The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,215

a breath. “Just . . . disoriented a bit, I think.”

Venka handed the peeled apple to Rin. “Eat something.”

Rin wrapped her fingers around it with difficulty. It was amazing how hard the simple act of chewing was; how much it hurt her teeth, how it strained her jaw. Swallowing was agony. She couldn’t manage more than a few bites. She put the apple down. “What happened to the Militia deserters?”

“A couple tried to flee over the mountains, but their horses got scared when the dirigibles came,” Venka said. “Trampled them underfoot. Their bodies are still stuck in the mud. We’ll probably send a crew to get those horses back. How’s your . . . well, how’s everything feeling?”

Rin reached backward to feel at her wounds. Her back and shoulder were covered in a swath of bandages. Her fingers kept brushing against raised skin that hurt to touch. She winced. She didn’t want to see what lay beneath the wrappings. “Did they tell you how bad it was?”

“Can you still wiggle your toes?”

Rin froze. “Venka.”

“I’m kidding.” Venka cracked a smile. “It looks worse than it is. It’ll take you a while, but you’ll get full mobility back. Your biggest concern is scarring. But you were always ugly, so it’s not like that will make a difference.”

Rin was too relieved to be angry. “Go fuck yourself.”

“There’s a mirror inside that cabinet door.” Venka pointed to the back corner of the room and stood up. “I’ll give you some time alone.”

After Venka closed the door, Rin pulled off her shirt, climbed gingerly to her feet, and stood naked in front of the mirror.

She was stunned by how repulsive she looked.

She’d always known that nothing could make her attractive; not with her mud-colored skin, sullen face, and short, jagged hair that had never been styled with anything more sophisticated than a rusty knife.

But now she just looked like a broken and battered thing. She was an amalgamation of scars and stitches. On her arm, dotted white reminders of the hot wax she’d once used to burn herself to stay awake studying. On her back and shoulders, whatever lay behind those bandages. And just under her sternum, Altan’s handprint, as dark and vivid as the day she’d first seen it.

Exhaling slowly, she pressed her left hand to the spot over her stomach. She couldn’t tell if she was only imagining it, but it felt hot to the touch.

“I should apologize,” said Kitay.

She jumped. She hadn’t heard the door open. “Fucking hell—”

“Sorry.”

She scrambled to pull her shirt back on. “You might have knocked!”

“I didn’t realize you’d be up.” He crossed the room and perched himself on the side of her bed. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize. That wound is my fault. Didn’t put padding around the gears—I didn’t have time, so I was just going for something functional. The rod went in about three inches at a slant. The physicians said you’re lucky it didn’t sever your spine.”

“Did you feel it, too?” she asked.

“Just a little,” Kitay said. He was lying, she knew that, but in that moment she was just grateful he would even try to spare her the guilt. He lifted his shirt and twisted around to show her a pale white scar running across his lower back. “Look. They’re the same shape, I think.”

She peered enviously at the smooth white lines. “That’s prettier than mine will be.”

“Don’t get too jealous.”

She moved her hands and arms about, gingerly testing the temporary boundaries of her mobility. She tried to raise her right arm above her head, but gave up when her shoulder threatened to tear itself apart. “I don’t think I want to fly for a while.”

“I gathered.” Kitay picked her unfinished apple up off the windowsill and took a bite. “Good thing you won’t have to.”

She sat back down on the bed. It hurt to stand for too long.

“The Cike?” she asked.

“All alive and accounted for. None with serious injuries.”

She nodded, relieved. “And Feylen. Is he . . . you know, properly dead?”

“Who cares?” Kitay said. “He’s buried under thousands of tons of rock. If there’s anything alive down there, it won’t bother us for a millennium.”

Rin tried to take comfort in that. She wanted to be sure Feylen was dead. She wanted to see a body. But for now, this would have to do.

“Where’s Nezha?” she asked.

“He’s been in here. Constantly. Wouldn’t leave, but I think someone finally got him to go take a nap. Good thing, too. He was starting to smell.”

“So