The Dragon Republic (The Poppy War #2) - R. F. Kuang Page 0,216

he’s all right?” she asked quickly.

“Not entirely.” Kitay tilted his head at her. “Rin, what did you do to him?”

She hesitated.

Could she tell Kitay the truth? Nezha’s secret was so personal, so intensely painful, that it would feel like an awful betrayal. But it also entailed immense consequences that she didn’t know how to grapple with, and she couldn’t stand keeping that to herself. At least not from the other half of her soul.

Kitay said out loud what she had been thinking. “We’re both better off if you don’t hide things from me.”

“It’s an odd story.”

“Try me.”

She told him everything, every last painful, disgusting detail.

Kitay didn’t flinch. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Nezha’s been a prick his whole life. I imagine it’s hard to be pleasant when you’re in chronic pain.”

Rin managed a laugh. “I don’t think that’s entirely it.”

Kitay was silent for a moment. “So am I to understand that’s why he’s been moping for days? Did he call the dragon at the Red Cliffs?”

Rin’s stomach twisted with guilt. “I didn’t make him do it.”

“Then what happened?”

“We were in the channel. We were—I was drowning. But I didn’t force him. That wasn’t me.”

What she wanted was for Kitay to tell her she hadn’t done anything wrong. But as usual, all he did was tell her the truth. “You didn’t have to force him. You think that Nezha would let you die? After you’d called him a coward?”

“The pain’s not so bad,” she insisted. “Not so bad that you want to die. You’ve felt it. We both survived it.”

“You don’t know how it feels for him.”

“It can’t possibly be worse.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it’s worse than you could even imagine.”

She drew her knees up to her chest. “I never wanted to hurt him.”

Kitay’s voice held no judgment, only curiosity. “Why’d you say those things to him, then?”

“Because his life is not his own,” she said, echoing Vaisra’s words from so long ago. “Because when you have this much power, it’s selfish to sit on it just because you’re scared.”

But that wasn’t entirely it.

She was also jealous. Jealous that Nezha might have access to such enormous power and never consider using it. Jealous that Nezha’s entire identity and worth did not hinge on his shamanic abilities. Nezha had never been referred to solely by his race. Nezha had never been someone’s weapon. They had both been claimed by gods, but Nezha got to be the princeling of the House of Yin, free from Hesperian experimentation, and she got to be the last heir of a tragic race.

Kitay knew that. Kitay knew everything that crossed her mind.

He sat quietly for a long time.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he finally said. “And I don’t want you to take it as a judgment, I want you to take it as a warning.”

She gave him a wary look. “What?”

“You’ve known Nezha for a few years,” he said. “You met him when he’d perfected his masks and pretensions. But I’ve known him since we were children. You think that he’s invincible, but he is more fragile than you think. Yes, I know he’s a prick. But I also know that he’d throw himself off a cliff for you. Please stop trying to break him.”

The trial of Ang Tsolin took place the next morning on a raised dais before the palace. Republican soldiers crowded the courtyard below, wearing uniform expressions of cold resentment. Civilians had been barred from attendance. Word of Tsolin’s betrayal was common knowledge by now, but Vaisra didn’t want a riot. He didn’t want Tsolin to die in chaos. He wanted to give his old master a precise, cleanly executed death, every silent second drawn out as long as possible.

Captain Eriden and his guards led Tsolin to the top of the platform. They’d let him keep his dignity—he was neither blindfolded nor bound. Under different circumstances he might have been receiving the highest honors.

Vaisra met Tsolin at the center of the dais, handed him a wrapped sword, and leaned forward to murmur something into his ear.

“What’s happening?” Rin murmured into Kitay’s ear.

“He’s giving him the option of suicide,” Kitay explained. “A respectable end for a disgraceful traitor. But only if Tsolin confesses to and repents for his wrongs.”

“Will he?”

“Doubt it. Even an honorable suicide can’t overcome that kind of disgrace.”

Tsolin and Vaisra stood still on the dais, silently regarding each other. Then Tsolin shook his head and handed the sword back.

“Your regime is a puppet democracy,” he said aloud.