The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,181

“Those prices are made up. Your whole pricing system is shot; we’re the only ones buying right now. You’d hardly be able to cut a deal in Arlong.”

“True,” Moag said. “But city magistrates are always buying. And I’m sure there are plenty of local platoons looking to improve their defenses now that they all know what’s coming their way.”

“If you try that shit,” Rin said very calmly, “I will kill you.”

There followed a long pause. Rin couldn’t read Moag’s expression. Was she afraid? Furious? Deliberating whether to strike first?

Rin’s eyes darted around the beach, mapping out the possible fallout. Her first move would be to incinerate Moag where she stood, but she had to hedge against the Black Lilies, any one of whom could take her out with a well-aimed poisonous hairpin. If she expanded her radius she could take the Lilies out, too, but they were intermingled with southern troops, almost certainly on purpose. If she killed Moag, then she’d have to suffer at least a dozen casualties.

Her fingers curled into a fist. She could absorb those losses; no one would fault her for it. But she had to strike first.

Then Moag burst out laughing, a full-throated, booming laugh that startled Rin.

“Tiger’s tits.” Moag clapped a hand on her shoulder, grinning. “When did you grow such a massive pair of balls?”

Rin, wildly relieved, forced her grimace into a smile.

“But I will be coming to collect,” Moag continued. “Not immediately,” she amended quickly, noticing Rin’s scowl. “I want to see you succeed, little Speerly. I won’t get in your way. But you’d best start thinking about how to scrounge up some profits from your empire.”

“Profits?” Rin wrinkled her nose. “I’m not running a business here—”

“Correct. You’re about to run a nation.” A familiar look of patronizing pity crossed Moag’s face, the look she’d always put on when she thought Rin was being particularly naive. “And nations need silver, girlie. War is costly. You’ve got to pay your soldiers somehow. Then you’ve got to pay back the masses whose homelands you’ve just wrecked. Where are they supposed to live? What are they going to eat? You need lumber to rebuild village settlements. You need grain to ward off the famine you’re facing down, since I guarantee your crop yields this year will be shit. No one plows when there’s a war going on. They’re too busy being, you know, refugees.”

“I . . .” Rin didn’t know what to say. She had to admit those were real problems, problems she had to deal with eventually, but they seemed so far off that she’d never given them any thought. Those seemed like good problems to have, because by the time they became relevant, it would mean that she’d won. But what was the point of daydreaming about an empire when Nezha still ruled the southeast? “I haven’t—”

“Ah, don’t look so scared.” Moag gave her shoulder a condescending pat. “You’ll be sitting on a throne of riches soon enough. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The Consortium wants to be here for a reason. All those silks? Porcelains? Tungsten deposits? Antique vases? They want that shit, and they’ll pay good money for it.”

“But they’re not going to trade with us,” Rin said. “Are they? I mean, if we win, won’t they just blockade us?”

“They will, on paper, refuse to trade with the Nikara Empire.” Moag spread her hands in a magnanimous gesture. “But I’ve got ships aplenty, and I know a million ways to disguise the trade channels so it’s not coming directly from you. You can always find a way to make a sale when there’s demand. I’ll take a cut, of course.”

Rin was still confused. “But if it’s Nikara goods they’re buying, won’t they know—”

“Of course they’ll know,” Moag said. She shook her head, casting again that pitying smile. “Everyone knows. But that’s the business of statecraft. Nations rise and fall, but appetites remain the same. Trust me, Speerly—you’ll be carting in Hesperian grain weeks after you boot them from your shores, so long as you’re willing to send back some of Arlong’s treasures in return. The world runs on trade. Send an envoy when you’re ready to start.”

The battles got harder as the Southern Army moved farther east. Rin had expected this. She was essentially knocking on Nezha’s door now; they were only several months’ march from Arlong. Now well-trained Republican troops occupied every major city in their path. Now Rin regularly encountered artillery formations armed with opium missiles, which