That wasn’t Daji. Rin knew whose handiwork this was.
But did no one else know?
“Did it work?” she asked.
“Sure. It took out the Federation contingents in the north. Holed them up long enough for the northern Divisions to make mincemeat out of them. But then the floodwaters caught several hundred villages, which makes several thousand people who don’t have homes now.” Nezha made a fist. “How does a ruler do this? To her own people?”
“How do you know it was her?” Rin asked cautiously.
“Who else could it be? Something that big had to be an order from above. Right?”
“Of course,” she murmured. “Who else would it be?”
Rin found the twins sitting together at the stern of the ship. They were perched on the railing, staring down at the wreckage trailing behind them. When they saw Rin approaching, they both jumped down and turned around, regarding her warily, as if they knew exactly why she had come.
“So how does it feel?” Rin asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chaghan said.
“You did it, too,” she said gleefully. “It wasn’t just me.”
“Go back to sleep,” he said.
“Thousands of people!” she crowed. “Drowned like ants! Are you proud?”
Qara turned her head away, but Chaghan lifted his chin indignantly. “I did what Altan ordered.”
That made her screech with laughter. “Me too! I was just acting on orders! He said I had to get vengeance for the Speerlies, and so I did, so it’s not my fault, because Altan said—”
“Shut up,” Chaghan snapped. “Listen—Vaisra thinks that Daji ordered the opening of those dikes.”
She was still giggling. “So does Nezha.”
He looked alarmed. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing, obviously. I’m not stupid.”
“You can’t tell anyone the truth,” Qara cut in. “Nobody in the Dragon Republic can know.”
Of course Rin understood that. She knew how dangerous it would be to give the Dragon Army a reason to turn on the Cike. But in that moment all she could think of was how terribly funny it was that she wasn’t the only one with mass murder on her hands.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell. I’ll be the only monster. Just me.”
The twins looked stricken, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She wondered how it had felt, the moment before the wave hit. The civilians might have been making dinner, playing outside, putting their children to bed, telling stories, making love, before a crushing force of water swept over their homes, destroyed their villages, and snuffed out their lives.
This was what the balance of power looked like now. People like her waved a hand and millions were crushed within the confines of some elemental disaster, flung off the chessboard of the world like irrelevant pieces. People like her—shamans, all of them—were like children stomping around over entire cities as if they were mud castles, glass houses, fungible entities that could be targeted and demolished.
On the seventh morning after they’d left Ankhiluun, the pain receded.
She woke up without a fever. No headache. She took a hesitant step toward the door and was pleasantly surprised at how steady her feet felt on the floor, how the world didn’t whirl and shift around her. She opened the door, wandered out onto the upper deck, and was stunned by how good the river spray felt on her face.
Her senses felt sharper. Colors seemed brighter. She could smell things she hadn’t before. The world seemed to exist with a vibrancy that she hadn’t been aware of.
And then she realized that she had her mind to herself.
The Phoenix wasn’t gone. She felt the god lingering still at the forefront of her mind, whispering tales of destruction, trying to control her desires.
But this time she knew what she wanted.
And she wanted control.
She’d been victim to the god’s urges because she’d been keeping her own mind weak, dousing away the flame with a temporary and unsustainable solution. But now her head was clear, her mind was present—and when the Phoenix screamed, she could shut it down.
She requested to see Vaisra. He sent for her within minutes.
He was alone in his office when she arrived.
“You’re not afraid of me?” she asked.
“I trust you,” he said.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Then I trust you more than you trust yourself.” He was acting like an entirely different person. The harsh persona was gone. His voice sounded so gentle, so encouraging that she was suddenly reminded of Tutor Feyrik.
She hadn’t thought about Tutor Feyrik in a long time.
She hadn’t felt safe in a long time.
Vaisra leaned back in his chair. “Go on, then. Try calling the fire