You can’t fight a war on your own, Nezha had once told her.
No, but she could with thousands of bodies. And if a thousand fell, then she would throw another thousand at him, and then another thousand. No matter what the power asymmetry, war on this scale was a numbers game, and she had lives to spare. That was the single advantage that the south had against the Hesperians—that there were so, so many of them.
Kitay seemed to have realized this, too. The incredulity slid off his face, replaced by grim resignation.
“Then we’re going to war against Nezha,” he said.
“The Republic’s already declared war on us,” she said. “Nezha knows what side he chose.”
She didn’t have to debate this any longer. She wanted this war. She wanted to go up against Nezha again and again until at the end, she was the only one standing. She wanted to watch his scarred face twist in despair as she took away from him everything he cared about. She wanted him tortured, diminished, weakened, powerless, and begging on his knees.
Nezha had everything she used to want. He was aristocracy, beauty, and elegance. Nezha was the north. He had been born into a locus of power, and that made him feel entitled to use it, to make decisions for millions of people whom he considered inferior to himself.
She was going to wrench that power away from him. And then she’d pay him back in kind.
Finally, spoke the Phoenix. The god’s voice was dimmed by the Seal, but Rin could hear clearly every ring of its laughter. My darling little Speerly. At last we agree.
All shreds of affection she’d once felt for Nezha had burned away. When she thought of him she felt only a cruel, delicious hatred.
Let it smolder, said the Phoenix. Let it grow.
Anger, pain, and hatred—that was all kindling for a great and terrible power, and it had been festering in the south for a very long time.
“Let Nezha come for us,” she said. “I’m going to burn his heart out of his chest.”
After a pause, Kitay sighed. “Fine. Then we’ll go to war against the strongest military force in the world.”
“They’re not the strongest force in the world,” Rin said. She felt the god’s presence in the back of her mind—eager, delighted, and at last perfectly aligned with her intentions.
Together, spoke the Phoenix, we will burn down this world.
She slammed her fist against the table. “I am.”
Dramatis Personae
[TK]
Acknowledgments
So many people helped me turn this book into something I’m proud of. Hannah Bowman saw this manuscript in its early stages and helped me in the nicest way possible to realize it was trash. It is still trash, but the fun kind. Thank you for always advocating for me, believing in me, and pushing, sometimes dragging, me forward. We burn on, boats against the current, hurtling into the future! David Pomerico and Natasha Bardon not only whipped this manuscript into a much better story than I could have come up with on my own, they helped me grow as a writer and saw me through an awful case of second-book syndrome. JungShan Ink created the cover illustrations and, as usual, somehow reached straight into my mind to depict Rin the way I’ve always imagined her. Thank you also to the teams at Liza Dawson Associates and Harper Voyager—Havis Dawson, Joanne Fallert, Pamela Jaffee, Caroline Perny, Jack Renninson, and Emilie Chambeyron. I’m lucky I get to work with you!
I’m blessed to be surrounded by friends, mentors, and teachers who encourage me to do more than I ever could have imagined, and who believe in me when I don’t. Bennett, the Scarigon Plateau was named after Scarigon. A great warrior. There you go. Shkibludibap! Maybe one day we will learn the fate of Gicaldo Marovi and his friend Rover . . . Farah Naz Rishi is my shining desert flower, my warm cup of stew on a cold day, the cheese to my bread, the strongest and most beautiful person I know, and the K to my J.B. May we grow old and petty together. Alyssa Wong, Andrea Tang, and Fonda Lee are incredible role models who set the standard for grace and hard work, and who inspire me to unapologetically write me. Professors John Glavin, Ananya Chakravarti, Carol Benedict, Katherine Benton-Cohen, John McNeill, James Millward, and Howard Spendelow turned me into the scholar that I am. I’m grateful to the Marshall Commission for its incredible generosity; the Marshall Class of 2018 are complete badasses and I want to be like all of you when I grow up. Adam Mortara reminds me through his shining example to never pull the ladder up after myself, but to reach down and pull others up. Jeanne Cavelos and Kij Johnson remain the best writing teachers I’ve ever encountered. Port is a very good beverage.
Huge, huge shout-out to the book bloggers, booktubers, bookstagrammers, and reviewers who talk about my work. (Incorrect Poppy War, I’m looking at you.) The fact that people get so excited about my characters is absolutely unreal. You have no idea how much encouragement and support you’ve given me, and I’m so glad I get to share my stories with you. #FireDick Forever. Burn on, my trash children.
And finally: if I am anything, it is because my parents gave me everything.
About the Author
R. F. Kuang immigrated to the United States from Guangzhou, China, in 2000. She currently resides in the United Kingdom, where she is pursuing a graduate degree in Modern Chinese Studies at the University of Cambridge on a Marshall Scholarship. Her two great loves are corgis and port.
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