The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,146

and shut the flap.

In the darkness, Rin heard the Sorqan Sira dip the ladle into the water.

“May the gods hear our prayers.” Water splashed over the rock. A loud hiss filled the yurt. “May they grant our wishes to commune.”

A wave of steam hit Rin’s nose. She fought the urge to sneeze.

“May they clear our eyes to see,” said the Sorqan Sira. “Second rock.”

The rider deposited another rock into the mud bed. Another splash, another hiss. The steam grew thicker and hotter.

“May they give us the ears to hear their voices.”

Rin was starting to feel light-headed. Panic clawed at her chest. She could barely breathe. Even though her lungs filled with air, she felt as if she were drowning. She couldn’t lie still any longer. She pawed at the edges of the tent, desperate for a whiff of cold air, anything . . . the steam was in her face now, every part of her was burning, she was being boiled alive.

The rocks kept coming—a third, a fourth, a fifth. The steam became unbearable. She tried covering her nose with her sleeve, but that, too, was damp, and trying to breathe through it was the worst form of torture.

“Empty your mind,” the Sorqan Sira ordered.

Rin’s heart pumped furiously, so hard that she could feel it in her temples.

I’m going to die in here.

“Stop resisting,” the Sorqan Sira said urgently. “Relax.”

Relax? The only thing Rin wanted to do then was scramble out of the yurt. She didn’t care if she burned her feet on the rocks, didn’t care if she had to slip through the mud, she just wanted to get out into the open air where she could breathe.

Only years of meditation practice under Jiang stopped her from getting up and running out.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

She could feel her heartbeat slowing, crawling nearly to a stop.

Her vision swirled and sparked. She saw little lights in the darkness, candles that flickered in the edges of her sight, stars that winked away when she looked upon them . . .

The Sorqan Sira’s breath tickled her ear. “Soon you will see many things. The Seal will tempt you. Remember that none of what you see is real. This will be a test of your resolve. Pass, and you will emerge intact, in full possession of your natural abilities. Fail, and I will cut your throat.”

“I’m ready,” Rin gasped. “I know pain.”

“This isn’t pain,” said the Sorqan Sira. “The Vipress never makes you suffer. She fulfills your wishes. She promises you peace when you know you ought to be fighting a war. That’s worse.”

She pressed her thumb against Rin’s forehead. The ground tipped away.

Rin saw a stream of bright colors, bold and gaudy, which resolved themselves into definable shapes only when she squinted. Reds and golds became streamers and firecrackers; blues and purples became fruits, berries, and cups of pouring wine.

She looked around, dazed. She was standing in a massive banquet hall. It was twice the size of the Autumn Palace’s throne room, packed with long tables at which sat gorgeously dressed guests. She saw platters of dragon fruit carved like flowers, soup steaming from turtle shells, and entire roasted pigs sitting on tables of their very own, with attendants designated to carve away pieces of meat for the guests. Sorghum wine ran down gilded trenches carved into the table sides so that the diners could fill their cups themselves whenever they wished.

Faces she knew drifted in and out of her sight, faces she hadn’t seen for so long that they felt like they were from a different lifetime. She saw Tutor Feyrik sitting two tables away, meticulously picking the bones from a cut of fish. She saw Masters Irjah and Jima, laughing at the high table with the rest of the Academy masters.

Kesegi waved at her from his seat. He was unchanged since she’d last seen him—still ten years old, tawny-skinned, all knees and elbows. She stared at him. She’d forgotten what a wonderful smile he had, cheeky and irreverent.

She saw Kitay, dressed in a general’s uniform. His wiry hair was grown long, pulled into a bun at the back of his head. He was deep in conversation with Master Irjah. When he caught her eye, he winked.

“Hello, you,” said a familiar voice.

She turned, and her heart caught in her throat.

Of course it was Altan. It was always Altan, lurking behind every corner of her mind, haunting every decision she made.

But this was an Altan who was alive and whole—not the way she’d known him