Page 92 of Eyes of Kings

“They are nothing as they were a hundred years ago,” Woya says, each word careful. “Production schematics were destroyed. Craftsmen’s notebooks burned. All we can manage are the most basic prototypes. Some of the gunpowder chambers don’t even work.”

Buira folds her arms. When her heels click together, she is visibly standing in solidarity with Matiyu. He preens, feeling as though he’s picked up a compatriot.

“Bring them out,” Buira demands. “Distribute them.”

“Yeah!” Matiyu says. Yilas is going to hate that he’s acquiring more, but each of these firearms holds one bullet. How are they going to defend the cramped apartment in the face of battle?

“Miss Makusa,” Woya says, “have you come just to encourage this kid to underpay for his weapons?”

“No,” she replies. “I came because you need to shut every entrance of the palace.”

Woya rolls his eyes. “Now did you want me to do that before or after bringing out our firearms for free? Maybe I should start a charity and feed everyone in the twin cities while I’m at it.”

“You’ll want to move fast,” Buira says. “There’s movement outside the wall. Multiple heretics, forming a line. They’re coming.”

She walks away with a flounce.

And Matiyu blinks, dropping his umbrella. So much for a fellow compatriot. How did she bury the lede for that long? She should havestartedwith that.

Woya pales. He looks to Matiyu, as though he is going to ask whether Matiyu can spare his labor, work for the Crescent Societies again and protect the capital.The news stations have been running endless reports. There were hundreds of casualties before the block activated. Most of those incidents hadn’tintendedto cause mass destruction—they were only people like the man at the seafood restaurant, lashing out with heavenly qi in a burst of anger.

San-Er is tired. It is hungry. It has been drenched in endless, grueling rain. Calla Tuoleimi has abandoned them for her war in the provinces. The Crescent Societies don’t know how to match the power that these heretics possess. How quickly will the opponents outside level the twin cities to dust if they’re truly intent on annihilation?

“Matiyu—” Woya begins.

“No!” Matiyu calls in response. He’s already pivoted, running back to his apartment in Er. “No way!”

CHAPTER 42

Anton waits five minutes.

He doesn’t know what he expects, that Calla might be in and out of Rincun so quickly as to suddenly stir. He adjusts when his legs start to cramp at the edge of the marsh, ducking behind the cattails and sitting beside Calla’s empty vessel. Her crown gleams. The metal vibrates in the dark, signaling its use somewhere across the kingdom.

Anton shouldn’t. But she’slying—he knows it. Whatever he could recall in her body, she must have the memory too. She won’t tell him… Why? What is she avoiding? Anton leans toward her. He puts one hand on Calla’s unmoving shoulder, and he breathes in, in, in. His throat seizes. His teeth chatter.

Then he has jumped, and he’s wearing Calla again.

The pass stretches long ahead of them. On either side, the green mountains rise into the storm clouds, their top halves obscured. The trees are dense, sprouting from the rock face in clusters. It keeps out the wind when they push their horses to a gallop.

The godling of greed should not be present at this battle. Their king would advise that there is a limit to the extent in which they meddle with mortal affairs. Prayers gauged against the amount in which a mortal sacrifices. Each request measured up to the benefit that an immortal reaps when the mortalbelieves—believesin their domain with every thud of their fast-moving life-span.

She casts a glance to her side. Sinoa Tuoleimi rides at the helm, readying to clash with the enemy line. Sinoa’s brothers, meanwhile, did not ride out with their army. They are not fighters. They sit behind marble tables and carry decorative swords. They will send men out to die for them, nary a reason behind it, praying not to the godling of lust or to the god of war. There is a deep emptiness inside Akilas and Potau Tuoleimi. They rename themselves into a family calledShenzhi, son of gods, simply because they feel they deserve to. Without any prayer toward the correct domains.

The godling of greed takes one hand off the reins, throwing her power out. Sinoa Tuoleimi clashes with the enemy bearing the strength of ten soldiers, her sword cutting through armor and steel. The godling steers her armored horse straight into enemy ranks, breathing in. Greed,greed—it emanates.

A hard blink. Anton isn’t really present. It is easy to forget.

Another battle. The same war, but a much later time. Sinoa Tuoleimi wears the divine crown while she disappears into the carnage. There’s a flare of light. There’s a piercing scream, cut short by an explosion, and then gunfire. The godling of greed has lost control. This isn’t how it was supposed to play out.

Other members of the pantheon have stepped in. Why would they step in? She stretches her will across the valley. Feels who is present: god of the short blade, godling of an elder’s vanity. They answered the calls of the mortal kings in the capital.Why?

Heavenly qi flashes through her fingertips. She is bogged down by this mortal form, but it is the only way she is allowed to fight here. She uses it as a physical force, keeping down the opposing soldiers while her side moves. As she inches toward another line of soldiers, her power halts, meeting a counterforce. A sickly-sweet smell travels through the battlefield. As though a canvas of rotwaits beneath their feet—apples or peaches, already blackened and curling in on themselves. The godling of greed absorbs the attack when a thunder roll of qi strikes her. An involuntary shudder spasms through her chest. She tastes the same rot on her tongue.

“No, no,” Anton whispers under his breath. “Enough of this.”

“Sinoa,” the godling of greed bellows. “Enough.”

A lacquer-red temple. This time, she holds no mortal form. She is silent. She is invisible.