“Hello, Hanelai,” Chaghan said. “This is the friend I’ve told you so much about.”
Hanelai turned toward Rin, eyes roving imperiously over her like a queen surveying her subject. A curious feeling seized Rin’s heart, some strange and unnameable longing. She’d felt it only once before, two years ago, when she’d held her fingers up against Altan’s and marveled at how their dusky skin matched. She never thought she’d feel it again.
She suspected her relation to Hanelai. She’d suspected it for a long time. Now, staring at that face, she knew it was undeniable. She knew the word for it, a word she’d never used with anyone before. She dared not say it out loud.
Yet Hanelai showed no hint of recognition.
“You are the one traveling with Jiang Ziya?” she asked.
“Yes,” Rin said. “And you’re—”
Hanelai snarled. Her eyes glowed red. Her flames jumped and unfurled like an explosion suspended in time, deathly orange petals blooming outward at Rin.
“Don’t be afraid,” Chaghan said quickly. “The dead can’t harm you. Those flames aren’t real, they’re only projections.”
He was right. Hanelai frothed and snarled, screaming incoherently as fire shot out of every part of her body. But she never drew closer to Rin. Her flames bore no heat; though they curled and jumped, the twilight plane remained as neutrally cool as it had always been.
Still, she was terrifying. It took all Rin’s willpower not to shrink away. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s dead,” Chaghan said. “She’s been dead for a long time. And when souls don’t fade back into the abyss, they need tethers, their lingering hatreds that keep them from passing. She’s not a person anymore. She’s rage.”
“But I’ve seen Tearza before. Tearza wasn’t—”
“Tearza had control,” Chaghan said. “Her rage was tempered, because she chose the circumstances of her own death. Hanelai didn’t.”
Rin regarded Hanelai. Now her pulsing flames and twisted scowl didn’t seem so frightening. They seemed wretched.
How long had Hanelai been drifting in her fury?
“You’ve nothing to be afraid of,” Chaghan said. “She wants to talk to you, she just doesn’t know how. If you speak to her, she’ll answer. Go ahead.”
Rin knew what she had to ask.
This was her chance, at last, to excavate the truth—the secret that had festered so long between her, Jiang, and Daji. She didn’t want to know; she was afraid to know. It was like digging a knife into a poisoned wound to draw out the venom; the pain was daunting. But even if this secret destroyed her, she had to hear it. She had to climb that mountain with clear eyes.
She looked straight into Hanelai’s furious, anguished face.
“What did he do to you?” she asked.
Hanelai howled.
Voices flew at Rin like an assault of arrows—not all of them Hanelai’s, not all of them adult. Fragments of hundreds of grievances assaulted her like a mosaic of pain, cobbling together the details of a painting which, until now, she’d only glimpsed from a distance.
—Riga—
—when they took our children—
—no other choice—
—would you have chosen?—
—it didn’t matter, none of it mattered—
—they wanted the gods, they only ever wanted the gods, and we felt sorry for them because we could not imagine—
—for our children—
—Riga—
—would have left us alone—
—just leave us alone, we never wanted—
—then Riga—
—Riga—
—Riga!—
“I understand,” Rin said. She didn’t, not fully, but she’d heard enough to piece together the outline and that was enough; she couldn’t bear to hear more; she couldn’t think of Jiang like that. “I understand, stop—”
But the voices did not stop, they only built, screams stacking upon screams at an unbearable volume.
—and Jiang didn’t—
—Jiang never—
—he promised—
—when Riga—
—Ziya—
—he said he loved us—
He said he loved me.
“Stop it,” Rin said. “I can’t—”
“Can’t?” Chaghan’s voice cut through her mind like a shard of ice. “Or you don’t want to know?”
The voices consolidated back into one.
“Traitor,” Hanelai screeched, flying at Rin. “Stupid, imperialist, pathetic traitor—”
Her voice distorted into deep double timbre, which then split into a chorus. When Hanelai spoke, her mouth moved not only for herself but for a crowd of deceased. Rin could almost see them, a horde of Speerlies behind Hanelai, all spitting rage in her face.
“You hear our testimony and you refuse us, you defile the graves of your ancestors, you who escaped, you who carry our blood, how dare you call yourself a Speerly, how dare you—”
“Enough,” Rin said. “Make her stop—”
“Listen to her,” Chaghan said.
Fury surged in Rin. “I said enough.”
Every time she’d used this drug before, Chaghan had guided her back from the world of spirit, dragging her bewildered, terrified soul into the land of the living. But Rin was done with wandering around like a lost child. Done with letting Chaghan manipulate her with wraiths and shadows.
The moment her soul hit her body, jolting her back into awareness like a swimmer breaking the surface, Rin clambered to her knees and seized him by the shoulders.
“What the hell was that?”
“You had to know,” Chaghan said. “You weren’t going to believe it from anyone else’s mouth.”
“So what, you were going to scare me off with a fucking ghost?”
“Rin. You’re talking about reviving the man who murdered your race.”
“The Mugenese murdered the Speerlies—”
“And Riga let them. Did you hear Hanelai? That’s the full story. That’s what the Vipress was never going to tell you. The Federation kidnapped Speerly children and demanded the secrets to shamanism as a ransom. Riga knew Hanelai was going to reveal everything to the Mugenese, he knew she cared more about those twenty children than the fate of the mainland, and he slaughtered her people for it. He thought the Speerlies were animals. Disposable. And you think he’ll treat you any differently? Your ancestors would be disgusted. Altan wouldn’t—”
“Don’t,” she said harshly. “Don’t speak to me of Altan. You know very well what Altan would have done.”
He opened his mouth to retort, saw the look on her face, and then closed it. He swallowed. “Rin, I’m just—”
“Riga is our best and only chance at winning this war,” she said firmly.
“Perhaps. But what comes after that? Who rules the Empire then, you or them?”
“I don’t know. Who cares?”
“You can’t be this daft,” he said, exasperated. “Surely you’ve considered this power struggle. It’s not just about the enemy. It’s about what the world looks like after. And if you intend to stay in charge, then you’d better start weighing your chances against the Trifecta combined. You think you can take them?”