The Dragon Republic. R.F. Kuang

you have an open shot at Daji, take it.” Captain Eriden jabbed the blunt end of his spear at Rin’s head as he spoke. “Don’t give her a chance to seduce you.”

      She ducked the first blow. The second whacked her on the nose. She shook off the pain, winced, and readjusted her stance. She narrowed her eyes at Eriden’s legs, trying to predict his movements by watching only his lower body.

      “She’ll want to talk,” Eriden said. “She always does, she thinks it’s funny to watch her prey squirm before she kills it. Don’t wait for her to say her piece. You’ll be deathly curious because she’ll make you, but you must attack before your chance is gone.”

      “I’m not an idiot,” Rin panted.

      Eriden directed another flurry of blows at her torso. Rin managed to block about half of them. The rest wrecked her.

      He withdrew his spear, signaling a temporary reprieve. “You don’t understand. The Vipress is no mere mortal. You’ve heard the stories. Her face is so dazzling that when she walks outside, the birds fall out of the sky and the fish swim up to the surface.”

      “It’s just a face,” she said.

      “It is not just a face. I’ve seen Daji beguile and bewitch some of the most powerful and rational men I know. She brings them to their knees with just a few words. More often with just a look.”

      “Did she ever charm you?” Rin asked.

      “She charmed everyone,” Eriden said, but didn’t elaborate. Rin could never get anything but blunt, literal answers from Eriden, who had the dour visage and personality of a corpse. “Be careful. And keep your gaze down.”

      Rin knew that. He’d been saying it for days. Daji’s preferred weapon was her eyes—those snake’s eyes that could ensnare a soul with a simple look, could trap the viewer into a vision of Daji’s own choosing.

      The solution was to never look her in the face. Eriden was training Rin to fight solely by watching her opponent’s lower body.

      This turned out to be particularly difficult when it came to hand-to-hand combat. So much depended on where the eyes darted, where the torso was pointed. All motion on oblique planes came from the upper body, but Eriden chided Rin every time her eyes strayed too far upward.

      Eriden lunged forward without warning. Rin fared slightly better blocking the next sequence of attacks. She’d learned to watch not just the feet but the hip—often that pivoted first, set into motion the legs and feet. She parried a series of blows before a strong hit got through to her shoulder. It wasn’t painful, but the shock nearly made her drop her trident.

      Eriden signaled another pause.

      While Rin doubled over to catch her breath, he drew a set of long needles out of his pocket. “The Empress is also partial to these.”

      He flung three of them toward her. Rin hopped hastily to the side and managed to get out of the needles’ trajectory but landed badly on her ankle.

      She winced. The needles kept coming.

      She waved her trident madly in a circle, trying to knock them out of the air. It almost worked. Five clattered against the ground. One struck her on the upper thigh. She yanked it out. Eriden hadn’t bothered to blunt the tips. Asshole.

      “Daji likes her poison,” Eriden said. “You’re dead now.”

      “Thanks, I got that,” Rin snapped.

      She let the trident drop and bent over her knees, sucking in deep draughts of air. Her lungs were on fire. Where had her stamina gone? At Sinegard, she could have sparred for hours.

      Right—up in a puff of opium smoke.

      Eriden hadn’t even broken a sweat. She didn’t want to look weak by asking for another break, so she tried distracting him with questions. “How do you know so much about the Empress?”

      “We fought by her side. The Dragon Province had some of the best-trained troops during the Second Poppy War. We were almost always with the Trifecta on the front lines.”

      “What were the Trifecta like?”

      “Brutal. Dangerous.” Eriden pointed his spear toward her. “Enough talk. You should—”

      “But I have to know,” she insisted. “Did Daji fight on the battlefield? Did you see her? What was she like?”

      “Daji’s not a warrior. She’s a competent martial artist, they all were, but she’s never relied on blunt force. Her powers are more subtle than the Gatekeeper’s or the Dragon Emperor’s were. She understands desire. She knows what drives men, and she takes their deepest desire and makes them believe that she is the only thing that can give it to them.”

      “But I’m a woman.”

      “All the same.”

      “But that can’t make so much of a difference,” Rin said, more to convince herself than anything. “That’s just—that’s desire. What is that next to hard power?”

      “You think fire and steel can trump desire? Daji was always the strongest of the Trifecta.”

      “Stronger than the Dragon Emperor?” A memory resurfaced of a white-haired man floating above the ground, beastly shadows circling around him. “Stronger than the Gatekeeper?”

      “Of course she was,” Eriden said softly. “Why do you think she’s the only one left?”

      That gave Rin pause.

      How had Daji become the sole ruler of Nikan? Everyone she’d asked told a different story. All that anyone in the Empire seemed to know for sure was that one day the Dragon Emperor died, the Gatekeeper disappeared, and Daji alone remained on the throne.

      “Do you know what she did to them?” she asked.

      “I’d give my arms to find out.” Eriden tossed his spear to the side and drew his sword. “Let’s see how you do with this.”

      His blade moved blindingly fast. Rin staggered backward, trying desperately to keep up. Several times her trident nearly slipped out of her hands. She gritted her teeth, frustrated.

      It wasn’t just that Altan’s trident was too long, too unbalanced, clearly designed for a taller stature than hers. If that were the problem, she would have just swallowed her pride and swapped it for a sword.

      It was her body. She knew the right motions and patterns, but her muscles simply could not keep up. Her limbs seemed to obey her mind only after a two-second lag.

      Simply put, she didn’t work. Months of lying prone in her room, breathing smoke in and out, had whittled her muscles away. Only now had she become aware of how weak, how painfully thin and easily tired she’d become.

      “Focus.” Eriden closed in. Rin’s movements became increasingly desperate. She wasn’t even trying to get a blow in herself; it took all her concentration to keep his blade away from her face.

      She couldn’t win a weapons match at this rate.

      But she didn’t have to use her trident for the kill. The trident was only useful as a ranged weapon—it kept her opponents at a far enough distance to protect her.

      But she need only to get close enough to use the fire.

      She narrowed her eyes, waiting.

      There it was. Eriden struck for her hilt—a low, reaching blow. She let him flip the weapon out of her hands. Then she took advantage of the opening, darted into the space created by their interlocking weapons, and jammed her knee into Eriden’s sternum.

      He doubled over. She kicked in his knees, dropped down onto his chest, and splayed her palms out before his face.

      She emitted the smallest hint of flame—just enough to make him feel the heat on his skin.

      “Boom,”