“He doesn’t talk much, does he?” Han said. “Wouldn’t even introduce himself. Prick.”
“He doesn’t need to introduce himself,” Kitay scoffed. “Everyone knows who he is.”
“Strong and mysterious,” Venka said dreamily. She and Niang giggled.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to talk,” Nezha suggested. “You know how the Speerlies were. Wild and bloodthirsty. Hardly knew what to do with themselves unless they’d been given orders.”
“The Speerlies weren’t idiots,” Niang protested.
“They were primitive. Scarcely more intelligent than children,” Nezha insisted. “I heard that they’re more closely related to monkeys than human beings. Their brains are smaller. Did you know they didn’t even have a written language before the Red Emperor? They’re good at fighting, but not much else.”
Several of their classmates nodded as if this made sense, but Rin found it hard to believe that someone who fought with such graceful precision as Altan could possibly have the cognitive ability of a monkey.
Since arriving in Sinegard, she’d come to learn what it was like to be presumed stupid because of the shade of her skin. It rankled her. She wondered if Altan suffered the same.
“You heard wrong. Altan’s not stupid,” Raban said. “Best student in our class. Possibly in the entire Academy. Irjah says he’s never had such a brilliant apprentice.”
“I heard he’s a shoo-in for command when he graduates,” said Han.
“I heard he’s doped up,” Nezha said. He was clearly unused to not being the center of attention; he seemed determined to undermine Altan’s credibility in any way possible. “He’s on opium. You can see it in his eyes, they’re bloodshot all the time.”
“He’s got red eyes because he’s Speerly, you idiot,” Kitay said. “All the Speerlies had crimson eyes.”
“No, they didn’t,” said Niang. “Only the warriors.”
“Well, Altan’s clearly a warrior. And his eyes are red in the iris,” Kitay said. “Not the veins. He’s not an addict.”
Nezha’s lip curled. “Spend a lot of time staring at Altan’s eyes, do you?”
Kitay blushed.
“You haven’t heard the other apprentices talk,” Nezha continued smugly, like he was privy to special information that they weren’t. “Altan is an addict. I heard Irjah gives him poppy every time he wins. That’s why he fights so hard. Opium addicts will do anything.”
“That’s absurd,” said Rin. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She knew what addiction looked like. Opium smokers were yellowed, useless sacks of flesh. They did not fight like Altan did. They did not move like Altan did. They were not perfect, lethal animals of graceful beauty.
Great Tortoise, she realized. I’m just as obsessed with him myself.
“Six months after the Non-Aggression Pact was signed, Empress Su Daji formally banned the possession and use of all psychoactive substances within Nikan’s borders, and instituted a series of harshly retributive punishments in an attempt to wipe out illegal drug use. Of course, black markets in opium continue to thrive in many provinces, provoking debates over the efficiency of such policies.” Master Yim looked up at his class. They were invariably twitching, scratching in their booklets, or staring out the window. “Am I lecturing to a graveyard?”
Kitay raised his hand. “Can we talk about Speer?”
“What?” Yim furrowed his brow. “Speer doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re . . . Ah.” He sighed. “You’ve just met Trengsin, haven’t you?”
“He was awesome,” Han said fervently to nods of agreement.
Yim looked exasperated. “Every year,” he muttered. “Every year. Fine.” He tossed his lecture notes aside. “You want to talk about Speer, we’ll talk about Speer.”
The class was now paying rapt attention. Yim rolled his eyes as he shuffled through a thick stack of maps in his desk drawer.
“Why was Speer bombed?” Kitay asked with impatience.
“First things first,” said Yim. He flipped through several sheets of parchment until he found what he was looking for: a wrinkly map of Speer and the southern Nikan border. “I don’t tolerate hasty historiography,” he said as he tacked it up on the board. “We’ll start with appropriate political context. Speer became a Nikara colony during the Red Emperor’s reign. Who can tell me about Speer’s annexation?”
Rin thought that annexation was a light way to put it. The truth was hardly so clinical. Centuries ago the Red Emperor had taken the island by storm and forced the Speerlies into military service, turning the island warriors into the most feared contingent in the Militia until the Second Poppy War wiped them out.
Nezha raised his hand. “Speer was annexed under Mai’rinnen Tearza, the last warrior queen of Speer. The Old Nikara Empire asked her to give up her throne and pay tribute to Sinegard. Tearza agreed, mostly because she was in love with the Red Emperor or something, but she was opposed by the Speerly Council. Legend has it Tearza stabbed herself in desperation, and that final act convinced the Speerly Council of her passion for Nikan.”
The room was silent for a moment.
“That,” Kitay mumbled, “is the dumbest story I’ve ever heard.”
“Why would she kill herself?” Rin asked out loud. “Wouldn’t she have been more useful alive to argue her case?”
Nezha shrugged. “Reasons why women shouldn’t be in charge of small islands.”
This provoked a hubbub of responses. Yim silenced them with a raised hand. “It was not that simple. Legend, of course, has blurred the facts. The tale of Tearza and the Red Emperor is a love story, not a historical anecdote.”
Venka raised her hand. “I heard the Red Emperor betrayed her. He promised he wouldn’t invade Speer, but went back on his word.”
Yim shrugged. “It’s a popular theory. The Red Emperor was famed for his ruthlessness; a betrayal of that sort would not have been out of character. The truth is, we don’t know why Tearza died, or if anyone killed her. We know only that she did die, Speer’s tradition of warrior monarchs was discontinued, and the isle became annexed to the Empire until the Second Poppy War.
“Now, economically, Speer hardly pulled its weight as a colony. The island exported almost nothing of use to the Empire but soldiers. There is evidence that the Speerlies may not even have been aware of agriculture. Before the civilizing influence of the Red Emperor’s envoys, the Speerlies were a primitive people who practiced vulgar and barbaric rituals. They had very little to offer culturally or technologically—in fact, they seemed centuries behind the rest of the world. Militarily, however, the Speerlies were worth their weight in gold.”
Rin raised her hand. “Were the Speerlies really fire shamans?”
Muted snickers sounded around the classroom, and Rin immediately regretted speaking.
Yim looked amazed. “They still believe in shamans down in Tikany?”
Rin’s cheeks felt hot. She had grown up hearing stories upon stories about Speer. Everyone in Tikany was morbidly obsessed with the Empire’s frenzied warrior force and their supposed supernatural abilities. Rin knew better than to take the stories for the truth, but she’d still been curious.
But she had spoken without thinking. Of course the myths that had enthralled her in Tikany only sounded backward and provincial here in the capital.