And it humiliated her that the southerners were now seeking her out, that they had the audacity to wander close to her, because they made her more like them by sheer proximity.

She’d long since tried to kill her association with Rooster Province, a place that had given her few happy memories. She’d almost succeeded. But the refugees wouldn’t let her forget.

Every time she came close to the camps, she saw angry, accusing stares. They all knew who she was now. They made a point of letting her know.

They’d stopped shouting invectives at her. They’d long since passed the point of rage; now they lived in resentful despair. But she could read their silent faces so clearly.

You’re one of us, they said. You were supposed to protect us. You’ve failed.

Three weeks after Rin’s return to Arlong, the Empress sent a direct message to the Republic.

About a mile from the Red Cliffs, the Dragon Province border patrol had captured a man who claimed to have been sent from the capital. The messenger carried only an ornamented bamboo basket across his back and a small Imperial seal to verify his identity.

The messenger insisted he would not speak unless Vaisra received him in the throne room with the full audience of his generals, the Warlords, and General Tarcquet. Eriden’s guards stripped him down and checked his clothes and baskets for explosives or poisonous gas, but found nothing.

“Just dumplings,” the messenger said cheerfully.

Reluctantly they let him through.

“I bear a message from the Empress Su Daji,” he announced to the room. His lower lip flopped grotesquely when he spoke. It seemed infected with something; the left side was thick with red, pus-filled blisters. His words were barely understandable through his thick Rat accent.

Rin’s eyes narrowed as she watched him approach the throne. He wasn’t a Sinegardian diplomat or a Militia representative. He didn’t carry himself like a court official. He had to be a common soldier, if even that. But why would Daji leave diplomacy up to someone who could barely even speak?

Unless the messenger wasn’t here for any real negotiations. Unless Daji didn’t need someone who could think quickly or speak smoothly. Unless Daji only wanted someone who would take the most delight in antagonizing Vaisra. Someone who had a grudge against the Republic and wouldn’t mind dying for it.

Which meant this was not a truce. This was a one-sided message.

Rin tensed. There was no way the messenger could harm Vaisra, not with the ranks of Eriden’s men blocking his way to the throne. But still she gripped her trident tight, eyes tracking the man’s every movement.

“Speak your piece,” Vaisra ordered.

The messenger grinned broadly. “I come to deliver tidings of Yin Jinzha.”

Lady Saikhara stood up. Rin could see her trembling. “What has she done with my son?”

The messenger sank to his knees, placed his basket on the marble floor, and lifted the lid. A pungent smell wafted through the hall.

Rin craned her head, expecting to see Jinzha’s dismembered corpse.

But the basket was filled with dumplings, each fried to golden perfection and pressed in the pattern of a lotus flower. They had clearly gone bad after weeks of travel—Rin could see dark mold crawling around their edges—but their shape was still intact. They had been meticulously decorated, brushed with lotus seed paste and inked over with five crimson characters.

The Dragon devours his sons.

“The Empress enjoins you to enjoy a dumpling of the rarest meat,” said the messenger. “She expects you might recognize the flavor.”

Lady Saikhara shrieked and slumped across the floor.

Vaisra met Rin’s eyes and jerked a hand across his neck.

She understood. She hefted her trident and charged toward the messenger.

He reeled backward just slightly, but otherwise made no effort to defend himself. He didn’t even lift his arms. He just sat there, smiling with satisfaction.

She buried her trident into his chest.

It wasn’t a clean blow. She’d been too shocked, distracted by the dumplings to aim properly. The prongs slid through his rib cage but didn’t pierce his heart.

She yanked them back out.

The messenger gurgled a laugh. Blood bubbled through his crooked teeth, staining the pristine marble floor.

“You will die. You will all die,” he said. “And the Empress will dance upon your graves.”

Rin stabbed again and this time aimed true.

Nezha rushed to his mother and lifted her in his arms. “She’s fainted,” he said. “Someone, help—”

“There’s something else,” General Hu said while palace attendants gathered around Saikhara. He pulled a scroll out of the basket with remarkably steady hands and brushed the crumbs off the side. “It’s a letter.”

Vaisra hadn’t moved from his throne. “Read it.”

General Hu broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. “I am coming for you.”

Lady Saikhara sat up and gave a low moan.

“Get her out of here,” Vaisra snapped to Nezha. “Hu. Read.”

General Hu continued. “My generals sail down the Murui River as you dawdle in your castle. You have nowhere to flee. You have nowhere to hide. Our fleet is larger. Our men are more numerous. You will die at the base of the Red Cliffs like your ancestors, and your corpses will feed the fish of the Murui.”

The hall fell silent.

Vaisra seemed frozen to his chair. His expression betrayed nothing. No grief, no fear. He could have been made of ice.

General Hu rolled the scroll back up and cleared his throat. “That’s all it says.”

Within a fortnight Vaisra’s scouts—exhausted, horses ridden half to death—returned from the border and confirmed the worst. The Imperial Fleet, repaired and augmented since Boyang, had begun its winding journey south carrying what seemed like the entire Militia.

Daji intended to end this war in Arlong.

“They’ve spotted the ships from the Yerin and Murin beacons,” reported a scout.

“How are they already this close?” General Hu asked, alarmed. “Why weren’t we told earlier?”

“They haven’t reached Murin yet,” the scout explained. “The fleet is simply massive. We could see it through the mountains.”

“How many ships?”

“A few more than they had at Boyang.”

“The good news is that the larger warships will get stuck wherever the Murui narrows,” Captain Eriden said. “They’ll have to roll them on logs to move over land. We have two, maybe two and a half weeks yet.” He reached over to the map and tapped a point on Hare Province’s northwestern border. “I’m guessing they’ll be here by now. Should we send men up, try to stall them at the narrow bends?”

Vaisra shook his head. “No. This doesn’t alter our grand strategy. They want us to split our defenses, but we won’t take the bait. We concentrate on fortifying Arlong, or we lose the south altogether.”

Rin stared down at the map, at the angry red dots representing both Imperial and Federation troops. The Republic was wedged in on both sides—the Empire from the north, the Federation from the south. It was hard not to panic as she imagined Daji’s combined forces closing in around them like an iron fist.