Page 62 of Eyes of Kings

“You didn’t want to take a horse while the trader was looking the other way?”

“I don’t think I’m fast enough for that,” Tenzen returns.

Of course he would be. They are gods. Their heavenly qi has returned. Even the most minor among the pantheon, god ofpeaches, has the ability to blast qi from her hands, shove aside a mortal with a blink.

“Alas,” Reanne says softly, “you sound like them now.”

Tenzen frowns. Despite her tone, there is something about her words that feels derogatory, and her friend must be deliberating between giving grace or picking a fight. The frustration goes beyond whether Tenzen should steal a horse. It is Reanne becoming increasingly troubled by the fact that she maintains every memory of her time as a god while everyone else has been losingthem. Everyone else is phasing into this state where their time in the pantheon becomes some vague dream. But not her. She suspects it is punishment for being the first to leave, too eager to adopt the mortal form. While Tenzen adapted to Gaiyu, his every day no different from those of the peaceful villagers taking care of a province where nothing much happens, Reanne waited out her entire time in Kelitu afraid that something like this was coming.

And a hundred years later, here they are.

Anotherboom. Tenzen glances over his shoulder, tensing. The donkey is stubborn when he pulls its leash. It appears bothered by the weight of the wagon.

“Do you think someone needs to tell them?”

“What?” Tenzen asks. He plants his feet firmly in the grass. Hauls at the leash.

“Doyouremember anymore?” Reanne demands. “Can you tell the story of how we met?”

“Reanne.” Tenzen, finally, allows a flash of qi to shoot from his arms, sparking along the leash. The donkey rears briefly, then yanks the wagon out of its hiding spot and back onto the gravel path. “Once we arrive in Gaiyu and get away from these other gods who want to smother us, maybe then we can reminisce about the good old times.”

“You don’t remember,” Reanne says dully.

“Reanne.”

Mortals follow the law of the earth. The earth follows the law of the heavens. The heavens follow the law of the Way. And the Way is unpredictable.

The Way chooses their designation in the pantheon. The Way births them when there is a need for their domain. The Way terminates them when their domain no longer bears relevance.

Rain starts overhead once more. A splutter to signal its arrival, and then steady drizzle stinging Reanne’s shoulders.

“There was a day,” she says, “during the epoch in which only the godlingof qi ruled alongside the king, when she took pity on the mortals she loved. She heard about their pain, and she looked across her sleeping pantheon.Where are the floods when they need their fields nourished?she asked, and the god of rivers begged innocence because he did not know there was drought.Where are their treasures when they dig into the caves?she asked, and the god of precious metals claimed no one had spoken their desires. The godling of qi worked for three days and three nights at her desk without eating or sleeping. Finally, when it was done, she had created a language of her domain. Sigils that corresponded with each immortal in the pantheon, to be used by mortals as an inescapable summons. She did not give herself one, because each sigil was attuned to her, tied fundamentally to her life force. From each tier of the pantheon she requested a representative, and off went the gods and godlings to share such news with the mortals who needed it most.”

She stops. Watches her friend. In her mind’s eye, it could have happened yesterday. Their glee while flying through the wind, traveling as dandelion seeds because Tenzen could steer them across the open fields of the east.

“Her representatives traveled wide, dispersing every adjustment, relaying every piece of feedback, until the godling of qi finally perfected her craft,” Reanne continues. “When someone was called in the pantheon, she knew too. She was everywhere; she was the gift upon all mortals. She was incredibly dear to us—we were her favorites to call on. We would have continued in everlasting partnership until the godling of greed stole into her office and used her work, invented a sigil to take her power, and offered it to a human queen to solicit resurrection. We would have continued together forever, but the godling of qi collapsed where she stood, screaming, and that was the last we saw of her.”

It is inaccurate for Reanne to claim she was the first who descended, fleeing the rot. The first was the godling of qi. She needed to, because she was tied to the force that broke the heavens, and she wouldn’t have survived a second longer.

Tenzen stares at his shoes. He is silent. Waiting, until Reanne finishes her tirade, the two of them growing drenched in the rain.

When he looks up, pity carves his eyes hollow.

“I don’t remember,” he says. “And in truth, I don’t wish to remember. The godling of qi is gone. She’s cast somewhere across this kingdom, with no help to us. She could be dead. She could be someone captured in the capital. I don’t care. I just want to go home.”

He tugs the leash. Walks off without urging Reanne to follow.

So she does not.

CHAPTER 29

Calla thumps down the steps to the palace cells herself.

She wanted Anton to keep watch in the hallway, because the flood alarms have stopped, which means the Crescent Society members will be returning to their posts. It would be rather unpleasant if the Crescents wandered back into the palace while Calla was down below, affected by a qi block, unable to stop them from slamming the door and keeping her imprisoned too. She sees the sigil drawn exactly where Anton described it, crimson red bleeding from its edges. A shiver runs along her neck. Goose bumps blossom under her jacket sleeves.

“Everything all right?” Anton calls from the open door.

Calla lifts the lamp, squinting when she descends another step. The weight of her sword is a steady presence at her hip. When her feet stop beside the sigil, she expects to feel absence, that same void when the Crescents experimented earlier.