The Dragon Republic. R.F. Kuang

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      It felt as if the palace hid something foul under its lovely exterior; beneath the smell of blooming lilacs, something was in the last stages of decay.

      Perhaps she was imagining it. Perhaps the palace was truly beautiful, and she just hated it because it was a coward’s resort. This was a refuge, and the fact that anyone had hidden alive in the Autumn Palace while corpses rotted in Golyn Niis infuriated her.

      Eriden nudged the small of her back with his spear. “Eyes down.”

      She hastily obeyed. She had come posing as Vaisra’s prisoner—hands cuffed behind her back, mouth sealed behind an iron muzzle that clamped her lower jaw tightly upward. She could barely speak except in whispers.

      She didn’t have to remember to look scared. She was terrified. The thirty grams of opium circulating through her bloodstream did nothing to calm her down. It magnified her paranoia even as it kept her heart rate low and made her feel as if she were floating among clouds. Her mind was anxious and hyperactive but her body was slow and sluggish—the worst possible combination.

      At sunrise Rin, Vaisra, and Captain Eriden had passed under the arched gateways of the nine concentric circles of the Autumn Palace. Servants patted them down for weapons at each gate. By the seventh gate, they had been groped so thoroughly that Rin was surprised they hadn’t been asked to strip naked.

      At the eighth gate an Imperial guard stopped her to check her pupils.

      “She took a dose before the guards this morning,” Vaisra said.

      “Even so,” said the guard. He reached for Rin’s chin and tilted it up. “Eyes open, please.”

      Rin obliged and tried not to squirm as he pulled her eyelids apart.

      Satisfied, the guard stepped back to let them through.

      Rin followed Vaisra into the throne room, shoes echoing against a marble floor so smooth it looked like still water at the surface of a lake.

      The inner chamber was a rich and ornate assault of decorations that blurred and swam in Rin’s opium-blurred eyesight. She blinked and tried to focus. Intricately painted symbols covered every wall, stretching all the way up to the ceiling, where they coalesced in a circle.

      It’s the Pantheon, she realized. If she squinted, she could make out the gods she had come to recognize: the Monkey God, mischievous and cruel; the Phoenix, imposing and ravenous …

      That was odd. The Red Emperor had hated shamans. After he’d claimed his throne at Sinegard, he’d had the monks killed and their monasteries burned.

      But maybe he hadn’t hated the gods. Maybe he’d just hated that he couldn’t access their power for himself.

      The ninth gate led to the council room. The Empress’s personal guard, a row of soldiers in gold-lined armor, blocked their path.

      “No attendants,” said the guard captain. “The Empress has decided that she does not want to crowd the council room with bodyguards.”

      A flicker of irritation crossed Vaisra’s face. “The Empress might have told me this beforehand.”

      “The Empress sent a notice to everyone residing in the palace,” the guard captain said smugly. “You declined her invitation.”

      Rin thought Vaisra might protest, but he only turned to Eriden and told him to wait outside. Eriden bowed and departed, leaving them without guards or weapons in the heart of the Autumn Palace.

      But they were not entirely alone. At that moment the Cike were swimming through the underground waterways toward the city’s heart. Aratsha had constructed air bubbles around their heads so they could swim for miles without needing to come up for air.

      The Cike had used this as an infiltration method many times before. This time, they would deliver reinforcements if the coup went sour. Baji and Suni would take up posts directly outside the council room, poised to spring in and break Vaisra out if necessary. Qara would station herself at the highest pavilion outside the council room for ranged support. And Ramsa would squirrel himself away wherever he and his waterproof bag of combustible treasures could cause the most havoc.

      Rin found a small degree of comfort in that. If they couldn’t capture the Autumn Palace, at least they had a good chance of blowing it up.

      Silence fell over the council room when Rin and Vaisra walked in.

      The Warlords twisted in their seats to stare at her, their expressions ranging from surprise to curiosity to mild distaste. Their eyes roved over her body, lingered on her arms and legs, took stock of her height and build. They looked everywhere except at her eyes.

      Rin shifted uncomfortably. They were sizing her up like a cow at market.

      The Ox Warlord spoke first. Rin recognized him from Khurdalain; she was surprised that he was still alive. “This little girl held you up for weeks?”

      Vaisra chuckled. “The searching ate my time, not the extraction. I found her stranded in Ankhiluun. Moag got to her first.”

      The Ox Warlord looked surprised. “The Pirate Queen? How did you wrestle her away?”

      “I traded Moag for something she likes better,” Vaisra said.

      “Why would you bring her here alive?” demanded a man at the other end of the table.

      Rin swiveled her head around and nearly jumped in surprise. She hadn’t recognized Master Jun at first glance. His beard had grown much longer, and his hair was shot through with gray streaks that hadn’t been there before the war. But she could find the same arrogance etched into the lines of her old Combat master’s face, as well as his clear distaste for her.

      He glared at Vaisra. “Treason deserves the death penalty. And she’s far too dangerous to keep around.”

      “Don’t be hasty,” said the Horse Warlord. “She might be useful.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ