Page 25 of Eyes of Kings

That is the path Otta has sketched for him.

“With our first operation complete,” Otta says, “you should coronate me as a ruler alongside you. Haven’t there always been two thrones in Talin?”

August looks away. This, too, was coming sooner or later. He only didn’t know whether she’d be patient enough to wait until after the war was won. What she wants, she gets. What she doesn’t want, she discards. His sister has always been like this. Why would she be any different just because August knows the truth about her now?

“Funny.” He leans back on the table. “I assumed there were only two thronesafterHer Majesty Sinoa Tuoleimi was defeated.”

“Thisera of Talin remembers two thrones as status quo,” Otta counters. “I have not spoken false. It would serve you well to restore the structure of the kingdom, back to the way it was before the Palace of Heavens fell. Offer your people a sense of safety.”

August scoffs. “I’d like to wait until Talin has settled before enacting any restoration.”

“The panic is exactly what you ought to take advantage of. They need a savior.” Though she nods her chin toward August, it’s clear that she’s talking about herself. “They need a god.”

“You are not a god.”

“I am close enough.”

August resists the urge to massage his temples. Mere months ago, he barely believed the whispers about their natural qi extending and changing. He thought the Crescent Society experiments were a con, that the suppression of light while jumping was surely a trick.

Now, if Otta is to be believed, he must comprehend that the old gods are not myths. That, a hundred years ago, Talin’s pantheon possessed qi directly from the heavens, and they walked the earth wielding such power.

August still doesn’t buy it. Perhaps the kingdom witnessed great feats at one point in their history, but a man with more qi does not make them a god. It makes thempowerful. He has seen this line crossed before too. He was once dear friends with Anton Makusa.

“Tell me something,” August says. His sister’s eyes are still black: the color they inherited from their father, who took his final breath with only August at his side and Otta nowhere to be found. “What is your goal at the end of this war?”

“You know the answer to that. I have one chance to take the body back.”

“Ah,” August says. “That’s right.”

His sister’s eyes are black, not yellow, because her unnatural escape was not without cost. A considerable amount of her power remains in her reborn body, and when the imposter—the one that August knows as his cousin—took over, the body became doubled. Otta feigned indifference when she told him this. She cannot meld herself back in unless the body is significantly weakened or the imposter leaves. And Otta will not admit it, but she must fear the likelihood that she cannot best the imposter. She must fear that she has one chance, and either it works… or she fades into the ether, as she should have when she was invaded in Rincun the first time.

The imposter has been Calla far longer than she has. It does not give her a promising chance.

“We can discuss your coronation at that point,” August decides. “Better once you’re wearing Calla’s body.”

“Mybody,” Otta corrects in a snap. “Don’t forget thatIwas born Calla Tuoleimi.”

August has not forgotten. He cannot forget, so long as she is a real Tuoleimi and he is not a Shenzhi by blood. So long as there’s the possibility that the divine crown could strike him dead when he puts it on, and then there would be only Sinoa Tuoleimi left to the rule the kingdom, as she wanted a hundred years ago.

“In conclusion,” August says calmly, “we wait until the war is won. It is far less confusing for the kingdom to accept that Calla Tuoleimi and I are on the same side again. No need to get Otta Avia involved.”

Otta’s jaw tightens. Her expression darkens, then clears for an exaggerated simper instead. She’s deciding to play nice. Just as he cannot be rid of her, she cannot afford to lose him.

“I understand,” Otta says. “Excuse me. I will go oversee cleanup. The Weisannas want to speak to you about moving camp soon.”

August nods. He watches her stand. Her silk-smooth sash trails after her.When she reaches the door, her hand coming down on the handle, he calls, “Wait.”

Otta halts. She turns, only slightly, showing him half her face.

“Who is wearing Calla?” August asks. “Do you know?”

The air turns charged. Otta, for a second, seems unwilling to answer. She has delivered August a successful stratagem today, and he has yet to reward her. He hasn’t fallen to his knees promising a bounty in return; rather, he is asking for more. In their youth, he struggled to tolerate her company precisely because of this—any favor was a mark struck on the scoreboard, and then Otta would rush to remind him that he owed her, again and again until it drove him mad. He remembered thinking that she would grow out of it with age. Who could have known she was decades old and still too petty to possess subtlety?

Otta shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter who it is. She’s nothing more than a false god now.”

When Otta pulls the door open, it is in perfect timing to a Weisanna arriving outside. She sidles out without another word, ignoring the guard, who is heaving for breath. They must have run through the building.