The rubble of the east wall had been thoroughly searched for survivors, yet there was no sign of the Lore Master. There was no proof that he was dead, but nothing that gave hope that he was alive. He seemed to have vanished into the very void that he had called into being.
Once Kitay left with the Second Division for Golyn Niis, there was no one to keep Rin company. She passed her time sleeping. She wanted to sleep all the time now, especially after meals, and when she did it was a heavy and dreamless sleep. She wondered if her food and drink were drugged. Somehow, she was almost grateful for this. It was worse to be alone with her thoughts.
She wasn’t safe, now that she had succeeded in calling a god. She didn’t feel powerful. She was locked in a basement. Her own commanders didn’t trust her. Half her friends were dying or dead, her master was lost to the void, and she was being contained for her own safety and the safety of everyone around her.
If this was what it meant to be a Speerly—if she even was a Speerly—Rin didn’t know if it was worth it.
She slept, and when she couldn’t force herself to sleep anymore, she curled into the corner and cried.
On the sixth day of her containment, Rin had just awoken when the door to the main hall opened. Irjah looked inside, checked to see that she was awake, and then quickly shut the door behind him.
“Master Irjah.” Rin smoothed her rumpled tunic and stood.
“I’m General Irjah now,” he said. He didn’t seem particularly happy about it. “Casualties lead to promotions.”
“General,” she amended. “Apologies.”
He shrugged and motioned for her to sit back down. “It hardly matters at this point. How are you doing?”
“Tired, sir,” she said. She assumed a cross-legged position on the floor, because there were no stools in the basement.
After a moment’s hesitation, Irjah sat on the floor as well.
“So.” He placed his hands on his knees. “They’re saying you’re a Speerly.”
“How much do you know?” she asked in a small voice. Did Irjah know she had called the fire? Did Irjah know what Jiang had taught her?
“I raised Altan after the Second War,” said Irjah. “I know.”
Rin felt a deep sense of relief. If Irjah knew what Altan was like, what Speerlies were capable of, then surely he could vouch for her, persuade the Militia that she wasn’t dangerous—at least not to them.
“They’ve come to a decision about you,” Irjah said.
“I didn’t know I was up for debate,” she answered, just to be difficult.
Irjah gave her a tired smile that did not reach his eyes. “You’re going to get your transfer orders soon.”
“Really?” She straightened up, suddenly excited. They were letting her out. Finally. “Sir, I was hoping I could join the Second with Kitay—”
Irjah cut her off. “You’re not joining the Second. You’re not joining any of the Twelve Divisions.”
Her elation was replaced immediately by dread. She was suddenly aware of a faint buzzing noise in the air. “What do you mean?”
Irjah fiddled uncomfortably with his thumbs, and then said: “The Warlords have decided it best to send you to join the Cike.”
For a moment she sat there looking dumbly at him.
The Cike? That infamous thirteenth division, the Empress’s squad of assassins? The killers with no honor, no reputation, and no glory? The fighting force so vile, so nefarious, that the Militia preferred to pretend it didn’t exist?
“Rin? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“The Cike?” Rin repeated.
“Yes.”
“You’re sending me to the freak squad?” Her voice cracked. She had a sudden urge to burst into tears. “The Bizarre Children?”
“The Cike is a division of the Militia just like the others,” Irjah said hastily. His tone was artificially soothing. “They are a perfectly respectable contingent.”
“They are losers and rejects! They—”
“They serve the Empress just as the army does.”
“But I—” Rin swallowed hard. “I thought I was a good soldier.”
Irjah’s expression softened. “Oh, Rin. You are. You are an incredible soldier.”
“So why can’t I be in a real division?” She was acutely aware of how childish she sounded. But under the circumstances, she thought she deserved to act like a child.
“You know why,” Irjah said quietly. “Speerlies have not fought with the Twelve Provinces since the last Poppy War. And before that, when they did, the cooperation was always . . . difficult.”
Rin knew her history. She knew what Irjah alluded to. The last time the Speerlies had fought alongside the Militia,