“Are you all right?” he asked again when he was finished.
“Does it fucking look like—”
“I meant with Sister Petra,” he clarified. “I know she can be difficult.”
Rin shot him a sideways look. “You don’t like her?”
“We all admire her,” he said slowly. “But . . . ah, do you understand Hesperian? This language is hard for me.”
“Yes.”
He switched, speaking deliberately slowly so that she could keep up. “She’s the most brilliant Gray Sister of our generation and the foremost expert of Chaos manifestations on the eastern continent. But we don’t all agree with her methods.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sister Petra is old-fashioned about conversion. Her school believes that the only pathway to salvation is patterning civilizations on the development of Hesperia. To obey the Maker you must become like us. You must stop being Nikara.”
“Attractive,” Rin muttered.
“But I think that when we wish to win barbarians over and convert them to the greater good, we should use the same strategies that Chaos uses to draw souls to evil,” Augus continued. “Chaos enters through the other’s door and comes out his own. So should we.”
Rin pressed her bound knuckles against the wall to stem the pain. Her dizziness subsided. “From what I know, you lot are more fond of blowing our doors up.”
“Like I said. Conservative.” Augus shot her an embarrassed smile. “But the Company has been changing its ways. Take the bow, for instance. I’ve read about the Nikara tradition of performing deep bows to superiors—”
“That’s only for special occasions,” she said.
“Even so. Decades ago, the Company would have argued that bowing to a Nikara would be an utter affront to the dignity of the white race. We are chosen by the Maker, after all. We are the highest evolved persons, and we shouldn’t show respect to you. But I don’t agree with that.”
Rin fought the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s nice of you.”
“We are not equals,” Augus said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. And I don’t think the path to salvation involves treating you like you’re not people.”
Augus, Rin realized, really thought that he was being kind.
“I think I’m good now,” she said.
He helped her to her feet. “Would you like me to walk you back to your quarters?”
“No. Thank you. I can manage.”
When she returned to her room, she drew the packet of opium out from her pocket. She hadn’t quite stolen it. Petra had left it in her lap and hadn’t commented on it when Rin stood up to leave. She meant for Rin to have it.
Rin yanked up a loose floorboard and hid the drug where no one could see. She wasn’t going to use it. She didn’t know what sick game Petra was playing, but she couldn’t tempt her that far.
Still, it relieved her to know that if it became too much, that if she wanted it all to end and she wanted to float higher, higher, away from her body and shame and humiliation and pain until she left it permanently, then the opium was there.
If any other Hesperians shared Augus’s opinions, they didn’t show it. Tarcquet’s men on the Kingfisher kept a chilly distance from the Nikara. They ate and slept by themselves, and every time Rin drifted within earshot of their conversations, they fell quiet until she’d passed. They continued to observe the Nikara without intervening—coldly amused by their incompetence, and mildly surprised by their victories.
Only once did they put their arquebuses to any use. One evening a commotion broke out on the lower deck. A group of prisoners from Ram Province broke out of their holding cell and attacked a handful of missionaries who had been proselytizing in the brig.
They might have been trying to escape. They might have thought to use the Hesperians as hostages. Or they might have simply wanted to lash out at foreigners for getting too close—Ram Province had suffered greatly under occupation and had no great love of the west. When Rin and the other soldiers on patrol reached the source of the shouting, the prisoners had the missionaries pinned to the floor, alive but incapacitated.
Rin recognized Augus, gasping desperately for breath while a prisoner wedged an arm under his throat.
His eyes locked on to hers. “Help—”
“Get back!” the prisoner shouted. “Everyone get back, or they’re dead!”
More Republican soldiers crowded the hallway in seconds. The skirmish should have been resolved instantly. The prisoners were unarmed and outnumbered. But they had also been marked for their strength as pedalers. Jinzha had