Page 15 of Eyes of Kings

Seiqi steps through the closest door, and immediately swerves to avoid two women dressed in palace silks. There will be more space at the camp shortly, once the nobles are shipped off, somewhere farther in the provinces away from the danger. Clearing the nobles out will be good, but it’s still not their biggest problem.

His Majesty’s biggest problem is that they’re too close to the capital, and other Weisannas have been advising that the camp itself must move too. Calla’s forces are going to attack. The Weisannas know it. August Shenzhi knows it. Hehas guards rotating patrol on every part of the perimeter. He has scouts stationed along the Apian Routes, as close as they can get to San-Er without being spotted by enemy insurgents from the capital. All to have the earliest possible warning once battle encroaches.

Seiqi enters a room lined with blades and target boards, picking a lane she can position herself at for the hour. As distracted as she’s been, it’s not as though she has to fear punishment. In those earlier hours of the camp, August Shenzhi walked around dispensing instructions and stationing his forces where he wanted them. Almost every Weisanna had fled the capital, and a significant portion of regular palace guards who could not stomach living under the Crescent Societies. August tasked the regular palace guards to watch over the nobles, and the Weisannas to defend the camp.

He has been absent since then. When Seiqi caught a glimpse of him in his provisional war room earlier, he was throwing a vase at the wall, arguing with his sister. Does hecarethat Galipei took the hit for him? Maybe the squabble for the throne would have ended then and there if Galipei hadn’t. Maybe all the Weisannas would happily be working for Calla in the palace. They are sworn to protect the royal family. Not a wily prince who holds tight to his every possession, including his claim on the throne.

Seiqi grimaces. Treasonous thought. A mortal thought, wanting ease, wanting a path easier to walk. Their approach makes little sense. They have not fled and positioned themselves somewhere more favorable to August’s rule. Yet August does not tell his closest guards exactly what they are waiting for, save the inevitable appearance from Calla Tuoleimi, wielding a weapon from the heavens. Seiqi wasn’t present to witness it, but her other cousins talk.Blood—so much blood. One blink, and the Weisannas’ throats were cut, their bodies falling. Perhaps Galipei should count himself lucky that he was only hit with a strike of qi. It could have been infinitely worse.

Seiqi throws the first blade. There was no doubt that it would land deadcenter on the target. She was born a foot soldier on the front lines of defense, insusceptible to jumping, her eyes silver as a shield.

Another roll of thunder drums through the province. This one, finally, echoes closer. Her second blade thuds. She worries, despite herself, despite the confidence that August Shenzhi asserts by refusing to move. His maps are dotted with pins; his boards circled and crossed. This is a war that will be fought on a stage beyond what Seiqi can understand. There is little she can do, save what her birth dictated. But still…

Galipei, she pleads silently.Let me help you.

CHAPTER 7

Before Er’s palace was razed in the absence of its rulers, its throne room looked rather like this one. The Palace of Heavens was not melded with a coliseum—that is a feature unique to San—but Er did have a balcony that overlooked a small open forum. Stone pillars hemmed the public square, adorned with red ribbons that trailed to the ground. When the occasion called for a royal address, the forum filled with spectators, rising to the tips of their toes to peek into the throne room, hoping it was a sign of good luck if the young Princess Calla waved from inside.

After the Palace of Heavens collapsed, the Palace of Earth assumed governance over its twin city—and its items of value. Calla props her head on her fist, staring at the ink scroll, and she’s almost certain it came from the Palace of Heavens.There, in the corner. A dot of blood. Didn’t this scroll hang by the thrones, tarnished when she swung her sword? She remembers the scene. Her frenzy. Metal, bone. Blood, and its pervading reek of iron—the crimson puddle growing until it hit the edge of the balcony.

She doesn’t remember if she was afraid. If her heart was pounding beneath her ribs or if it was only a bitter cold coating her throat.

Calla pulls her gaze away from the scroll, leaning back. Despite her short tenure as an advisor in the Palace of Union, she’s spent little time in its throne room. Especially not upon the throne itself, which is not comfortable in theslightest. The stone is too hard, and its embellishments snag the material of the outer robe that Calla has thrown on. The floor tiles nearby are all worse for wear, cracked or fissured or entirely gouged clean from the underlayment. Palace employees have cleaned the debris and scrubbed the room as best they can, but the Crescent Society attacks wanted to do damage. The red walls gape where its decorative shields and oil paintings have burned away. The deep-green carpet on the lower level is badly charred, losing its color entirely.

And still, Calla decided that this would be their best meeting place. The throne room remains in King Kasa’s image—spilling with excess, garnished without reason. Its ceilings crane high; its overindulgence acts as enclosure. A whisper at the throne is impossible to catch from the door. Even a shout may lose force before it is intercepted. When Buira Makusa steps in, she politely waves off the Crescents, forcing them to stay outside.

“Bibi, what are you wearing?” Anton asks as soon as his sister closes the door. He was pacing the steps, so he sees Bibi before Calla does.

“It’s for luck.”

By Anton’s tone, Calla expected his sister to be wearing an outrageous headdress or some highly inappropriate article of clothing, but she looks exactly the same as she rounds the corner. There’s only a pendant dangling around her neck: a flat bright-blue disk.

Silently, Calla gestures for Bibi to come closer, wanting a better look at the disk, and Bibi complies. No sigils. Only plain patterns. Calla doesn’t know what sort of rural superstition Bibi’s following, but each province comes with their own, and Laho, being in the middle of nowhere, must have many.

“Down on your luck right now?” Calla asks.

Bibi nods toward the balcony. Toward the coliseum, the open air, and the endless storm.

“The whole kingdom is down on its luck. What could this rain be except for a sign of upset from the heavens?”

Calla leans forward, her crown tipping into the light of the chandelier. Anton, visibly tensing, tries to catch his sister’s eye. Either Bibi doesn’t see him, or she opts to ignore his warning, holding Calla’s gaze.

“Careful,” Calla replies lightly. “Someone less sympathetic would take that as an insult.”

“Lucky for us you are so generous and honorable,” Bibi returns. “I spoke to Tsosia.”

Anton steps forward. “And?”

“Twenty,” Bibi says.

Calla scoffs. “At that rate, we may as well go without any.”

“How many Crescents are there in the capital?” Anton asks. “Their members must number into the thousands. And they can only sparetwenty?”

“Three thousand and four hundred in San-Er,” Bibi answers. “But San-Er is hefty territory to protect. They are set up in every corner of the twin cities.”

“They could close the wall,” Anton suggests.