Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

On Galipei Weisanna’s fifteenth birthday, the palace assigned him to Prince August. It was a random draw, pulled from a list of every Weisanna who was near the prince’s age and could follow him around like a personal shadow disguised as a child’s companion. It could have easily been one of Galipei’s cousins—another Weisanna, since they were all interchangeable as long as they had the silver eyes, the genetic inheritance that protected them against invaders jumping into their bodies.

But by whatever chance, the councilmember who’d made the list had put their finger on Galipei’s name and sent the instruction down the chain of command. August had just been named Kasa’s heir. He needed someone to keep him out of trouble, especially when the Palace of Earth recently had a scandal of colossal height: Otta Avia and Anton Makusa caught trying to raid the vaults. With Otta half-dead and eighteen-year-old Anton tossed into the streets of San in exile, the poor prince had such few friends left.

“Through here, please.”

They took Galipei into one of the sitting rooms, a second-floor location in the east wing with very little sunlight. It must have been rarely in use, because he was greeted by a burst of dust, and coughed up a storm while the captain of the guard gave him a funny look. Though Mayun Miliu said nothing, Galipei clamped down on his itchy throat, too intimidated to draw more attention to himself. The royal guard usually gave him his daily tasks at a distance, addressing him in tandem with the other younger Weisannas. He had never received personal attention like this before. Nor had he been in direct contact with the captain of the guard herself, who had brought her daughter along for the proceedings. That was Galipei’s first time meeting Leida too. In his memories, it’s always overshadowed by August’s arrival.

“Sit, sit,” Mayun said. “Can I get you anything? Water?”

Galipei swallowed. His throat was dry, but he wasn’t about to ask Mayun Miliu for water. “No, ma’am.”

The seat creaked underneath him. A large rug took up most of the room, though it did nothing to muffle sound against the floorboards. Old portraits hung somberly on the walls, overlooking the wooden chairs placed in a circular arrangement. There was very little else to survey; Galipei doesn’t find it strange that he can still recall each detail of the room to this day, from the silver drapery around the windows to the burgundy red of the wallpaper.

“Don’t look so tense.” Captain Mayun Miliu dropped into the seat opposite him. “Think of this as a small change in your daily routine. You’ll still eat and sleep and go to school the same. The only difference is that it will be at the prince’s side.”

Her daughter came to stand behind her, staring at Galipei with unabashed curiosity. There was glitter smeared across her forehead, the exact shade of Miliu blue. He had never come close enough to Leida to notice. Up until that moment, Galipei Weisanna had been a forgettable face in the palace. Another boy trained in the morning hours, then sent off to the academy during the daytime so that he wouldn’t be an illiterate guard. Another orphan with nothing to do during his evenings except continue training. Long before his parents were killed in work incidents, he had been gifted to the kingdom as an expendable component. It didn’t make sense for him to cross paths with Milius or Shenzhis.

Then August walked through the doors, and Galipei’s life slotted into place, rewritten for a new trajectory. He had been given no choice in the matter, but if he were asked to do it again, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

“Hello.” August inclined his head in a gesture of greeting. “You must be mine.”

Yes, Galipei decided. His sole purpose was August. What August needed, he would provide. What August wanted, he would seek out. In the years that followed, he was not only a companion; he was an extension of August, going where the prince couldn’t and accounting for what the prince didn’t think about. He didn’t need appreciation. He needed to fulfill his purpose, and when it came to August Shenzhi, it was day after day of unending, invigorating purpose.

Maybe that’s why Galipei has felt thrown off lately. For years, there has been only one path forward. One purpose, coloring so much of August and Galipei’s time together. It was first whispered into Galipei’s ear on a dark night, when August got out of his bed and came to crouch beside Galipei. The moment Galipei tried to sit up, asking what was wrong, August put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. His other hand rose to his mouth, a finger pressed to his lips. There were Weisannas standing guard outside, watching August’s quarters. When August spoke, his voice was almost inaudible. Only Galipei bore witness to his declaration.

“I’m going to depose King Kasa.”

It had taken no convincing for Galipei to join him. It was not treason, not in his eyes. There was only one royal who had Galipei’s loyalty.

“Okay,” he replied. He raised his right hand, like he was already swearing allegiance to his new king. “How do we start?”

Now it has happened. The twin cities have August on the throne. Yet San-Er feels more or less the same, which is perhaps the first treasonous thought Galipei has ever had against August.

“Fuck.”

In his memories, August takes his hand and presses their fingers together, a rare smile playing at his mouth. In the present, Galipei’s hand strikes hard against the boxing bag—which he’s been hitting for hours at this point—then slips, sending a flare of pain down his wrist. The bandages across his knuckles are starting to loosen. He has been spinning the same two thoughts on repeat. One: something is wrong with August. Two: it’s damn hot in here.

The bag swings awkwardly. Galipei finally takes a rest, blowing a breath out and leaning over to prop his hands on his knees.

This boxing gym is located in the south of Er, but with the amount of movement through the doors every minute, one would think it was the epicenter of San. It’s frequented most by the businessmen who live in the area, stripped down to only training gear, kicking at the bags and wooden-man apparatuses during their lunch breaks. Galipei likes coming here, despite the six flights of stairs it takes to enter the facility. Even though the bags are of questionable quality, filled with rags that often cause misshapen lumps and peculiar dips. The palace training facilities may import sand for their boxing bags, haul them in from the coastal provinces to create items of the highest quality, but they’re also surrounded by the eyes of his relatives. He wakes up and there’s a Weisanna outside his room. He takes breakfast and there’s a Weisanna eating next to him. He can’t even seem to get a word in edgewise to August, because it’s not just Galipei acting as his guard anymore; it’s the entire royal force, his aunts and uncles milling around and on high alert.

Here, he is unwatched, unmonitored. When Galipei throws his arms back, trying to stretch out his tight shoulders, he almost hits a man behind him. The man doesn’t flinch. He barely notices, in fact, despite their proximity.

Galipei wipes the sweat from his forehead. He should get going before he actually collides with someone. Every public space in San-Er is built compact—the floors here are partitioned with rope to allow multiple occupants in one section; the owners have opted to install curtains in the corners for changing areas rather than create separate rooms. An electric fan spins hard overhead. Though it does little to make Galipei less sweaty when he heads toward the changing area, it does blow a corner of the curtain to swish left and right before he smacks the whole thing out of the way. He opens his locker. Inside, his pager is lit up, the screen flashing to signal incoming messages.

Where are you?

Return soon please

The wall’s renovation is starting soon and I haven’t been briefed??????

And is the gala still happening this year?

Surely not, right?

Galipei answer

Galipei pls

The messages are from Seiqi. She’s Galipei’s cousin, two or three or however many times removed, who has been assigned as captain of a new unit within the palace guard. Since Leida Miliu was arrested for treason, the guards in San-Er have been reshuffled into units based on city quadrant, reporting to different superiors. That way, there will never be another Leida, plotting with enough force to threaten the throne.

Seiqi is taking her new role far too seriously, pestering Galipei incessantly for consultation. They’re not even that close.

“Annoying,” Galipei grumbles under his breath, shoving his pager into his pocket. He pulls a black shirt on, then his jacket, and drags the zip up so fast he almost catches his chin.

He’s in a foul mood. At Seiqi for thinking he has more sway than he really does. At the city for being too crowded, too hot. The afternoon air is better once he steps out from the building, but he still brushes against other pedestrians in the alleys, still has to skirt around the stalls when he gets to the main thoroughfare. The more perceptive civilians try their best to shuffle out of his way, sighting his silver eyes and recognizing him for a Weisanna, but most do not care.

A tremble from his pocket. Galipei fishes the pager out again.

Are you coming back soon?

“I thought I turned you off ,” he says, hitting the button again.

The palace guard is a mess, stretched too thin despite their vast numbers. August—no longer their prince but their sovereign—has put sweeping changes into place, far exceeding the promises he had whispered about before he rose to the throne. Talin’s new reign has been sending out supplies and surveys in the form of mass legions, converting palace guards into province soldiers. They’re drawing up comprehensive reports to identify each province’s problem areas, then turning over mayors and firing administrative nobles haphazardly instead of addressing those problems. They’re building infrastructure, then ordering that statues of the king be erected in every village, made of the most expensive materials paid from councilmember pockets. August Shenzhi was always quietly perceived as the heir who would one day improve conditions for the people in Talin. But his new measures—and new taxes—are so overtly a power grab that any observer would think he is trying to upset his own palace on purpose.

It could all be chalked up to acting too fast, too rashly trying to establish himself as king, if it weren’t for the wall.

August has decided San-Er should be expanded. The wall is to be torn down and repositioned deeper into Eigi. None of it makes sense. August doesn’t do anything without planning for weeks—even months—in advance. August would not act on a whim. August would not plot anything without consulting Galipei first.

Yet in the two weeks since his coronation, he has done exactly that. Galipei surrenders to an involuntary shiver, feeling a bead of water land on his neck from the crawling pipes overhead. San-Er watches him move through the streets, omnipresent surveillance blinking from one dense walkway to another. It’s the same inside the palace. He hasn’t found a moment alone with August from the second he became king. On the few occasions where Galipei has tried to speak to him, to ask if he’s all right and offer counsel, August has been much more concerned about what his cousin Calla is doing— no, listen, Galipei, there must be some way to take her off this advisor role before she gets back from Rincun… Yes, I am perfectly fine, there’s no need for me to read over that report if they’re following instructions… Someone get me a list of the other royal advisors…

The palace comes into view, one of its turrets catching a flare of sunlight coming through the clouds. An unusual sight. The twin cities are normally as gray as sludge, the sky clogged and the streets dark without its nighttime lights.

Galipei frowns, circling around the rough bricks of the coliseum and blocking out the bustle of the marketplace within. He enters the palace through a side entrance. The mud under his boots trudges in with him.

“Galipei! I thought you’d never show up!”

He suppresses a sigh. He should have known he would be ambushed.

“Seiqi,” Galipei greets plainly. His stride doesn’t slow. He’s got work to do, and anyway, a Weisanna can walk and talk at the same time. “If this is about the wall, I’m not your reporting superior. I don’t know whether you’ll be posted on it.”

“I know that ,” Seiqi replies, sounding a little offended that he would assume otherwise. She breaks into a light jog to keep up with him, her long braid flying up behind her. “You’re on the king’s private detail. Even my superior’s superior should answer to you.”

Technically, Seiqi’s superior’s superior would be August. So that is untrue.

“What is it, then? Must be important to spend so much time locating me.” There’s commotion ongoing in the south wing, somewhere overhead. Briefly, Galipei turns his head while they pass the junction between palace wings, curious enough to eye the servants who are hurrying down the broad green staircase. One of them has a soiled bedsheet bundled in her arms.

“I wanted to ask about the gala. Kayen says it’s still happening.”

“Then it’s still happening,” Galipei replies. The grand gala is just another occasion to have a banquet so the council can do a self-congratulatory pat on the back. “It’s an annual event and it’s been on the calendar for a while. Why would it stop this year?”

Seiqi grimaces. “It’s technically Kasa’s gala. You should tell King August to cancel.”

“Council isn’t going to like that,” Galipei counters. If there’s one matter that August needs to be careful with, it’s the council. The common people must fall in line no matter what he declares. He could proclaim that all civilians of Talin shall walk backward from now on, and they would do it. So long as there are soldiers ordering it, they will do it.

But if the council turns on him, he loses everything. The council controls the generals. The generals dictate orders to their soldiers. That is the only way Talin knows how to operate.

“The palace is practically in shambles, and we don’t have the resources to support another banquet tomorrow.”

“Yes, we do. It’s a large royal vault.”

“It’s not about the money. Regardless of how many new palace employees Calla Tuoleimi lets the staff hire, we don’t have enough guards . I mean, listen to that rumble upstairs. A whole unit of Weisannas is doing reconnaissance on the palace infirmary because of that blood-vomiting interloper. Waste of our talents, if you ask me.”

Is that what the sound is? Galipei, finally, slows down. There’s another staircase at this end of the corridor, with an accompanying flurry of activity too.

“Wait a moment.” Blood-vomiting interloper? “Is someone sick?”

Seiqi flips her bangs out of her face. They’re short, so she barely moves them, but the attitude behind the motion is there.

“Too good for palace gossip, are you? I don’t know how you haven’t heard. Northeast Hospital brought her to the palace an hour ago and said she’s been screaming about being a noble. Someone must have validated the claim if we’re letting her stay.”

Galipei halts completely, right next to the smaller staircase. A pit opens up in his stomach, as potent as a pulsing wound. There’s no chance. Absolutely none.

Do you have cinnabar? he asked his aunt.

For what? Are you trying to create an immortality elixir?

He bolts up the stairs, his head whirring in disbelief. The south wing grows tall before him, a silver fan running fast at the center of the painted ceiling. A selection of the pantheon—the most important cosmic gods—stretch their arms above the foyer space.

In their earliest years, before their war with Sica, before Talin conquered places like Rincun and Youlia, the kingdom would send delegations through the independent provinces in search of gods. The borderlands supposedly granted entrance to the heavenly plane. The old gods had disappeared into the mountains and left the land to mortals, allowing kings to rule in their stead, but the kings—as kings tended to—desired more. It wasn’t enough to accept the old gods watching over the kingdom once in a while on a prayer. The kings sought outright favors instead, if only they could find them.

So they dug through the mountains.

Though they found no gods, they did find cinnabar. The first people to mine the substance started to shake and seize. Later, they would claim to have seen the heavens and been within reach of immortality. They brought the mineral into the kingdom, into the Palace of Heavens in the north, then the Palace of Earth in the south. Royal chemists were given the instruction to carve open the line between mortal and god—their palace would supply them with as much of the mineral as they needed.

Eventually, after a considerable number of deaths, the palaces changed their tune. Cinnabar was no element of the gods; it was just stupidly poisonous and caused hallucinations. Now they had an abundance of the mineral and no immortality to squeeze from it. They dumped their supply en masse, loaded them onto carts to be wheeled into the provinces and discarded. The factories took one look at the barrels and immediately brought the bloodred color in for use. Despite its toxicity, cinnabar has never disappeared from the kingdom because of its pigment, which San-Er’s factories still extract in abundance. Easy to obtain, if you know the right people.

Galipei turns the corner. The infirmary’s double doors loom ahead. If there was a racket earlier, it has quieted since. He pushes on both doors, thudding them open.

“Oh, heavens.”