It wasn’t a clean blow. She’d been too shocked, distracted by the dumplings to aim properly. The prongs slid through his rib cage but didn’t pierce his heart.
She yanked them back out.
The messenger gurgled a laugh. Blood bubbled through his crooked teeth, staining the pristine marble floor.
“You will die. You will all die,” he said. “And the Empress will dance upon your graves.”
Rin stabbed again and this time aimed true.
Nezha rushed to his mother and lifted her in his arms. “She’s fainted,” he said. “Someone, help—”
“There’s something else,” General Hu said while palace attendants gathered around Saikhara. He pulled a scroll out of the basket with remarkably steady hands and brushed the crumbs off the side. “It’s a letter.”
Vaisra hadn’t moved from his throne. “Read it.”
General Hu broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. “I am coming for you.”
Lady Saikhara sat up and gave a low moan.
“Get her out of here,” Vaisra snapped to Nezha. “Hu. Read.”
General Hu continued. “My generals sail down the Murui River as you dawdle in your castle. You have nowhere to flee. You have nowhere to hide. Our fleet is larger. Our men are more numerous. You will die at the base of the Red Cliffs like your ancestors, and your corpses will feed the fish of the Murui.”
The hall fell silent.
Vaisra seemed frozen to his chair. His expression betrayed nothing. No grief, no fear. He could have been made of ice.
General Hu rolled the scroll back up and cleared his throat. “That’s all it says.”
Within a fortnight Vaisra’s scouts—exhausted, horses ridden half to death—returned from the border and confirmed the worst. The Imperial Fleet, repaired and augmented since Boyang, had begun its winding journey south carrying what seemed like the entire Militia.
Daji intended to end this war in Arlong.
“They’ve spotted the ships from the Yerin and Murin beacons,” reported a scout.
“How are they already this close?” General Hu asked, alarmed. “Why weren’t we told earlier?”
“They haven’t reached Murin yet,” the scout explained. “The fleet is simply massive. We could see it through the mountains.”
“How many ships?”
“A few more than they had at Boyang.”
“The good news is that the larger warships will get stuck wherever the Murui narrows,” Captain Eriden said. “They’ll have to roll them on logs to move over land. We have two, maybe two and a half weeks yet.” He reached over to the map and tapped a point on Hare Province’s northwestern border. “I’m guessing they’ll be here by now. Should we send men up, try to stall them at the narrow bends?”
Vaisra shook his head. “No. This doesn’t alter our grand strategy. They want us to split our defenses, but we won’t take the bait. We concentrate on fortifying Arlong, or we lose the south altogether.”
Rin stared down at the map, at the angry red dots representing both Imperial and Federation troops. The Republic was wedged in on both sides—the Empire from the north, the Federation from the south. It was hard not to panic as she imagined Daji’s combined forces closing in around them like an iron fist.
“Deprioritize the northern coastline. Bring Tsolin’s fleet back to the capital.” Vaisra sounded impossibly calm, and Rin was grateful for it. “I want scouts with messenger pigeons positioned at mile intervals along the Murui. Every time that fleet moves, I want to know. Send messengers to Rooster and Monkey. Recall their local platoons.”
“You can’t do that,” Gurubai said. “They’re still dealing with the Federation remnants.”
“I don’t care about the Federation,” Vaisra said. “I care about Arlong. If everything we’ve heard about this fleet is true, then this war is over unless we can hold our base. We need all of our men in one place.”
“You’re leaving entire villages to die,” Takha said. “Entire provinces.”
“Then they will die.”
“Are you joking?” demanded Charouk. “You think we’re just going to stand here while you renege on your promises? You said that if we defected, you would help us eradicate the Mugenese—”
“And I will,” Vaisra said impatiently. “Can’t you see? We beat Daji and we win back the south, too. Once their backer is gone, the Mugenese will surrender—”
“Or they will understand that the civil war has weakened us, and they’ll pick off the pieces no matter what happens,” Charouk countered.
“That won’t happen. Once we’ve won Hesperian support—”
“‘Hesperian support,’” Charouk scoffed. “Don’t be a child. Tarcquet and his men have been loitering in the city for quite some time now, and that fleet isn’t showing up