Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Your Majesty!”

Fuck.

The moment they exit Anton’s old rooms, Seiqi calls out, still waiting at the end of the hallway. Anton considers his options, panic rapidly spreading from the twist in his stomach. If he isn’t careful, Otta may expose him right now to make a game out of it. She knows, he spins in a cycle, she knows, and it would only take one slipup—

“Your Majesty,” Seiqi says again, falling into step when he and Otta pass her. Otta doesn’t look particularly bothered. Anton can hear his pulse beating in his ears, keeping in tune with his quick pace. “The gala starts soon. The council is asking for permission to allocate some Weisannas among the councilmembers for protection at the function.”

“Yes, sure,” Anton says. Whatever it takes to get her away from them.

Seiqi pauses. She’s still walking at their side, her lips pursed. They proceed into the main hall of the east wing. This part of the palace isn’t often used, and the provisions reflect that state. Statues of mythical flying horses decorate each atrium entrance, gray not by choice but by a thin layer of dust.

“If I may,” Seiqi begins, “it would be wiser to call off the gala rather than disperse the guards. We don’t know what Leida is planning. She could be waiting for the ideal time to slip out and run—or perhaps she wants to finish her plans and attack the palace.”

“She doesn’t exactly have the means, does she?” Otta asks. Though her voice is sugary sweet, there is no invitation for argument.

Seiqi winces. She clearly doesn’t want to refute Otta. The guards are taught to obey instructions from their charges, and though Otta may not be a princess in the technical sense, she comes close enough by proximity. Close enough to order Seiqi into exile if anything upsets her. Anton urges silently, Please, give it up. Go do your job and stop caring so much. For her own sake, if not his sanity.

“There are still guards loyal to Leida,” Seiqi says in a rush. “Not everyone thinks she was in the wrong. It will only take—”

In the same moment, Otta collapses midstep and Seiqi cuts off abruptly. Anton springs to catch Otta with a sharp inhale, grabbing her by the elbows. Her body softens, turning to deadweight.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Otta? Otta, what’s wrong?”

His first suspicion is that the yaisu sickness has caught up with her. It has allowed her a momentary awakening and come knocking again when she thought she was in the clear. He shakes her shoulders, pulls her closer to him. She doesn’t respond. Her eyes stay closed, her face taking on a pallor.

Then, beside him, Seiqi says: “Oh, come on now. Don’t be slow.”

Anton whirls around. Seiqi— Otta —tilts her head toward the door beside them: a playroom, its curtains drawn and interior dark. Empty, since the palace children are being kept in their own quarters while the halls are in lockdown.

“Hurry up. I don’t want surveillance to think anything’s wrong,” she says. Otta leaves Anton to lug her body through. She’s already at the other side of the room when he enters. Shock has rendered him sluggish. This should be impossible. It should be, and yet she turns around in a Weisanna’s body, and her eyes have changed accordingly. Midnight black with a flash of blue, just like August’s.

“Otta,” he says stupidly.

“You can set me down over there,” she responds, pointing to a couch. “Remember this room? We came here all the time. One camera, only for the door.”

Anton doesn’t remember, to be honest. Seven years have passed for him, and that was since Otta fell ill. Never mind how many years it has been since they were last in this room, since they felt carefree enough to be sneaking around after hours when most people were sleeping. Those last few months in the palace were frantic with the longing to leave. Escape the twin cities, flee to the provinces, rob the vault cleanly enough to build their own house and garden.

He lays Otta’s body gingerly onto the couch. She’s had a strange gleam to her appearance from the moment she woke, and it’s taken Anton until now to realize that it reminds him of King Kasa’s television screens. The broadcasts where his complexion was smoothed over, made without flaw. There is no screen before Otta, but her skin glistens anyway. She resembles a doll kept in plastic wrapping for the shelf, unperturbed by the elements and the day’s settling dust. Her time asleep has made her ill-fitting to reality, belonging to a different age.

“Anton,” Otta prompts. “What’s wrong?”

“You must be out of your mind,” he says, the words bursting from him. “Jumping into a Weisanna is what got you into this mess to begin with.”

“I didn’t do it right back then,” Otta says. She nudges the curtain, humming under her breath. Night is falling, so San-Er is growing brighter. A beam of golden yellow comes through the window, shining from the bulbs strung atop the coliseum. She doesn’t behave like someone who is newly cured, someone who is a medical marvel despite the odds.

“You shouldn’t be doing it at all.” Anton stops. Backtracks. “In fact, you shouldn’t be able to. Otta, what the fuck ?”

“I thought you’d be more open-minded than this.” Her eyes skirt up to the corner of the room, and he knows she’s watching the camera. Otta beckons him, and Anton draws closer, out of the camera’s view. It is only the sensible thing to do.

“Open-minded?” he echoes. “It’s…” Impossible. Unfathomable. Just like his jump in the arena after the final battle. Just like him, surviving his own death and using the qi of that sacrificed vessel to invade August.

“What?” Otta asks. He’s come near enough to be within her reach, and her hands land on his chest. They’re calloused: the hands of a trained guard. One who must have lived her whole life believing she was among the chosen few of the kingdom who could never be invaded. The Weisannas are the only bloodline to be born as if they are doubled, though they in fact possess only one set of qi. Invasion should be an incomprehensible feat, just as it is to jump into someone doubled. How would Seiqi Weisanna react if she knew she could be jumped and used, like the regular people of Talin? How would the kingdom, hearing that this marker of difference has dissolved?

“You know,” Anton says carefully, “I’m really starting to consider the warnings that you may be an imposter.”

Otta snorts. “You already know I’m not.”

“The Weisannas being insusceptible to invasion is a core facet in our ability to jump.”

“And so is a flash of light, being within ten feet, and having a target before your eyes.” Otta’s hands glide up his chest to his neck. “I watched the footage from the Juedou. I saw what you did.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Anton says. He can hear himself sounding defensive, though Otta speaks with an edge of amusement. She doesn’t need to deliver an accusation outright. She has already gathered enough of the truth. “When did you figure it out?”

Her hand seizes his chin. Otta turns his head, putting his face against the electric light slinking through the curtain.

“I can tell the difference between shades, Anton.”

“No one else can.”

“I know yours very well. Let’s say I’m particularly sensitive to the change.” Though Otta doesn’t let go of his chin, she changes her hold. Her fingers dance along his jaw with an indifferent air. He doesn’t dare pull away, just as he’s never dared to tell Otta he disagrees with her.

“And anyway,” she goes on, “you asking about your family back there confirmed my suspicions. What was that about?”

The Dovetail. Under King Kasa, the council was prohibited by the crown from acknowledging its existence.

When Anton first invaded August’s body, there were flashes of overlaid memories, thoughts that weren’t entirely his. He’s never experienced a brief merge like that, never jumped and felt a wave of fear that he might not come out on top. He shouldn’t have been surprised that August’s qi would put up a fight. Anton might have won out, but the wisps of August that leaked through were potent. He’s certain he saw a dove pressed into a wax seal. He doesn’t know if that’s enough to go pointing fingers.

“Did you know that Kasa had my family killed?”

Otta freezes. For the first time since she woke, perhaps for the first time in her life, she looks genuinely concerned. Her lips part. Her eyes grow wide.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, I’m sorry, Anton.”

“August sure isn’t.” The bitterness on his tongue is nauseating. “He knew.”

“If we penalize August for the number of secrets he keeps and won’t speak about, his punishment would be eternal.”

Otta’s lips purse. She is considering the matter, but something about her expression feels faraway. He’s seen Otta jump in their younger years—sometimes that was how they snuck out of the palace—but he cannot wrap his mind around seeing her in a guard’s body. A Weisanna . She gave herself the yaisu sickness on her first attempt, and now she’s done it so easily on her second? What has changed?

“What’s that look on your face?” Otta skates her hands down his arms, gently brushing the sleeves of his jacket. Before he can stop her, they’re tucking inside the jacket, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt against his stomach, his torso.

“You know something too.”

Otta’s gaze snaps up. Ink black. These days, he should really start getting used to impossible acts: there’s another in this palace who jumped a royal at eight years old and was never caught.

“I’m sorry?” Otta asks. She peers at him with the innocence of a convent disciple, and Anton can’t help but get the impression he’s being played. Through his exile, he spent his every effort keeping her alive. This is what he wanted. Otta awake should be a miracle upon miracles, but…

Her fingers graze his thighs. But this isn’t what he expected. The Otta he kept alive was Otta asleep, a darling of a girl, a soft face who stayed unmoving, unprotesting no matter what he confessed at her bedside. Otta awake is something else entirely.

“Stop,” he whispers.

“No one can see us,” Otta says, her breath hot against his cheek.

For a thoughtless moment, he gives in. He misses her; he misses their time in the palace. Her fingers hook into his waistband; her lips graze his and make firm contact. Anton inhales the kiss, grasps her face, her hair, breathes the smell of something rich—something like praline, like plum candy.

Then she nudges closer, presses into him with unmistakable intent, and the wrongness of the situation is a slap to his face. Anton tears himself away, stumbling back two steps.

Otta watches him carefully. She laces her hands in front of her.

“Is something wrong?”

“I—” Anton gathers himself. Exhales. “ Yes , something’s wrong. Otta, it’s been seven years. You’ve been under, but I… I’ve been alone this whole time. We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I didn’t expect we would.” Her scrutiny increases. The hairs on the back of Anton’s neck lift. “But at the very least, I didn’t think you’d abandon me either.”

“I did not abandon you,” Anton returns. “I’m the one who kept you alive.”

“While cozying up to a princess.”

Anton ventures a glance at the door. They may be out of camera view, but it doesn’t mean they are unwatched. Forget it. He’s not having this debate with her.

“Be reasonable.” He takes another step away. “You grew up in the palace too, so I don’t need to explain it to you. It’s a little hard to keep up the act as August if I’m fucking my half sister, don’t you think?”

She barely flinches. He had, at least partly, meant to hurt Otta with the crude defense, but her lip quirks.

“As you say, I am your sister. You are the throne. There is plenty of reason why I should be at your side.”

When she sidles forward, Anton grabs her hand before she can put it back on his chest. He encircles her wrist, holding her at a distance, but he doesn’t let go.

“You can’t have it both ways, Otta,” he says. “It sounds like you want me to stay as August for good.”

“What did you have to gain living as Anton Makusa anyway?” Otta asks in return.

You. I had you, he thinks, stung by the question. He had Otta, and the entirety of San-Er stood in the way. The overspilling hospitals, the shortage of beds. The factories he never lasted long at, the paltry money he made with his useless noble hands.

“Not much,” he says instead. “Exile. Picking rich businessmen’s pockets.”

“And look at the difference here,” Otta says. “The kingdom at your beck and call.”

Anton shakes his head, letting go of her wrist. “Don’t try your tricks on me. You don’t think I know your games by now?”

“I’m sure you’re telling yourself you’re only staying until you get revenge on August.” Otta, intent on getting one more prod in, flicks his ear. Then she dances away, skipping to her body on the couch. “But I know your games too. You like it here. I’ll help you, Anton. Just back me up and don’t fight it. Understand?”

“What are you talking about—”

She collapses. On the couch, Otta opens her eyes again, having returned to her body, and she hops to her feet with a renewed energy. She hurries to shake Seiqi’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Ah.

Seiqi blearily returns to herself. She doesn’t understand what happened. Of course, she wouldn’t even consider that she was invaded, because she’s a Weisanna.

“What on earth?” the guard mutters. “Did I—”

“You fainted,” Otta says plainly. “Must be the air in the east wing. Let me help you.” In brisk fashion, Otta tugs Seiqi to her feet.

“You were speaking about the gala,” Anton reminds her, smoothing his expression over and following Otta’s lead. “Shall we?”

Seiqi clears her throat. Shakes herself back into order. “Yes. Yes, some of the councilmembers would like to clear certain matters with you first.”

Anton gestures for her to lead the way.

“I should change,” Otta decides when Seiqi turns a questioning look on her. “I’d like to make a speech at the gala too.” Before Anton can grant approval, she spins on her heel and prances for the door. She throws a wink over her shoulder. “See you there, August .”