Page 99 of Eyes of Kings

“I apologize,” Bibi says. “But you see it. Another guides his hand.”

For a moment, Tsosia is silent. A tremor beats through the waiting bodies. Some are moving. Those in the center, inching forward.

“The sister,” Tsosia says. “There is something odd about her.”

“Yes,” Bibi agrees.

The heretics are walking toward the wall. Only a small section, at first. Then another fragment.

“I noticed,” Bibi goes on, “that Otta Avia shares a fragment of qi with the princess. I assumed I was mistaken. But the more I muse upon it, the more I wonder if I saw correctly. She does not seem to be a city commoner who was brought into the palace. She seems old. Very old.”

During Bibi’s time undercover in the Palace of Union, she hadn’t interacted with either Calla or Otta Avia. But she caught sight of them in passing. She could read Otta’s qi. And now, having spent longer in Calla’s presence…

“There’s her mark all over these people,” Bibi says. “Otta Avia. Except it reeks of a Tuoleimi.”

Tsosia takes a beat. Considers everything she is implying, and everything she dares not to say.

“Close the entrance!” she bellows.

There’s sudden motion underneath, the Crescents of the Shard Temple working to slam the gate of the wall’s primary entrance. Bibi nods to herself, because this will make a difference. One additional barrier up against invasion.Along the walkway, the Crescents who armed themselves with crossbows get in position. Poised to fire.

Bibi excuses herself from Tsosia’s side, shuffling along the wall where she can get a better angle on the approaching invaders. Since the heretics emerged, the Crescents have scrambled like nothing before. They have not put sigils on their own bodies, as Bibi expected, because they have realized that no amount of qi will match up to that of a god. Perhaps Bibi is not as much of a believer as she thought she was, because she feels no worship for these individuals. Only dread.

“Fire at the first sign of attack,” a Crescent beside her instructs.

“What qualifies as an attack?” another returns.

“Use your judgment.”

They are all hoping and praying the heretics do not come any closer. That this does not escalate, because every member of the Crescent Societies can already predict how that will end.

San-Er, decimated.

Bibi picks at a piece of dead skin in the corner of her lip. It comes off too easily. A sharp pain pierces her mouth. The air trembles.

When the invasion begins, not a single Crescent has the time to shoot. The heretic moves faster than their eyes can understand. Launching from the center of the line, bolting for the wall and crashing straight through, putting a groaning hole in the middle of the thick barrier.

Crescents, screaming. The walkway atop the hole collapses. Bodies tumble down to the ground, losing their balance, colliding amid rubble. San’s wall was already made weak after the attack on the westernmost section. Rapid repairs were done to the central gate, but clearly it was not enough.

“Fire!” Tsosia bellows. “Fire!”

While the Crescents scramble to get their bearings, to steady their feet and aim their crossbows, Bibi hurries for the ladder and slides down. She’s right intime to see the heretic disappear between the city’s buildings. Will the qi block hold? How powerful are they inside the capital?

“Heavens have mercy,” she murmurs under her breath, and then she’s in pursuit, rushing into the alley too.

There’s a reason why no army in history has succeeded in storming San-Er. It is impossible to coordinate. Impossible to create flanks and lines, because soldiers are split up in alleys, soldiers dive through stairwells aiming for a rooftop route only to find themselves crossing three buildings over instead. Bibi squeezes herself into a thin opening that was most certainly not meant as a passageway, its path littered with broken flowerpot pieces, cigarette butts and lighters, discarded tissues forming globules after the rain.

She emerges out the other side, catching the heretic pausing at the thoroughfare. She launches herself at the invader.

They collide more easily than expected. The heretic has the appearance of a young boy—the height of Bibi’s shoulders, she realizes, as she grapples for footing. The boy struggles. He does not say anything, does not bid her to get off. When she pushes on his elbow and pulls a blade, she looks into his eyes and sees no response, no fear, no rage.

The sigil. Slash the sigil!

Bibi’s eyes drop, searching the heretic’s exposed skin. But he bucks her off, and then he’s gone, faster than Bibi can comprehend. She gasps for breath, her palms scraping against cement. San-Er is screaming. The invasion line is rushing through the hole in the wall; the invasion line spirits into the capital’s thin, winding routes. The block is not strong enough, then. It fails to protect against this sort of assault. Not an army, but a frenzy. With her lungs tight, Bibi picks herself back up, stumbling the next street over where a market is still in operation.

She swipes a saucepan. A wooden spoon. The merchant protests and asks if she is going to purchase it, right before Bibi starts to bang them together, making a racket.

“Get underground!” she commands. “Find a basement!”