The Dragon Republic. R.F. Kuang

province is a steppe wasteland, you’ve got more than enough space.”

      “We have space; we don’t have food. And who knows what your sort would bring in over the borders …”

      Rin had a difficult time believing that this council, if one could call it that, was really how the Empire functioned. She knew how often the Warlords went to arms over resources, trade routes, and—occasionally—over the best recruits graduating from Sinegard. And she knew that the fractures had been deepening, had gotten worse in the aftermath of the Third Poppy War.

      She just hadn’t known it was this bad.

      For hours the Warlords had bickered and squabbled over details so inane that Rin could not believe anyone could possibly care. And she had stood waiting in the corner, sweating through her chains, waiting for Daji to drop her front.

      But the Empress seemed content to wait. Eriden was right—she clearly relished playing with her food before she ate it. She sat at the head of the table with a vaguely amused expression on her face. Every once in a while, she met Rin’s eyes and winked.

      What was Daji’s endgame? Certainly she knew that the opium would wear off in Rin eventually. Why was she running out the clock?

      Did Daji want this fight?

      The sheer anxiety made Rin feel weak-kneed and light-headed. It took everything she had to remain standing.

      “What about Tiger Province?” someone asked.

      All eyes turned to the plump child sitting with his elbows up on the table. The young Tiger Warlord looked around with an expression equal parts bewildered and terrified, blinked twice, then peered over his shoulder for help.

      His father had died at Khurdalain and now his steward and generals ruled the province in his stead, which meant that the power in Tiger Province really lay with Jun.

      “We’ve done more than enough for this war,” Jun said. “We bled at Khurdalain for months. We’re thousands of men down. We need time to heal.”

      “Come on, Jun.” A tall man sitting at the far end of the room spat a wad of phlegm on the table. “Tiger Province is full of arable land. Spread some of the goodness around.”

      Rin grimaced. This had to be the new Horse Warlord—the Wolf Meat General Chang En. She’d been briefed extensively on this one. Chang En was a former divisional commander who had escaped from a Federation prison camp near the start of the Third Poppy War, taken up the life of a bandit, and assumed rapid control of the upper region of the Horse Province while the former Horse Warlord and his army were busy defending Khurdalain.

      They had eaten anything. Wolf meat. Corpses by the roadside. The rumor was that they had paid good money for live human babies.

      Now the former Horse Warlord was dead, skinned alive by Federation troops. His heirs had been too weak or too young to challenge Chang En, so the bandit ruler had assumed de facto control of the province.

      Chang En caught Rin’s eye, bared his teeth, and slowly licked his upper lip with a thick, mottled black tongue.

      She suppressed a shudder and looked away.

      “Most of our arable land near the coastline has been destroyed by tsunamis or ash fall.” Jun gave Rin a look of utter disgust. “The Speerly made sure of that.”

      Rin felt a twist of guilt. But it had been either that or extinction at Federation hands. She’d stopped debating that trade. She could function only if she believed that it had been worth it.

      “You can’t just keep foisting your refugees on me,” Chang En said. “They’re cramming the cities. We can’t get a moment’s rest without their whining in the streets, demanding free accommodations.”

      “Then put them to work,” Jun said coldly. “Have them rebuild your roads and buildings. They’ll earn their own keep.”

      “And how are we supposed to feed them? If they starve at the borders, that’s your fault.”

      Rin noticed it was the northern Warlords—the Ox, Ram, Horse, and Dog Warlords—who did most of the talking. Tsolin sat with his fingers steepled under his chin, saying nothing. The southern Warlords, clustered near the back of the room, largely remained silent. They were the ones who had suffered the most damage, lost the most troops, and thus had the least leverage.

      Throughout all of this Daji sat at the head of the table, observing, rarely speaking. She watched the others, one eyebrow arched just a bit higher than the other, as if she were supervising a group of children who had managed to continually disappoint her.

      Another hour passed and they had resolved nothing, except for a halfhearted gesture by Tiger Province to allocate six thousand catties of food aid to the landlocked Ram Province in exchange for a thousand pounds of salt. In the grander scheme of things, with thousands of refugees dying of starvation daily, this was hardly a drop in the bucket.

      “Why don’t we take a recess?” The Empress stood up from the table. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

      “We’ve barely resolved anything,” said Tsolin.

      “And the Empire won’t collapse if we break for a meal. Cool your heads, gentlemen. Dare I suggest you consider the radical option of compromising with each other?” Daji turned toward Rin. “Meanwhile, I shall retire for a moment to my gardens. Runin, it’s time for you to head off to your cell, don’t you think?”

      Rin stiffened. She couldn’t help but shoot a panicked glance at Vaisra.

      He stared forward without meeting her eyes, betraying nothing.

      This was it. Rin squared her shoulders. She dipped her head in submission, and the Empress smiled.

      Rin and the Empress exited not through the throne room but by a narrow corridor in the back. The servants’ exit. As they walked Rin could hear the gurgling of the irrigation pipes beneath the floors.

      Hours had passed since the council began. The Cike should be stationed within the palace by now, but that thought made her no less terrified. For now she was operating alone with the Empress.

      But she still didn’t have the fire.

      “Are you exhausted yet?” Daji asked.

      Rin didn’t respond.

      “I wanted you to watch the Warlords at their best. They’re such a troublesome bunch, aren’t they?”

      Rin continued pretending she hadn’t heard.

      “You don’t talk very much, do you?” Daji glanced over her shoulder at her. Her eyes slid down to the muzzle. “Oh, of course. Let’s get this off you.”

      She placed her slim fingers on either side of the contraption and gently pulled it off. “Better?”

      Rin kept her silence. Don’t engage her, Vaisra had warned her. Maintain constant vigilance and let her speak her piece.

      She only needed to buy herself a few more minutes. She could feel the opium wearing off. Her vision had gotten sharper, and her limbs responded without delay to her commands. She just needed Daji to keep talking until the Phoenix responded to her call. Then she could turn the Autumn Palace to ash.

      “Altan was the same,” Daji mused. “You know, the first three years he was with us, we thought he was a mute.”

      Rin nearly tripped over a cobblestone. Daji continued walking as if she had noticed nothing. Rin followed behind, fighting to keep her calm.

      “I was sorry to hear of his loss,” Daji said. “He was a good commander. One of our very best.”

      And you killed him, you old bitch. Rin rubbed her fingers together, hoping for a spark, but still the channel to the Phoenix remained blocked.

      Just a little longer.

      Daji led her behind the building toward a patch of empty