She squeezed his fingers. “You fight.”

Part III

Chapter 25

The journey back to Arlong took twenty-nine days. Rin knew because she carved one notch each day into the side of their raft, imagining, as the time stretched on, how the war must be going. Each mark represented a question, another possible alternate outcome. Had Daji invaded Arlong yet? Was the Republic still alive? Was Nezha?

She took solace during the journey in the fact that she didn’t see the Imperial Fleet on the Western Murui, but that meant little. The fleet might have already passed them. Daji might be marching on Arlong instead of sailing—the Militia had always been far more comfortable with ground warfare. Or the fleet could have taken a coastal route, could have destroyed Tsolin’s forces before sailing south for the Red Cliffs.

Meanwhile their raft bobbled insignificantly down the Western Murui, drifting on the current because both of them were too exhausted to row.

Kitay had cobbled the raft together over two days using ropes and hunting knives the Ketreyids had left behind. It was a flimsy thing, tied together from the washed-up remains of the Republican Fleet, and just large enough for the two of them to lie down without touching.

Rafting was slow progress. They kept cautiously to the shores to avoid dangerous currents like the one that had swept them over the falls at Boyang. When they could, they drifted under tree cover to stay hidden.

They had to be careful with their food. They’d salvaged two weeks’ worth of dried meat from the Ketreyids’ rations, and occasionally they managed a catch of fish, but still their bones became ever more visible under their skin as the days went on. They lost both muscle mass and stamina, which made it even more important to avoid patrols. Even with Rin’s reacquisition of her abilities, there was little chance they could win in any real skirmish if they couldn’t even run a mile.

They spent their days sleeping to conserve energy. One of them would curl up on the raft while the other kept a lonely vigil by the spear attached to a shield which served as an oar and rudder. One afternoon Rin awoke to find Kitay etching diagrams into the raft with a knife.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Kitay rested his chin on his fist, tapping his knife against the raft. “I’ve been thinking about how best to weaponize you.”

She sat up. “Weaponize?”

“Bad word?” He continued to scratch at the wood. “Optimize, then. You’re like a lamp. I’m trying to figure out how to make you burn brighter.”

Rin pointed to a wobbly carved circle. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Yes. That represents your heat source. I’m trying to figure out exactly how your abilities work. Can you summon fire from anywhere?” Kitay pointed across the river. “For instance, could you make those reeds light up?”

“No.” She knew the answer without trying it. “It has to come from me. Within me.”

Yes, that was right. When she called the flame it felt like it was being tugged out from something inside her and through her.

“It comes out my hands and mouth,” she said. “I can do it from other places too, but it feels easier that way.”

“So you’re the heat source?”

“Not so much the source. More like . . . the bridge. Or the gate, rather.”

“The gate,” he repeated, rubbing his chin. “Is that what the Gatekeeper’s name means? Is he a conduit to every god?”

“I don’t think so. Jiang . . . Jiang is an open door for certain creatures. You saw what the Sorqan Sira showed us. I think that he’s only able to call those beasts. All the monsters of the Emperor’s Menagerie, isn’t that how the story goes? But the rest of us . . . it’s hard to explain.” Rin struggled to find the words. “The gods are in this world, but they’re also still in their own, but while the Phoenix is in me it can affect the world—”

“But not in the way that it wants to,” Kitay interrupted. “Or not always.”

“Because I don’t let it,” she said. “It’s a matter of control. If you’ve got enough presence of mind, you redirect the god’s power for your purposes.”

“And if not? What happens if you open the gate all the way?”

“Then you’re lost. Then you become like Feylen.”

“But what does that mean?” he pressed. “Do you have any control over your body left at all?”

“I’m not sure. There were a few times—just a few—I thought Feylen was inside, fighting for his body back. But you saw what happened.”

Kitay nodded slowly. “Must be hard to win a mental battle with a god.”

Rin thought of the shamans encased in stone within the Chuluu Korikh, trapped forever with their thoughts and regrets, comforted only by the knowledge that this was the least horrible alternative. She shuddered. “It’s nearly impossible.”

“So we’ll just have to figure out how to beat the wind with fire.” Kitay pushed his fingers through his overgrown bangs. “That’s a pretty puzzle.”

There wasn’t much else to do on the raft, so they started experimenting with the fire. Day after day they pushed Rin’s abilities to see how far she could go, how much control she could manage.

Up until then, Rin had been calling the fire on instinct. She’d been too busy fighting the Phoenix for control of her mind to ever bother examining the mechanics of the flame. But under Kitay’s pointed questions and guided experiments, she figured out the exact parameters of her abilities.

She couldn’t seize control of a fire that already existed. She also couldn’t control fire that had left her body. She could give the fire a shape and make it erupt into the air, but the lingering flames would dissipate in seconds unless they found something to consume.

“What does it feel like for you?” she asked Kitay.

He paused for a moment before he answered. “It doesn’t hurt. At least, not so much as the first time. It’s more like—I’m aware of something. Something’s moving in the back of my head, and I’m not sure what. I feel a rush, like the shot of adrenaline you get when you look over the edge of a cliff.”

“And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“Promise.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “You make the same face every time I summon a flame any bigger than a campfire. It’s like you’re dying.”

“Do I?” He blinked. “Just a reflex, I think. Don’t worry about it.”

He was lying to her. She loved that about him, that he’d care enough to lie to her. But she couldn’t keep doing this to him. She couldn’t hurt Kitay and not worry about it.

If she could, she’d be lost.

“You have to tell me when it’s too much,” she said.

“It’s really not so bad.”

“Cut the crap, Kitay—”

“It’s the urges I feel more than anything,” he said. “Not the pain. It makes me hungry. It makes me want more. Do you understand that feeling?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s the Phoenix’s most basic impulse. Fire devours.”