Page 89 of Eyes of Kings

“Aboutwhat?” Calla demands. “That I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about? That I have no memory of being somegod?”

“Why would I be able to see the memory,” he hisses, “while you can’t? You’ve said it yourself—you don’t know where you came from. You have no recollection past the days where you were wandering around Rincun as a starving orphan. That doesn’t make any sense. If you are afraid of the blame you have in Sinoa’s war, you can say it outright.”

Calla drops the cigarette. Stamps on it, putting the embers out. Her crown is too tight on her head after the day’s exertion, and an ache is starting at the back of her neck. This isn’t the place to be having such a discussion. They are surrounded by civilians, and Calla hasn’t a clue whether this province is governed by generals and palace soldiers or errant gods running around swallowing swords.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” she tells Anton. “If I’ve been lying to you about not remembering what you saw, then why would I let you wear my body?”

Stubbornly, Anton replies, “You couldn’t have known I would see it.”

She throws her hands up. That draws the attention of some nearby patrons.If there is ever an indication that a fight is to break out around a tavern, rural dwellers will pay attention.

“I,” Calla says slowly, “am not the godling of greed. I am Calla Tuoleimi.Youtold me that once.”

Anton drops quiet. It seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?You are Calla Tuoleimi. If you choose to be. High atop San-Er, on the rooftops before the morning came calling. Hiding amid the king’s games, when it seemed like there was one straight path between what they were doing and what they wanted.

“Let’s forget it,” Calla says. She doesn’t want to think about this. It is preposterous. It is far, far removed from her, and even if there is some truth to what Anton saw, it is a past life.

To win this war, Calla cannot give credence to the possibility of being linked to Sinoa Tuoleimi. It was bad enough when Sinoa was merely Otta Avia—newly awoken, intent on upsetting order in the palace. Even then, while restraining her power, something about Otta threatened Calla at every moment. She couldfeelit. She has always known there was something off about her.

Calla is scared. There aren’t many people in this kingdom that she feels small in front of. And Sinoa Tuoleimi, who she stole this body from, is first on the list.

“I have every intention of hearing August’s proposal,” Calla says, changing the subject. “But it will be a trap in some fashion. If he is steering us into a meeting, perhaps he is sending soldiers into San-Er.”

Anton doesn’t immediately respond. He kicks a pebble, then wanders around the side of the tavern. Calla follows him with a sigh. She wants to snap at him for acting like a child. He’s throwing a tantrum because she won’t admit to a lie that she isn’t even telling. Her mouth is already opening, annoyance slick behind her teeth and gearing up for an argument, when he says, “He won’t march on San-Er without Weisannas. It’s why he’s nervous enough to call for peace talks now, because his numbers suffered from the attack in Janton.”

Calla swallows her annoyance. She lowers her hood, observing the back of the tavern. There aren’t any rural dwellers here. Perhaps that’s why Anton stepped around the corner.

“Nervous enough to call for peace talks,” she echoes. “But not enough to be upfront. He must think we’re idiots to buy the excuse of bisecting the kingdom.”

August will not share. Neither will Otta, if she is advising his plan. Before Calla took down the Palace of Heavens, San-Er was governed by two thrones only because two brothers won the war a hundred years ago. There is no world in which Otta would be happy splitting the kingdom with an enemy. If she was, she wouldn’t have waged war to begin with. She wouldn’t have asked for immense sacrifice and run to a palace in the mountains.

“They will want the north,” Anton says. “It’s where the better resources are.”

“I can’t imagine August giving up San-Er,” Calla counters. “It seems more likely he would offer the north as a consolation prize. And assuming Venus Hailira performed well, she has already earned Rincun as our ally.”

Anton shakes his head. “August is in no position to offer a consolation prize. He is calling to negotiate whathecan earn as a consolation prize.”

Calla isn’t sure she agrees. August did not scheme his way through King Kasa’s ranks to be happy with Actia as his only territory while the rest of Talin prays to San-Er.

“Your Majesty?”

Calla whirls around, her hand flying out. There isn’t enough time to put her hood back on—she hadn’t heard anyone approach, she didn’t notice the crunch of footsteps turning the corner. She is distracted; she is losing her edge.

But it’s only one of the barkeeps. An apron tied around his waist, stitched with the tavern’s signage out front.

“I apologize,” he hurries to say. Calla has seized his body. She holds him in place, roots his feet in the dry red soil. “A patron said they sighted you outback. Meannin’s taverns all received word from someone named Venus Hailira. It asked us to pass on the message should we encounter you.”

Calla blinks. She lets go of the barkeep. “Saying what?”

“That you are needed in Rincun. Circumstances have changed. She will await you at West Capital’s yamen.”

The yellow skies of Teefa Province do not sink into true darkness, even after sundown. A misting rain strengthens over the horizon, blowing from the west.

Calla dismounts the horse, shaking out her arms. They have ridden far enough. Between Meannin and Rincun sits dull Teefa, the wetlands that go forgotten next door to Actia’s desert. She wants to lower the likelihood of running into unforeseen obstacles. There is still August’s meeting to attend at dawn.

“Let’s get off-road,” she says. “We’ll find a ravine or something.”

Cattails wave from the shallow marshes, offering their hellos. A bit farther north, with Rincun’s cooler climate, they’ll be replaced by flax lilies. Calla used to nick flax plants from traders. She lingered beside their wagons after they pushed in carts full of seeds and saplings, waiting for that moment they were distracted so that she could grab and go. No one would miss something as useless as a flax lily. They were sturdy, so they lined the outer edge of the carts to protect more fragile specimens from being blown around. Traders slowly sold them off in Rincun for decorative use. They wouldn’t survive in the soil if replanted. For whatever reason, Calla used to pull them from their clay pots anyway and give it a shot, find a nook beside one of the paddies and pat the brown mud around it. She acted surprised every time they wilted a few days later.