Page 57 of Eyes of Kings

Power. So much power lurking in her core, swimming to the surface.

Calla gasps, hurtling back. Her return to her own body is abrupt. Vigorous enough that she stumbles two steps, the underside of her knees striking the bed frame. When her vision focuses again, Anton appears equally unsettled, his hands gripping the desk behind him. His eyes have lit aflame.

“Again,” Calla gasps.

Anton marches toward her this time. His hands grasp her shoulders, and she’s fallen back, her head on the bedsheets, her head humming with the light that has entered the room. His mouth lands on her throat; Calla shoves up. She is Calla; she’s looking at Calla. Her fingers rip into shirt buttons, press into skin. She moves in, she moves out, she follows whichever path of qi Anton leaves behind for her, tearing off her jacket, her trousers, consuming all that is before her, skin to skin to skin. Her teeth bite down on his shoulder—they swap once more. His head cranes back—no—wait.Fuck. That had been her. She can’t keep track of who she is, where she’s taking possession.

She knows for certain she’s the one in control when Anton enters. That the sight of her eyes widening, her lips parting in a gasp, does not match with her image of herself. It’s not him pushing; it is her. It’s not him dropping his forehead down on her shoulder; it is her, surging with power that begs to escape.

The kingdom keeps its rules for a reason. Though one may jump, it is only possible to invade occupants within eyesight and ten feet of distance. Anything more requires sacrifice. Though one may jump, it is dangerous to merge qi. Endless around and around and around causes two to forget they are not one. Hallucinations, hearing voices, losing their minds. That is what San-Er has always taught their children.

“Where are you?” Anton murmurs.

“Don’t resist,” Calla answers.

Light, in the room. She can’t identify where it’s coming from. Whether it is pressing up against the windows from outside, whether it is something inside scorching into visibility instead.

Anton does not resist. He must tire because it is no longer his path that she is following—Calla steers him where she wants, colliding with him when she enters. Slower, slower he becomes each time before he loses consciousness inside her invasion. His thoughts bleed over; his memories, his loyalty, his coveting. The house in Kelitu, and his parents laughing. Salt air blowing in through the window, the sun rising over the beach. Each color at its brightest green, red, yellow, blue…

Calla slams back into herself. Her body seizes—it has reached its limit, it cannot absorb any more. The air disappears from the room. Her eyes go dark. And Anton, his hands on her hips, thrums to his peak.

The air returns. They’re gasping in their own bodies when Anton collapses, his nose at her collarbone. Calla wraps her arms around him, gaining sensation slowly, gaining her sense of space and time and reality bit by bit by bit.

Her head continues spinning. But this is what she wanted confirmed. This is what she sought. Her crown rings with a faint tinny sound.

Anton shifts, lifting onto his elbow. He opens his eyes, and Calla can’t parse any light behind them anymore because everything she sees has a faint golden sheen. Their tryst was a harvest, and her body is full.

“What… was that?” Anton manages.

Calla rises slightly too. Her hand brushes his temple, where a lock of his dark hair has fallen into his face.

“Anton,” she says. “Your father was a god.”

CHAPTER 26

Venus is escorted from her rooms with little commotion.

With no commotion, as a matter of fact. She flinches at the overhead lights, her eyes stinging. Her rooms were left dark. Curtains pulled, the doors locked from inside until she could identify her visitor. It was at her request, in case the Crescents came looking for her again.

“Come on, girl,” Joselie urges. The servant grabs Venus’s arm. “It’s not like the palace is a good place to linger.”

“I don’t want to go,” Venus protests. When she sleeps, she sees the man. Wanting to carve out her heart. Wanting to sap her of qi. When she is awake, her memory reaches even further. The carriage, overturned. Councilmember Rehanou, his insides strewn out from the hole in his torso, a crescent moon carved into his chest.

Venus has run from one nightmare into another. Criminals and Crescents and every sin she has committed by proxy of inheriting this councilmember title. Being locked in the north wing of the palace was the first moment she had caught her breath since her father dropped dead. Really, this all goes back to him. Venus wishes she could speak to him. She would finally raise her voice in argument.

“There are no Crescents beyond the wall,” Joselie says. “I thought you would welcome the distance.”

In Venus’s silence, the old woman hastens her pace, walking them throughthe north wing. A group of attendants is waiting in the atrium, armed with luggage bags and hard cases that look as though they contain kitchenware. Venus scans through the faces in frantic search for the man who attacked her, but all five appear to be feminine bodies. Which doesn’t negate the possibility of undercover Crescents, but Venus sees no tattoos either. What is the likelihood that the man jumped in? Taking the first opportunity to ambush her again…

“I picked everyone myself,” Joselie says, reading her mind. “You are in respectable company.”

Venus manages a small nod. As soon as Joselie continues walking, the attendants collect their bags and fall into step. They proceed through the turnstiles at the main entrance, then into the hazy rain, the quiet city.

“You will leave through the east, where there is a carriage waiting and a volunteer driver,” Joselie says.

“Are they going to run after me if they see me?” Venus asks, her voice hoarse. She imagines being sighted by the guard force at the gate. Sprinting for her life, screaming until her throat is raw.

“The Crescents?” Joselie asks, scoffing. “They don’t care if you’re leaving the twin cities, Councilmember. They only care about the threat you pose within it.”