him?”

“No.” A shadow of discomfort flitted across Chaghan’s face. “He’s not—I’ve never—no. But she is a Speerly. Most spirits dissolve into nothing when they pass. That’s why it’s hard to commune with the dead; they’ve already disappeared from the realm of conscious things. But your kind linger. They’re bound by resentment and a god that feeds on it, which means often they can’t let go. They’re hungry ghosts.”

Rin licked the tip of her index finger and poked it into the vial, swiveling it around until soft, downy powder coated her skin up to the first joint. “Are we speaking to Tearza?”

“No.” Chaghan took the vial back and did the same. “Someone more recent. I don’t believe you’ve met.”

She glanced up. “Who?”

“Hanelai,” Chaghan said bluntly.

Without hesitation Rin put her powder-covered finger in her mouth and sucked.

Immediately the Ketreyid campsite blurred and dissolved like paints swirled in water. Rin closed her eyes. She felt her spirit flying up, fleeing her heavy body, that clumsy sack of bones and organs and flesh, soaring toward the heavens like a bird freed from its cage.

“We’ll wait here,” Chaghan said. They floated together in a dark expanse—a plane not quite pitch-black, but rather shrouded in hazy twilight. “When I found out you were marching to Tianshan, I went searching. I needed to understand the risks. I know there’s no one alive who could push you off the path you’ve chosen.” He nodded toward a red ball of light in the void, a distant star that grew larger as it approached. “But she might.”

The star became a pillar of flame and then a woman, drawn close before them, glowing red-hot like she was burning up from the inside.

Rin stared, speechless.

She knew this face. Knew that pointed chin, that straight jaw, and those hard, sullen eyes. She’d seen that face staring back at her from mirrors.


Tags: R.F. Kuang The Poppy War Fantasy