Ramsa grabbed at her collar. But he was so scrawny, shorter even than she, that it only made him look ridiculous.
“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.
“Ramsa, stop.”
“We joined this war for you,” he said. “Out of loyalty to you.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You entered this war because you wanted Dragon silver, you like blowing shit up, and you’re a wanted criminal everywhere else in the Empire.”
“I stuck with you because we thought we’d stay together.” Ramsa sounded like he was about to cry, which was so absurd that Rin almost laughed. “We’re always supposed to be together.”
“You’re not even a shaman. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Why do you care?”
“Why don’t you care? Altan named you commander. Protecting the Cike is your duty.”
“I didn’t ask to be commander,” she snapped. Altan’s invocation brought up feelings of obligation, duty, that she didn’t want to think about. “All right? I don’t want to be your Altan. I can’t.”
What had she done since she’d been put in charge? She’d hurt Unegen, driven Enki away, seen Aratsha killed, and gotten her ass kicked so badly by Daji that she couldn’t even properly be called a shaman anymore. She hadn’t led the Cike so much as encouraged them to make a series of awful decisions. They were better off without her. It infuriated her that they couldn’t see that.
“Aren’t you angry?” Ramsa asked. “Doesn’t this piss you off?”
“No,” she said. “I take orders.”
She could have been angry. Could have resisted Jinzha, could have lashed out like she’d always done. But anger had only ever helped her when it manifested in flames, and she couldn’t call on that anymore. Without the fire she wasn’t a shaman, wasn’t a proper Speerly, and certainly wasn’t a military asset. Jinzha had no reason to listen to or respect her.
And she knew by now that the fire was never coming back.
“You could at least try,” Ramsa said. “Please.”
There was no fight left in his voice, either.
“Just grab your things,” she said. “And tell the others. They want you to report in ten.”
In a matter of weeks the last strongholds of Hare and Ram Provinces capitulated to the Republic. Their Warlords were sent back to Arlong in chains to grovel before Vaisra for their lives. Their cities, townships, and villages were all subjected to plebiscites.
When the civilians elected to join the Republic—and they invariably voted to join, for the alternative was that all men over the age of fifteen would be put to death—they became a part of Vaisra’s sprawling war machine. The women were put to work sewing Republican uniforms and spinning linens for the infirmaries. The men were either recruited as infantry or sent south to work in Arlong’s shipyards. A seventh of their food stores were confiscated to contribute to the northern campaign’s swelling supply lines, and Republican patrols stayed behind to ensure regular shipments of grain upriver.
Nezha bragged constantly that this was perhaps the most successful military campaign in Nikara history. Kitay told him to stop getting high on his own hubris, but Rin could not deny their astonishing string of victories.
The daily demands of the campaign were so grueling, however, that she rarely got the chance to revel in their wins. The cities, townships, and villages began to blur together in her mind. Rin stopped thinking in terms of night and day, and started thinking in battle timetables. The days bled into one another, a string of extraordinarily demanding predawn combat assignments and snatched hours of deep and dreamless sleep.
The only benefit was that she managed to temporarily lose herself in the sheer physical activity. Her demotion didn’t affect her as much as she’d thought it would. Most days she was too tired to even remember it had happened.
But she was also secretly relieved that she did not have to think anymore about what to do with her men. That the burden of leadership, which she’d never adequately met, had been lifted entirely from her shoulders. All she had to do was worry about carrying out her own orders, and that she did splendidly.
Her orders were doubling, too. Jinzha might have begun to appreciate her ability, or he might have simply disliked her so much he wanted her dead without having to take the blame, but he began to put her on the front lines of every ground operation. This was typically not a coveted position, but she relished it.
After all, she was terribly good at war. She had trained