The Burning God (The Poppy War #3) - R.F. Kuang Page 0,219

proposals were better than anything she or Kitay could have thought of.

“I can’t believe he left all this behind,” she said. “They’re not that heavy. He could have done a lot more harm by taking them with him. You think they’re sabotage?”

Kitay looked unconvinced. “Maybe.”

No, they both knew that wasn’t true. The notes were too detailed, too clearly compiled over months of difficult rule, to be staged overnight. And too many of Nezha’s warnings—the importance of dam reconstruction, of vigilant canal traffic management—had turned out to be salient.

“Or,” Kitay ventured, “he’s trying to help you out. Or at least, he’s trying to keep the city’s disasters to a minimum.”

Rin hated that explanation. She didn’t want to credit Nezha with that generosity. It painted a different picture of Nezha—not as the vicious, opportunistic bootlicker to the Hesperians that she’d been rallying against this entire campaign, but as a leader genuinely trying his best. It made her think of the tired boy in the cell. The frightened boy in the river.

It made it so much harder to fixate on planning his death.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said curtly. “Nezha couldn’t hold on to his city, let alone a country. These are our problems now. Pass me that page.”

They were deep into the afternoon before they broke for a midday meal, and only then because Kitay’s stomach began rumbling so loudly the distraction became unbearable. Rin had been so absorbed in Nezha’s documents, she’d forgotten she was hungry until a junior officer set plates of steamed scallion buns, boiled fish with chilis, and braised cabbage before them. Then she was ravenous.

“Hold on,” Kitay said, just as Rin reached for a bun. “Who cooked this?”

“Palace staff,” said the officer who’d brought it in.

“They’re still working the kitchens?” Venka asked.

“You said to keep all palace staff in their positions if they wished to defect,” said the officer. “We’re quite sure the food is safe. We had guards watching when they prepared it.”

Rin stared at the array of dishes, amazed. It hadn’t really hit her, not until then, that she ruled Nikan. She ruled Nikan, which meant all the privileges along with the responsibilities. She had an entire palace staff waiting on her. She’d never have to cook her own meals again.

But Kitay didn’t look quite as delighted. Just as she lifted a morsel of fish to her mouth, he slapped the chopsticks from her hand. “Don’t eat that.”

“But he said—”

“I don’t care what he said.” He dropped his voice so the officer couldn’t overhear. “You don’t know who cooked this. You don’t know how it got here. And we certainly didn’t request lunch, which means either this kitchen staff had a remarkably quick change of heart, or someone had a vested interested in feeding us.”

“General?” The officer shifted from foot to foot. “Is there something you—”

“Bring us an animal,” Kitay told him.

“Sir?”

“A dog, ideally, or a cat. The first pet you can find should do. Be quick.”

The officer returned twenty-five minutes later with a small, fluffy white creature with perky ears, head drooping under the weight of an ornate collar of gold and jade. This breed, Rin thought, must have been very popular with Nikara aristocracy; it resembled very much the pups she’d once seen at Kitay’s estate.

Kitay seemed to have noticed this, too; he winced as the officers set the dog on the floor.

“The servants said this used to belong to the Lady Saikhara,” said the guard. “They call it Binbin.”

“Good gods,” Venka muttered. “Don’t tell us its name.”

It was over quickly. The dog set eagerly at the boiled fish, but it had barely swallowed two bites before it stepped back and began to whine piteously.

Kitay started forward, but Rin held him back. “It could bite.”

They remained in their seats, watching as the dog slumped to the floor, sides heaving. Its stubby front paws scrabbled at its bloated stomach, as if trying to scratch out some parasite gnawing at its innards. Gradually its movements grew weak, then listless. It whimpered once and fell silent. It seemed to take an eternity for it to stop twitching.

Rin felt a violent wave of nausea. She was no longer remotely hungry.

“Arrest the kitchen staff,” Kitay ordered calmly. “Detain them in separate rooms and keep them isolated until we’ve time to interrogate them.”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer left. The door slammed shut. Kitay turned to Venka. “It could’ve been—”

“I know,” Venka said curtly. “I’m on it.”

She stood up, plucked her bow off the table, and left the room—presumably to see whether the