“Yes, it’s easy enough if we just puncture the waterproofing. The hard part is finding the mines.” Kitay rubbed his chin. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any expert divers on deck.”

“I can figure that part out.” Jinzha spread his scroll over Kitay’s table. It was a closely detailed map of Rat Province, on which he’d circled in red ink a spot just inland of a nearby lake. “I need you to draw up detailed plans for an attack on Boyang. Here’s all the intelligence we have.”

Kitay leaned forward to examine the map. “This is for a springtime operation?”

“No. We attack as soon as we can get there.”

Kitay blinked twice. “You can’t be considering taking Boyang with a damaged fleet.”

“A full three-fourths of the fleet is serviceable. We’ve mostly lost skimmers—”

“And the warships?”

“Can be repaired in time.”

Kitay tapped his fingers on the table. “Do you have men to man those ships?”

Irritation flickered over Jinzha’s face. “We’ve redistributed the troops. There will be enough.”

“If you say so.” Kitay chewed at his thumbnail, staring intensely down at Jinzha’s scribbles. “There’s still a slight problem.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well, Lake Boyang’s an interesting natural phenomenon—”

“Get to the point,” Jinzha said.

Kitay traced his finger down the map. “Usually lake water levels go down during the summer and go up during colder seasons. That should advantage deep-hulled ships like ours. But Boyang gets its water source directly from Mount Tianshan, and during the winter—”

“Tianshan freezes,” Rin realized out loud.

“So what?” Jinzha asked. “That doesn’t mean the lake drains immediately.”

“No, but it means the water level goes down every day,” Kitay said. “And the shallower the lake, the less mobility your warships have, especially the Seahawks. I’m guessing the mines were put there to stall us.”

“Then how long do we have?” Jinzha pressed.

Kitay shrugged. “I’m not a prophet. I’d have to see the lake.”

“I told you it’s not worth it.” Nezha spoke up for the first time. “We should head back south while we still can.”

“And do what?” Jinzha demanded. “Hide? Grovel? Explain to Father why we’ve come home with our tails tucked between our legs?”

“No. Explain about the territory we’ve taken. The men we’ve added to our ranks. We regroup, and fight from a position of strength.”

“We have plenty of strength.”

“The entire Imperial Fleet will be waiting for us in that lake!”

“So we will take it from them,” Jinzha snarled. “We’re not running home to Father because we were scared of a fight.”

This isn’t really an argument, Rin thought. Jinzha had made up his mind, and he would shout down anyone who opposed him. Nezha—the younger brother, the inferior brother—was never going to change Jinzha’s mind.

Jinzha was hungry for this fight. Rin could read it so clearly on his face. And she could understand why he wanted it so badly. A victory at Boyang might effectively end this war. It might achieve the final and devastating proof of victory that the Hesperians were demanding. It might compensate for Jinzha’s latest string of failures.

She’d known a commander who made decisions like that before. His bones, if any had survived incineration, were lying at the bottom of Omonod Bay.

“Aren’t your troops worth more than your ego?” she asked. “Don’t sentence us to death just because you’ve been humiliated.”

Jinzha didn’t even deign to look at her. “Did I authorize you to talk?”

“She has a point,” Nezha said.

“I am warning you, brother.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Nezha said. “You’re just not listening because you’re terrified that someone else is right.”

Jinzha strode over to Nezha and casually slapped him across the face.

The crack echoed around the little room. Rin and Kitay sat frozen in their seats. Nezha’s head whipped to the side, where it stayed. Slowly he touched his fingers to his cheek, where a red mark was blooming outward over his scars. His chest rose and fell; he was breathing so heavily that Rin thought for sure he would strike back. But he did nothing.

“We could probably get to Boyang in time if we leave immediately,” Kitay said neutrally, as if nothing had happened.

“Then we’ll set sail within an hour.” Jinzha pointed to Kitay. “You get to my office. Admiral Molkoi will give you full access to scout reports. I want attack plans by the end of the day.”

“Oh, joy,” Kitay said.

“What’s that?”

Kitay sat up straight. “Yes, sir.”

Jinzha stormed out of the room. Nezha lingered by the doorway, eyes darting between Rin and Kitay as if unsure of whether he wanted to stay.

“Your brother’s losing it,” Rin informed him.

“Shut up,” he said.

“I’ve seen this before,” she said. “Commanders break under pressure all the time. Then they make shitty decisions that get people killed.”

Nezha sneered at her, and for an instant he looked identical to Jinzha. “My brother is not Altan.”

“You sure about that?”

“Say whatever you want,” he said. “At least we’re not Speerly trash.”

She was so shocked that she couldn’t think of a good response. Nezha stalked out and slammed the door shut behind him.

Kitay whistled under his breath. “Lovers’ spat, you two?”

Rin’s face suddenly felt terribly hot. She sat down beside Kitay and busied herself by pretending to fiddle with the cow intestine. “Something like that.”

“If it helps, I don’t think you’re Speerly trash,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Let me know if you do.” Kitay shrugged. “Incidentally, you could try being more careful about how you talk to Jinzha.”

She made a face. “Oh, I’m aware.”

“Are you? Or do you like not having a seat at the table?”

“Kitay . . .”

“You’re a Sinegard-trained shaman. You shouldn’t be a foot soldier; it’s below you.”

She was tired of having that argument. She changed the subject. “Do we really have a chance at taking Boyang?”

“If we work the paddle wheels to death. If the Imperial Fleet is as weak as our most optimistic estimates say.” Kitay sighed. “If the heaven and the stars and the sun line up for us and we’re blessed by every god in that Pantheon of yours.”

“So, no.”

“I honestly don’t know. There are too many moving pieces. We don’t know how strong the fleet is. We don’t know their naval tactics. We’ve probably got superior naval talent, but they’ll have been there longer. They’ll know the lake terrain. They had time to booby-trap the rivers. They’ll have a plan for us.”