Page 112 of Eyes of Kings

“I’m here.”

“We knew each other, didn’t we? In the heavens.”

Calla cannot see Chami, but she is smiling.

“I think so. My memories have faded significantly already. But you feel familiar. You have always felt familiar. Do you remember everything?”

“Bits and pieces,” Calla answers, her voice dropping to a rasp. “It is as though the timeline of my past life has been cut and scattered into a slot machine. On each pull, I’ll recall a collection of memories, but there is no beginning and no end, no way to explain the order they occurred unless there was cause and effect with another event.” She pauses. “But I remember the times we laughed together. We were an unlikely friendship. My favorite day was the pagoda by the eastern pond. Do you remember? You termed me a King-Killer, and I was so proud.”

Gods have no names. Yet long before Sinoa Tuoleimi’s resurrection could enter the lexicon of the mortals on Talin, there was another King-Killer. The godling of greed.

“Yes,” Chami whispers. “I remember.”

The door into the cells slams open. Calla swallows hard. She says, “Go, Chami,” and she spins around, holding her head high when the Weisannas appear. Despite the haze in her mind, she has the forethought to keep her sleeves close and tight. She lets the Weisannas steer her out from the cell. Into the corridor.

Just as Calla is stepping into the palace, she hears, softly enough that she might have imagined it: “Goodbye, Calla.”

Bibi leads the way, waving for Yilas and Chami to hurry before they are spotted. Despite the Weisannas’ return, there is much in the capital to tend to, andso there are plenty of blind spots at the wall. Even while the Weisannas declare San-Er to be closed again, large sections of the wall remain missing, piles of rubble leading a trail out into the provinces.

Bibi holds the sling closer to her chest. Mao Mao is gentle and accommodating. She thought it prudent to abduct Calla’s cat before she fled the palace. Consider it one last favor done, before all that is to descend on the capital.

“Come on,” Bibi whispers. “There’s no surveillance here.”

The whispers have started in the twin cities. August Shenzhi will not tolerate the old gods. August Shenzhi requires Talin to be loyal to his rule. Anyone who recalls anything about themselves—who possesses power that makes their presence in San-Er tricky—should consider fleeing outside his immediate control.

So Yilas called Bibi, wondering if there was any life in Laho. If she could take Chami out before anything could harm her, and Bibi said she would go with them.

Bibi flickers her flashlight at the watchtower. No movement. She waves for Yilas and Chami to move ahead of her, checking for any sign of a tail. A smallmeowrrustles from her sling, and she bounces the cat a few times to soothe his nerves.

Bibi offers San-Er one last look. The sun is rising. It runs its kindness over the death that has littered the perimeter of the city, tries to smooth over the dents and ditches that have blown into the grass. The bodies have been cleared, but Bibi can see what remains of their qi. Overlapping each other, hovering close to the ground until enough time passes for everything to dissipate.

She lingers, staring at a particularly bright yellow wisp reaching toward her, twisting and dancing beside the wreckage.

“I’m sorry, Anton,” she whispers. “I thought we’d have more time too.”

The procession runs from the palace and around San’s main thoroughfare, then into Er. They haul Calla with her wrists bound to chains, pulled behind a clusterof children who have been assigned to throw petals onto the spectators, but the audience is as somber as death.

Nobody cheers. They stand, stony-faced, fulfilling their duty as loyal civilians without showing outright displeasure.

Calla looks them in the eye while they lead her along. Each and every one of them. The elderly who have dragged themselves out on their walking sticks. The students who wear pressed-clean uniforms, though the schools have not been in session since the attacks that came through the wall. Since the gods in San-Er defended the twin cities and were shunned as payment.

The spectators do not speak to her, so she does not speak to them.

Her procession ends inside the coliseum. For one final time, Calla is brought within these tall walls, her eyes squinting under the lights as they flare on, section by section upon her arrival. There are more spectators packed behind the ropes than she has ever seen. The Weisannas must have issued mandatory attendance notices to the apartments nearby, demanding that they be present for their king’s return. The slow-moving parade has taken up the entire morning, and now the sun beams over the twin cities. The rain has stopped. From the coliseum, the one place in San-Er where the skies are visible from the ground, there isn’t a cloud to be seen. A good sign for August, because the crops can regrow and the overflowing paddies can clear—all that once funneled into San-Er can continue once more, supposing the provinces continue sending it.

But Calla has a feeling they may desire otherwise.

August Shenzhi is already waiting up on the balcony. His arms are relaxed, propped on the railing. The throne room glows golden behind him, emitting an aura that surrounds his silhouette.

“Cousin,” August calls down. “A long time ago, I warned you that this was how it would play out if you tried to contest me.”

“You did,” Calla replies. “You also promised me far more. The people fed. The city wall open. The kingdom flourishing. What happened?”

August barks, “Hah!” and from the shadows behind him, out steps Galipei. Calla spots the crown then. It has been placed on a pedestal, at the far side of the balcony. Ready for the moment of his true coronation, when the heavens will declare him worthy.

“How was I to keep my promises?” August asks. “I have been occupied like a plaything since the moment I was crowned.”

“You know what you did,” Calla says. “You know what damage you fostered in your bid for this throne.”