The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,165

figure out how to make you burn brighter.”

Rin pointed to a wobbly carved circle. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Yes. That represents your heat source. I’m trying to figure out exactly how your abilities work. Can you summon fire from anywhere?” Kitay pointed across the river. “For instance, could you make those reeds light up?”

“No.” She knew the answer without trying it. “It has to come from me. Within me.”

Yes, that was right. When she called the flame it felt like it was being tugged out from something inside her and through her.

“It comes out my hands and mouth,” she said. “I can do it from other places too, but it feels easier that way.”

“So you’re the heat source?”

“Not so much the source. More like . . . the bridge. Or the gate, rather.”

“The gate,” he repeated, rubbing his chin. “Is that what the Gatekeeper’s name means? Is he a conduit to every god?”

“I don’t think so. Jiang . . . Jiang is an open door for certain creatures. You saw what the Sorqan Sira showed us. I think that he’s only able to call those beasts. All the monsters of the Emperor’s Menagerie, isn’t that how the story goes? But the rest of us . . . it’s hard to explain.” Rin struggled to find the words. “The gods are in this world, but they’re also still in their own, but while the Phoenix is in me it can affect the world—”

“But not in the way that it wants to,” Kitay interrupted. “Or not always.”

“Because I don’t let it,” she said. “It’s a matter of control. If you’ve got enough presence of mind, you redirect the god’s power for your purposes.”

“And if not? What happens if you open the gate all the way?”

“Then you’re lost. Then you become like Feylen.”

“But what does that mean?” he pressed. “Do you have any control over your body left at all?”

“I’m not sure. There were a few times—just a few—I thought Feylen was inside, fighting for his body back. But you saw what happened.”

Kitay nodded slowly. “Must be hard to win a mental battle with a god.”

Rin thought of the shamans encased in stone within the Chuluu Korikh, trapped forever with their thoughts and regrets, comforted only by the knowledge that this was the least horrible alternative. She shuddered. “It’s nearly impossible.”

“So we’ll just have to figure out how to beat the wind with fire.” Kitay pushed his fingers through his overgrown bangs. “That’s a pretty puzzle.”

There wasn’t much else to do on the raft, so they started experimenting with the fire. Day after day they pushed Rin’s abilities to see how far she could go, how much control she could manage.

Up until then, Rin had been calling the fire on instinct. She’d been too busy fighting the Phoenix for control of her mind to ever bother examining the mechanics of the flame. But under Kitay’s pointed questions and guided experiments, she figured out the exact parameters of her abilities.

She couldn’t seize control of a fire that already existed. She also couldn’t control fire that had left her body. She could give the fire a shape and make it erupt into the air, but the lingering flames would dissipate in seconds unless they found something to consume.

“What does it feel like for you?” she asked Kitay.

He paused for a moment before he answered. “It doesn’t hurt. At least, not so much as the first time. It’s more like—I’m aware of something. Something’s moving in the back of my head, and I’m not sure what. I feel a rush, like the shot of adrenaline you get when you look over the edge of a cliff.”

“And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Promise.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “You make the same face every time I summon a flame any bigger than a campfire. It’s like you’re dying.”

“Do I?” He blinked. “Just a reflex, I think. Don’t worry about it.”

He was lying to her. She loved that about him, that he’d care enough to lie to her. But she couldn’t keep doing this to him. She couldn’t hurt Kitay and not worry about it.

If she could, she’d be lost.

“You have to tell me when it’s too much,” she said.

“It’s really not so bad.”

“Cut the crap, Kitay—”

“It’s the urges I feel more than anything,” he said. “Not the pain. It makes me hungry. It makes me want more. Do you understand that feeling?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s the Phoenix’s most basic impulse. Fire devours.”

“Devouring feels good.” He pointed at an overhanging