Page 88 of Eyes of Kings

Otta’s getting ready to argue. Her mouth opening, a righteous frenzy already entering her black eyes.

“I don’t know what they were doing in Kelitu,” he goes on before Otta can interject, “but Anton Makusa would not enter Kelitu for any small reason. You may claim to be more powerful. You may recruit gods who can shake the earth. But Calla has survived this long by doing what no one expects, and I am willing to admit thatfrightensme, Otta.”

“So what is it?” Otta asks coldly. “We enter a peace treaty? Refuse to fight because your plan to invade the capital has not worked?”

“No,” August says. “Not quite.”

But close. The loss of his army in Janton is a handicap. Resources continue to flow from the north. San-Er struggles, but it will not struggle so greatly as to starve out the Crescent Societies. To take San-Er back, August will have to send the Weisannas in and launch an invasion. And August has his hands full enough with Calla, who is careening right toward him.

When Otta stands, her silks adjust. August catches sight of her sigils, across her shoulders, curving along her chest. There will be more hidden beneath her clothing. Along her forearms, her wrists. Up and down her torso, her hips, her legs. This is what she must do, because she does not have her body, or her crown.

“You will not negotiate,” Otta says. “It will make you look weak.Youare the one with an army.”

August shrugs, as stolid as he has ever been, from the moment his name changed from Avia to Shenzhi. Calla rose right into the ranks of being princess;August spent year after year climbing for status. He is the one who knows precisely how to negotiate, how to lure victims and collaborators alike into position. She has the eyes of kings, but he was the golden heir, and that counts foreverything.

It has to.

“We’re going to negotiate,” August says.

The messenger meets them upon entry into Meannin Province, right in the middle of the road.

Anton halts on the reins. Calla draws her sword.

But the guard does not engage. The guard, quietly, sets down a piece of notepaper on the path, then clambers back onto her horse and rides away before Calla can urge them to take chase.

Slowly, Calla dismounts. She walks up to the note and uses the tip of her sword to flip it open on the smooth fold.

Cousin,

This familial spat has gone on long enough. I understand your position. All of this is a result of my actions, for pushing you and Anton into a corner.

I wish to discuss the matter of bisecting the kingdom, as it once was. I believe this would serve us both better than grappling to the bitter end. Otta has prepared a cluster of support in Ximili, marked with a sigil from the godling of control. I hear you’ve already seen this in action. I imagine you’d prefer to avoid encountering it again.

Tomorrow at dawn. Actia’s yamen. I trust that will give you enough travel time.

Let us come to an agreement, and you won’t even have to apologize for killing so many of my soldiers dishonorably.

CHAPTER 40

Calla bums a cigarette off one of the men lurking outside the tavern. Despite Anton’s protests that she ought to stop interacting with rural dwellers, that a provincial lifestyle does not negate news from the capital spreading fast and any of them would be capable of identifying a Tuoleimi by her yellow eyes, she continues to stand against the wall smoking.

Anton remains stiff, his arms folded. He is wary while monitoring the other lurkers, and Calla kicks his shoe to urge him to lighten up. It takes only an hour more to cross Actia Province, then three to reach the yamen to the north. August’s note was too generous with its meeting time when compared with Calla’s riding speed, so she steered them into a border village between Meannin and Actia to adjourn. Sunset drags the gray clouds dark. They’ve already entered the desert stretch of middle Talin. Humidity warms the air, the overhead storm trapping heat like a greenhouse, and it is too sticky inside the tavern to hover with a drink.

“What are you on the lookout for?” Calla asks with her exhale of smoke. She drops into a whisper, and teases, “Gods?”

Anton’s glare is cutting. “That’s not funny.”

In the aftermath of their attack, Anton had seemed drugged and delirious, raving about some past life he saw while wearing her body. He sawherbeing the god who delivered Sinoa Tuoleimi a powerful sigil, the god who offered the possibility of resurrection. He saw her being the very reason why they are in this plight at present,because Sinoa lost against her two brothers when Talin fought its last civil war, because Sinoa prayed deeply enough to warrant interference from the heavens. He wouldn’t stop prattling—not until Calla inhaled deep and robbed him of his excess qi, draining the light from his eyes and the color behind his cheeks. Then, as though suddenly woozy, Anton gave it a rest, leaning forward on their horse.

“Anton,” Calla says now, “don’t be sensitive. You hallucinated. It’s fine.”

She inspects the underside of her boot, taking another drag of the cigarette. She’s been paranoid that the smell of the battlefield has followed them en route. Blood in their sleeves, a squelch in their shoes.

“It would not be wise to continue to lie to me.”

Calla’s head snaps up. “I’m sorry?”

“You lied for long enough until I discovered you were an intruder,” Anton says. “I wouldn’t put it past you to lie about this as well.”