Page 32 of Eyes of Kings

Matiyu blinks. “There’s rain across the provinces.”

“It’s better in some places. And besides—the wall is open now. We could come back if it doesn’t work out.”

There has not been a moment where Matiyu considered leaving the twincities. Some mornings he walks along San’s wall to clear his head, and since the coup, he has seen plenty of rural dwellers coming in, moving with a quickness that—funnily enough—reminds him of the larger fish he handles. Out from the tank, in through the wall, what’s the difference? They will be sure-footed at first. The larger fish never fight him because they think they’re being moved somewhere better. Then they gasp. They realize they are far from water, going farther still.

Entering San-Er is the same. The rural dwellers show up and realize they were not built to breathe here. They will try in earnest. They have spent a very long time believing the capital will possess what they need, that there is no lacking. A few quick thefts, a few stolen bowls of rice—these will temporarily stave off some hunger. Then they realize they cannot stay in the alleys; they realize that every apartment in these buildings has already been stuffed full to the brim.

Soon, they discover that the only options left are the temples. Newcomers duck underneath an awning, rest on the steps until they are welcomed in. The Crescent Societies offer a meal; the cleric asks for loyalty. Ordinary civilians in San-Er keep expecting the Crescents to realize they have made a mistake keeping the wall open, but they do not understand the Crescents as Matiyu did, and they do not see what Matiyu sees every morning at the wall.

“I don’t care for the provinces,” Matiyu answers honestly. “We won’t find better conditions than what we already have. The bare minimum in San-Er is a privilege out there.”

“Yes, but, Matiyu—” His sister leans in. Lowers her voice, though they are the only people seated at the tables. “Have you seen the news? They’re fucking multiplying in the capital overnight.”

He did see the news. He saw it in the shop windows while walking to his shift.Heretics. Civilians who are making use of this uncertain time by claiming they were original members of the pantheon, old gods who descended from the heavens to live an earthly life… until now.

“I have to get back to scooping fish,” Matiyu says, “but you can stay if you’d like.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Iamsafe,” Matiyu assures her. The Crescent Societies have painted their crescent moons over most of San, marking their presence. It isn’t as common in Er, in the financial district. “This will pass. The capital will settle. It always does.”

Glass smashes across the restaurant. Matiyu and Yilas both jolt, whipping around. The sound came from the shopfront, from the main fish tank. Water pours frenetically onto the street, and the kid on scooping duty scambles to block the large hole that’s been blown into the tank. There’s no use. The fish are slithering through. Matiyu rises from the table, baffled, only to see the man he’d been arguing with hurry up the shop steps, diving to snag the red fish and clutch its slimy scales against his chest.

“Hey!” Matiyu bellows. “What’s your problem?”

The man looks up. His eyes flash. And when Matiyu takes a step toward him, some invisible force pummels him in the chest, sending him flying across the tables and chairs.

“Matiyu!” Yilas screeches.

Matiyu strikes the wall with acrunch. His vision is spinning. Slowly, he registers his sister patting his face, his shoulder. A deep, nauseating pain spreads from his elbow. It doesn’t feel like any of his bones are where they’re supposed to be.

“Matiyu?” Yilas demands. Her face focuses in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Matiyu wheezes. “Take me to the hospital.”

CHAPTER 15

If August counts back the years, chances are high that he and Anton were friends longer than they were adversaries.

Some parts along the timeline are unclear. Some incidents hover strangely between friendly fire and outright hostility. It all gets blurry at a certain point—that’s what it means to have an equal in anything, isn’t it?

It’s their schoolyard days that come to him most vividly. Back then, he and Anton were only responsible for what they studied, how they behaved themselves. Anton Makusa was older than him, but it was a small school, and the years between them didn’t matter as much as their quick friendship. The nobles all sent their children to an academy two streets away from the palace, which meant it was only another extension of the palace’s private tutors and etiquette lessons. In attendance with August and Anton were children of councilmembers and silver-eyed Weisannas-in-training. A few of the more ambitious commoners put their kids at this school, too, if they wanted them rubbing shoulders with nobles, but proximity provided little use in San-Er. One either had control over the matters moving in and out of its wall or didn’t.

August was always more focused on which adults he could befriend rather than fellow students. The grappling among adolescents served no purpose to him, so he never made an effort proving his worth to his classmates. Anton was the same. Anton let people come to him. Many were intrigued by the sole livingMakusa, the one who’d survived a massacre… but rarely did acolytes stick around. There was a recklessness to Anton’s manner that he exhibited on purpose. Well-behaved in the classroom and prone to throwing fits after hours if he wasn’t getting his way. It made him volatile, and their peers didn’t like that.

August didn’t mind, though.

He and Anton often stayed behind when class ended. Their academy was a four-story brick-and-metal building, evacuation stairs running down one side and a garden on the rooftop to take lunch. Sometimes the sun would emerge from the clouds, and they got a taste of natural light that San’s alleys absorbed before it hit the ground. Sometimes they’d sit there in each other’s company, nothing particular to talk about, nothing to work on. During those early academy days, both of August’s parents were still alive. He only needed to get back to the palace before dinner so his mother wasn’t searching for him. Meanwhile, Anton Makusa had no one checking on him. He was allowed a room and a seat at a dining table, because his father had been important. If Anton asked King Kasa for a favor, noble propriety said that King Kasa needed to try.

Having Anton as a friend was the last time August beheld an equal in some manner. Leida came later. Leida existed in August’s periphery until he was nearing his confirmation as Kasa’s heir, and then she decided she quite liked August. That has always rubbed him the wrong way, even before the blood she spilled in his capital.

Nothing was the same after August was adopted by King Kasa. After Anton was exiled. After August was gifted Galipei as his most loyal bodyguard. August reached a point where he understood he could haveanythingso long as he wanted it enough. The kingdom. The throne. They were all plans to draw, game pieces to move. They were all within reach.

Anton wasn’t.

An equal. A friend.

“August. I know you can hear me.”