The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,138

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.

“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