At least she wasn’t being kept in isolation. Rin discovered that visitors could enter the basement freely. She just couldn’t leave.
Niang visited often, but she wasn’t much for conversation. When Niang smiled, it was forced. She moved listlessly. She didn’t laugh when Rin tried to cheer her up. They passed hours sitting beside each other in silence, listening to each other breathe. Niang was stunned with grief, and Rin didn’t know how to comfort her.
“I miss Raban too,” she tried once, but that only made Niang tear up and leave.
Kitay, on the other hand, she grilled mercilessly for news. He visited as often as he could, but was constantly being called away for relief operations.
In bits and pieces, she learned what had happened in the aftermath of the battle.
The Federation had been on the verge of taking Sinegard when she had killed their general. That, combined with the timely arrival of the Empress and the Third Division, had turned the battle in their favor. The Federation had retreated in the interim. Kitay doubted they would soon return.
“Things ended pretty quick once the Third got here,” he said. He cradled his arm in a sling, but assured Rin that it was only a minor sprain. “It had a lot to do with . . . well, you know. The Federation was spooked. I think they were afraid that we had more than one Speerly.”
She sat up. “What?”
Kitay looked confused. “Well, isn’t that what you are?”
A Speerly? Her?
“That’s what they’ve been saying all over the city,” said Kitay. Rin could sense his discomfort. Kitay’s mind worked at twice the speed of a normal person’s; his curiosity was insatiable. He needed to know what she had done, what she was, and why she hadn’t told him.
But she didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t know herself.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
“That you fell into a frenzied bloodlust. That you fought like you’d been possessed by a horde of demons. That the general cut you down over and over and stabbed you eighteen times and still you kept moving.”
She held out her arms. “No stab wounds. That was just Nezha.”
Kitay didn’t laugh. “Is it true? You’re locked down here, so it must be.”
So Kitay didn’t know about the fire. Rin considered telling him, but hesitated.
How would she explain shamanism to Kitay, who was so convinced of his own rationality? Kitay was the paragon of the modernist thought that Jiang despised. Kitay was an atheist, a skeptic, who couldn’t accept challenges to his worldview. He would think her mad. And she was too exhausted to argue.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “It was all just a blur. And I don’t know what I am. I was a war orphan. I could be from anywhere. I could be anyone.”
Kitay looked unsatisfied. “Jun’s convinced you’re a Speerly.”
But how could that be? Rin would have been an infant when Speer was attacked, and there was no way she would have survived if no one else had.
“But the Federation massacred the Speerlies,” she said. “They left no survivors.”
“Altan survived,” Kitay said. “You survived.”
The Academy students had suffered a far higher proportion of casualties than the soldiers of the Eighth Division. Barely half of their class had made it through, most of them with minor injuries. Fifteen of their classmates were dead. Five more were in critical condition in Enro’s triage center, their lives hanging perilously in balance.
Nezha was among them.
“He’s going through a third round of operations today,” said Kitay. “They don’t know if he’s going to live. Even if he does, he might never fight again. They say the halberd pierced his torso all the way through. They say his spine is severed.”
Rin had simply been relieved that Nezha wasn’t dead. She hadn’t considered that the alternative might be worse.
“I hope he dies,” Kitay said suddenly.
She whirled on him, shocked, but Kitay continued, “If it’s death or a lifetime as a cripple, I hope he gets off easy. Nezha couldn’t live with himself if he couldn’t fight.”
Rin didn’t know how to respond to that.
The Nikara’s victory had bought them time, but it had not guaranteed them the city. Intelligence from the Second Division reported that Federation reinforcements were being sent across the narrow sea while the main invading forces waited for their rendezvous.
When the Federation attacked for a second time, the Nikara wouldn’t be able to hold the city. Sinegard was being fully evacuated. The Imperial bureaucracy had been moved completely to the wartime capital of Golyn Niis, which meant Sinegard’s security had been deprioritized.
“They’re liquidating the Academy,” Kitay said. “We’ve all been drafted into the Divisions. Niang’s been sent to the Eleventh, Venka to the Sixth in Golyn Niis. They’re not sending Nezha anywhere until he . . . well, you know.” He paused. “I got my orders for the Second yesterday. Junior officer.”
It was the division Kitay had always dreamed of joining. Under different circumstances congratulations would have been in order. But now, celebration simply felt wrong. Rin tried anyway. “That’s great. That’s what you wanted, right?”
He shrugged. “They’re desperate for soldiers. It’s not a matter of prestige anymore; they’ve started drafting people right out of the countryside. But it’ll be good to serve under Irjah. I’m shipping out tomorrow.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too.” Kitay sat back on his hands. “Any idea when they’re going to let you out of here?”
“You know more than I do.”
“No one’s come in to talk to you?”
She shook her head. “Not since Jun. Have they found Jiang yet?”
Kitay gave her a sympathetic look, and she knew the answer before he spoke. It was the same answer he had given her for days.
Jiang was gone. Not dead—disappeared. No one had heard or seen anything since the end of the battle. 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?