The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,130

figuring out what to ask first. It was like trying to survey new territory in pitch darkness; there was simply too much they didn’t know.

In the end, they had decided on Hanelai. Hanelai, aside from Altan, was the name Jiang called Rin most often whenever he forgot who she was. He uttered that name constantly, either in sleep or during his daily fitful hallucinations. She was a person he clearly associated with pain, fear, and dread. Hanelai linked the Trifecta with the Speerlies. Whatever Jiang was hiding from them, Hanelai was the key.

Her suspicions were right. Jiang shuddered at the word.

“Don’t do this,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Please don’t make me remember.” His eyes were like a child’s, huge with fear.

He’s not an innocent, Rin reminded herself. He was as much a monster as she and Daji were. He’d slaughtered the Sorqan Sira’s daughter and half the Ketreyid clan with a smile on his face, even if he pretended not to remember.

“You don’t get to forget,” Rin said. “Whatever you did, you don’t deserve to forget. Tell me about Hanelai.”

“You don’t understand.” He shook his head frantically. “The more you press, the closer he comes, the other one—”

“He’s going to come back regardless,” she snapped. “You’re just a front. You’re an illusion you’ve constructed because you’re too scared to face up to what you did. But you can’t keep hiding, Master. If there’s any shred of courage left in you, then you’ll tell me. You owe that to me. You owe that to her.”

She spat those last few words so forcefully that Jiang flinched.

She had been grasping at straws, throwing phrases out to see what stuck. She didn’t know what Hanelai meant to Jiang. She hadn’t known how he would react. But to her surprise, it seemed to work. Jiang didn’t run away. He didn’t shut down, the way he had so often before, when his eyes went glassy and his mind retreated back inside itself. He stared at her for a long time, looking not afraid, not confused, but thoughtful.

For the first time in a long time, he seemed like the man Rin had known at Sinegard.

“Hanelai.” He drew the name out slowly, every syllable a sigh. “She was my mistake.”

“What happened?” Rin asked. “Did you kill her?”

“I . . .” Jiang swallowed. The next words spilled out of him fast and quiet, as if he were spitting out a poison he’d been holding under his tongue. “I didn’t want—that’s not what I chose. Riga decided without me, and Daji didn’t tell me until it was too late, but I tried to warn her—”

“Hold on,” Rin said, overwhelmed. “Warn her about what?”

“I should have stopped Hanelai.” He kept talking as if he hadn’t heard. This wasn’t a conversation anymore; he wasn’t speaking to her, he was speaking to himself, unleashing a torrent of words like he was afraid if he didn’t speak now then he’d never have the chance again. “She shouldn’t have told him. She wanted help, but she was never going to get it, and I knew that. She should have left, if it hadn’t been for the children—”

“Children?” Rin repeated. What children? What was Jiang talking about? This story had just become so much more complex and terrifying. Her mind spun, trying to fit together a narrative that made sense of it all, but everything it suggested horrified her. “Children like Altan? Like me?”

“Altan?” Jiang blinked. “No, no—poor boy, he never made it out—”

“Made it out of where?” Rin grasped Jiang by the collar, trying to catch the truth before it fled. “Jiang, who am I?”

But the moment had passed. Jiang stared down at her, his pale eyes vacant. The man who had the answers was gone.

“Fuck!” Rin screamed. Sparks flew out of her fist, singeing the front of Jiang’s tunic.

He flinched back. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice. “I can’t—don’t hurt me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She couldn’t bear seeing him cower like this, a fully grown man acting like a child. She wanted to vomit from the shame.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him back toward his tent. He obeyed her instructions without a word, crawling meekly onto his blanket without even a glance at Daji’s sprawled form.

Before Rin left she made him swallow a cup of laudanum tea. His sleep would be peaceful, dreamless. And tomorrow, if Jiang tried to tell anyone what had happened, she could easily pretend whatever he said was just his usual babbling nonsense.

“That’s all he said?” Kitay asked for