Page 67 of Eyes of Kings

“No one prayed to me!” the girl claims. “I am nothing. I am—!”

The bolt of qi strikes her dead center in the forehead. The girl hits the ground. She’s clinging to the barest edge of awareness, and there’s just enough remaining to feel pain, the slit on her arm. Movement, on her face. A sigil being drawn, andoh!She knows which one this is!

Highness, Highness, the voice sounds in her head. It’s her voice, she remembers. The god of violets. Such a minor position in the pantheon, and one she was grateful to have, serving as an attendant to her lady. The godling of control. A bride of balance. A queen to the heavens.

The sigil marks her cheek, and the girl seizes, her eyes rolling back into her head. She misses that first week when she walked Ximili, wearing those plain cloth shoes, feeling the hot air on her face. The sun was bright, and it burned her forehead until she was red and tender to the touch. She liked how the earthen realm felt, the scratches she picked up from gravel kicking against her legs, the sweat that gathered at the small of her back. She built her shrine, and she drew her sigils, speaking up to her lady, who had cried day and night about the poison in their realm. Her lady was not one who often consorted with mortals, so the girl would descend first and guide her landing.

Her lady is dead now. The old gods could not be gods without their qi. Though they did not age, no amount of passive immortality could combat death by starvation, by disease, by murder. The old gods grew to become nothing save the folktales of rural dwellers, and they might as well have been, with no proof, no power.

She never should have promised that all was lovely here. Her lady’s death is her fault. How beautiful it is that she can die by her lady’s sigil now.

CHAPTER 31

Of course Calla doesn’t trust him.

In a show of goodwill, Galipei let himself be moved into the private cells instead, deposited into the room where they kept Leida Miliu a lifetime ago. Anton paced the hallway above the cells until Calla emerged, at which point he examined her from head to toe as though he were afraid that Galipei had invaded her while she escorted him behind the thick door.

“So?” Anton asked when they started to walk.

“He claims he does not have exact routes, because he was shut out of August and Otta’s planning,” Calla relayed. “That being said, he was in August’s office prior to his departure. The lines on his map move toward Actia. You were right.”

That didn’t seem to please Anton, though.

“IfIcan guess August’s most likely course,” Anton muttered, “I gather that his beloved bodyguard can too.”

“What does he gain by lying about a path we already predicted?”

“He could be leading us away from August’s true course.”

“That would imply we were never accurate about August’s course at all, so why would he need to lead us away? Anton, be reasonable.”

He didn’t like that either. “Does he have a count of the Weisannas? Locationsof temporary camps where the army will diverge to establish loyalty in a province? Does he haveanythingthat would prove a gain for us?”

Calla offered him a dull look.

“He has information about the one advantage we might be able to gain over Otta.”

Now Calla latches her backpack and swings it onto her shoulders. Dusk drapes its veil atop San-Er slowly. Anton is sitting in the corner of their quarters, his legs pulled up on the plush chair. Once they leave for Kelitu, Bibi can stand guard over Galipei. The Crescent Societies will find out about his presence in the private cells eventually when the other prisoners tattle, but they have some time before those repercussions. Before Bibi’s standing among the Crescents is questioned and the capital starts to slip from Calla’s grasp. She has to hope that Venus has reached Rincun by then, that their plan has kicked into gear and Actia is positioned as the final battlefield.

“Get moving,” Calla says.

“I think he’s lying,” Anton says, once more.

“I have no doubt that Galipei is schemingsomething.” She checks her scabbard. “But he would not agree to defect lightly. He doubts August.That, he can’t fake. And if he truly believes collaborating with the enemy can save him, he will not put that at risk. He’s telling the truth.”

A loud clatter, directly outside their window. The Crescent Societies have stopped making arrests. There’s no room anyway, and their focus has turned to nipping the problem at the root. Calla lifts the window, listening in case the Crescents have put guards to monitor the perimeter, but the voices drift away.

“Yeah,” Anton mutters. “It would be nice if he simplyhadthe sigil from the Dovetail letters. Rather than offering us vague promises of it being found at my family’shouse.”

“Either we check the house, or you reach deep in your memory and realize you’ve had it all along. Which will it be?”

Silence. Anton’s bag is at his feet. He’s always readily packed. Like her, he owns very little, short of what’s on his back. Clothing, weapons. Ameowrfloats from the open wardrobe, and Calla pokes her head through the hangers, petting Mao Mao nestled inside.

“Be good to Joselie,” she says. “And don’t use my silks as a litter bed. I’m coming back for those.”

Mao Mao nuzzles into her palm, protesting her departure. A small exhale escapes her, and she offers him one good scratch before withdrawing, lest she grow tempted to take him with her. Calla reaches for a square scarf to distract herself. She folds it once along the diagonal. By the time she’s tied it around her crown, Anton still has not moved.

“Anton,” she says. She puts a foot up onto the windowsill. The alley behind the palace is very narrow. A light from above shows rainwater gushing downstream, carrying plastic lids and cigarette butts and discarded take-out boxes. “Are you coming?”