Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Calla can’t stop thinking about Otta Avia.

It kept her sleepless through the night. She tossed and turned, unaccustomed to the cold palace sheets and grumbling under her breath every few minutes when her annoyance reached a peak. Otta was aggravating enough when she was comatose. She was the reason Anton wouldn’t withdraw from the games. The reason Calla and Anton ended up battling each other in the arena, why Calla was forced to land the killing blow—why Calla and Anton are in this absurd predicament. If she was capable of all that while lying unmoving, Calla doesn’t even want to consider what Otta Avia can do now that she’s awake.

Conversation sneaks under her door in excited whispers. Infuriatingly, Calla’s quarters in the Palace of Union are situated near the central hub of activity, because palace advisors are placed by the meeting rooms, and the meeting rooms are often adjoined to sitting rooms, which the nobles shuffle in and out of around the clock. They’ve been chattering among themselves all morning, in shock that the yaisu sickness can be cured.

It can’t, Calla wants to spit, shoving her last pair of leather pants into a small backpack. No one merely wakes up one day when their insides have been burned beyond repair. Something beyond their understanding has happened here.

“Mao Mao,” Calla calls. “Mao Mao, come on, buddy.”

Her cat trots out of the bathroom. Before she left for Rincun, she stopped at her old apartment and clicked her tongue until Mao Mao sauntered out from the hole in the wall where he had been hiding. Almost everything else was broken, the kitchen plates in shards and the mattress torn in two with its innards strewn across the bedroom. Nothing was retrievable except her cat and one potted plant.

That’s all Calla has to her name. The council didn’t exactly welcome her back in the way they’re welcoming Otta. With council encouragement, some of the other royal advisors have decided it would be nice to commission a portrait of the king’s newly woken sister. The servants Calla walked by earlier were gossiping that it would hang in the north wing where the Avias used to live, depicting Otta Avia’s tiny face and dainty chin as the centerpiece of the main foyer to celebrate her miracle recovery.

Calla leans down, holding out her arms. “Are you coming with me? You don’t have to.”

Mao Mao makes a noise of protest, nuzzling into the fabric of her sleeve. He’s gotten fat in the short time Calla has been away, well fed at every corner as servants sneak him treats. Someone’s tied a giant pink bow around his neck too, fitted with a bell in the middle so he jangles as he moves. He’s a fancy cat now. A royal cat.

His fluffy head twitches twice. Calla gets the hint and removes his bow and the bell. “Okay, I won’t leave you here. You’ll have to get in a bag again, though.”

“Meowr.”

“I know. But a rice field with me is better than this pit of vipers by yourself.”

If she moves fast, they may not notice her absence until she’s well out of range of San-Er’s surveillance. She pillaged the royal vault while the palace was still sleeping in the early hours, plucking objects that would each go for the price of a house in the provinces’ black markets. Her backpack rattles with valuables, probably totaling twice as much as the victor of the king’s games receives.

It’s taken Calla the full morning to prepare for her departure, and she can’t spare a second longer. She shouldn’t have returned to the palace in the first place, but she had to know about Leida, had to see what she could fix. While she was outside the wall, she should have found an opportunity to skirt off somewhere along the Apian Routes, disappear into a province and never be seen again. If she had moved in the night, the palace soldiers wouldn’t have known she was gone until the next day when they cleared out of their roadside stop. She could have been deep in Pashe or Leysa by then.

Calla spares a glance at the clock ticking on the deep-purple wall.

“ Meowr! ”

“Hold on , you’re so impatient—”

She holds open a shoulder bag and lets Mao Mao squirm inside. They’ll leave in an hour, when the decorators enter the Palace of Union to prepare for the gala tonight. She can have Matiyu shut off the cameras along her path to a back entrance. The corridors will fill with people, and she’s banking on the chaos to slip away.

There is nothing more for Calla here. King Kasa is dead, and everyone who was responsible for her village burning is gone. Advising a false king afterward isn’t what Calla signed up for. If the kingdom descends into anarchy, that’s a problem for the man on the throne, and Anton Makusa is not her fucking business, especially now that his first love has returned. She hopes they live happily ever after for the brief time they have together until August wins back control of his body and kills them both.

“Your Highness?”

A knock comes on her door.

“Busy!” Calla calls back, her voice bouncing across her rooms. The window alcoves are too long, echoing the slightest sound tenfold.

“Your Highness,” the voice says again at the door. “I was told not to take no for an answer.”

Calla performs a scan of the floor, making sure she hasn’t dropped anything. “That’s too bad. Come back later, perhaps.”

She keeps circling to the same conclusion, again and again: there is no chance Otta will be fooled for long. Otta Avia knows August well, and she knows Anton even better. It will take only a single glance in good daylight for her to figure out that it is Anton inside August’s body, which means it is only a matter of time before she causes utter catastrophe. As soon as Anton is caught, San-Er will course correct. Anton will be removed, August will return, and if Calla sticks around, she will be blamed. It’s too late to fix her mistakes and take back what she has sacrificed. She lost Anton Makusa in that arena. She gave her all to the kingdom when King Kasa fell under her sword. It’s time to go while she still can.

“Highness.” The knocking grows more persistent. “Councilmember Hailira requests your presence. The council is convening on the matter of Rincun, and they’re bringing Leida Miliu up for questioning.”

Calla bites down on the inside of her cheek. She lolls her head back, glaring daggers at the ceiling, tracing her eyes across the floral patterns.

Fuck. Fuck .

In three long strides, Calla crosses her rooms, shrugging off both her backpack and her bag with Mao Mao. Her cat gives an unseemly yelp of surprise, and Calla whispers a quick “ Sorry! ” before yanking open her door.

The woman waiting at the entrance looks familiar. Something about her white hair and her steady eyes, a muted purple made darker by the lack of natural light in the hallway. The color reminds her of Eno, of the kid’s glassy stare after he was killed in the games under her watch, and Calla forces the thought out as soon as it nudges into her mind. Besides, as the old servant steps back, gesturing into the hallway and turning her head, she’s sure there must be another reason why—

“Let’s go, Highness.”

The old woman begins walking. It clicks. The servant, the one who prepared Calla before the coronation, before Calla went forward to crown the lover she thought she’d killed. Though she was dazed and near-delirious that day, she remembers those two words whispered into her ear, at once an indictment and exaltation: King-Killer.

“Today would be nice, Princess Calla.” The woman has stopped and turned back over her shoulder. The councilmember urged the need for haste.

If Calla is detoured here for too long, she will miss her window of opportunity to leave. Without the shield of the decorators coming in, surveillance will notice her exit, and the guards will most surely block her route.

“Go play,” she whispers to Mao Mao. Her cat ignores her and settles in to sleep in the bag. With a huff, Calla closes her door, then follows the servant.

“What’s your name?” she asks. “I didn’t get to ask before the coronation.”

“Joselie. Would you like adjustments made to your wardrobe, Highness?”

Calla has a brief buffering moment wondering exactly how long Joselie’s name is. A beat later, she registers the question and glances down. She was going to change on the streets of San-Er. While she remained in the palace, she figured it was better to raid the drawers in her rooms: dresses with bell sleeves and loose collars, bundles of fabric with ties around the waists. She’s taken it upon herself to alter some of the items.

“You don’t like my alterations?” Calla asks, smoothing down the rumples at her torso.

“Respectfully, it appears that you took a cheese grater to it.”

“I did.” A knife, but sure.

Joselie’s expression doesn’t change. “Perhaps reconsider in the future. This way, please.”

The decorators have already entered the palace. While Calla was away, the other royal advisors busied themselves planning the gala and spending their allocated budget. With the new security rules that Calla’s proposed edict put into place, they could hire outside the palace, bring in far more decorators for half the price. She watches all the tradesmen—carrying stepladders and paint rollers and neatly folded tablecloths—streaming en masse through the south wing. Calla cranes her neck, trying to determine what those large red buckets being taken into one of the halls are, but Joselie clears her throat, plucking her attention back, and opens a small door beneath the side staircase. Another set of steps lead down into a passageway, dark enough that Calla can’t see much beyond the few inches of brick flooring and vague shadows. When they descend, she walks with her hands outstretched, brushing the wall to keep her footing.

At the end of the passageway, Joselie climbs up three steps and pushes through a door into a new hallway. There, she stops abruptly. Calla braces herself to run.

“I’m running an interception, Highness,” a voice says. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She rolls her eyes, her vigilance easing as she climbs the three steps and exits the passageway too. Galipei is waiting with his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders so broad that he could probably block a wind tunnel if he tried.

“An interception for me ?” Calla says. “I’m honored. We’ll have to make sure August doesn’t hear about this. You know how jealous he gets.”

Galipei scoffs, but a line forms between his brows—a momentary flinch. It wasn’t his king who sent him, then.

“Come with me. Thank you, Joselie.”

Joselie nods. Calla waves in farewell before striding after Galipei, deliberately keeping slower than his pace. They proceed past a green arch and a statue of an enormous rabbit, moving between the atriums. She’s careful to count how many turns they’re making in the hallways. If Galipei is leading her somewhere intending to get rid of her, Calla is going to pull his ribs out.

“We’re still en route to the council meeting,” Galipei calls back, as though he can hear her thoughts, “so you can stop trying to predict an attack.”

“ You? Attack me? That’s unheard of.” Calla, begrudgingly accepting that there’s no need for suspicion here, hurries forward a few steps so she’s walking at Galipei’s side. “Why are we going this way?”

“They’ve already brought Leida out from her cell. I want you at the rear door with me.”

“Venus Hailira wants me there to contribute to the meeting.”

“I’m sure if there’s anything you have to contribute, you can project your voice. You don’t need a table seat.”

Galipei has little reason to detest her, but he certainly doesn’t trust her either. Not enough to personally fetch her for some friendly company, even if he must feel lonely these days with Anton blocking him from speaking to August.

“What prompted this?” she asks. “Am I playing substitute Weisanna?”

Galipei stays quiet. She’s guessed right.

“The wall is coming down tonight to be rebuilt farther into Eigi,” he allows. A group of attendants pass by in the hallway, going the opposite direction. One of them, dressed in blue, waves at Calla, but she doesn’t recognize her. She waves back anyway.

“Ah. So you need me for manpower.”

“I have made it very clear to the council that we should not bring Leida out,” Galipei says, his volume dropping. “We put her in the most secure cell under the palace for a reason. She is dangerous.”

Leida’s cell certainly looked well-built, from what Calla saw in the surveillance room.

“ I wasn’t put there,” Calla says, a hint of chagrin creeping into her voice.

“You weren’t considered enough of a risk to warrant it.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.”

Galipei casts her a sidelong glance. “Are you… offended by that?”

“I murdered the king , Galipei. What else did you want from me?”

He mutters something that sounds like Have mercy under his breath. Galipei looks over his shoulder, checking their surroundings before speaking again.

“The situation you mentioned last night. It’s bigger than Rincun.”

All traces of humor evaporate from Calla’s manner. “There have been other attacks?”

“Yes. The news has taken a while to reach us, but it is the same as what you witnessed in Rincun. Barracks of palace soldiers simultaneously dropping dead.”

And that’s why they’re bringing out Leida for interrogation. If Calla thought the attack in Rincun resembled the Crescent Society experiments in San-Er, it is no surprise that others would come to the same conclusion. Especially if new attacks have hit provinces closer to the capital, provinces that are more important in keeping San-Er operational.

Unfortunately, Calla doubts they’ll get much from Leida. Even if the former captain of the guard knows something, she has been locked up since she was caught. She’s not the one orchestrating new movement against the throne in the provinces.

Galipei leads Calla past a set of ornamented double doors guarded by Weisannas, then around the corner. Rear door, as he mentioned. It’s a much more modest entrance, one that doesn’t even have a door handle, only a hinge that swings both ways.

“Stay on alert, Calla.”

They sidle through. Calla spots Leida in an instant. She’s blindfolded and handcuffed to a lectern at the front, her posture bristling with an alertness incongruous with that of a prisoner. If it weren’t for the Weisannas surrounding her, it might appear like she was preparing a speech, readying a battalion to charge at her command.

“Leida has proven before that she can jump without light, in any proximity,” Calla states dryly.

A large meeting table occupies the center of the room. More than ten feet of distance has been made for Leida in every radius, her lectern placed in the corner to give her a wide berth from the double doors, but councilmembers are oftentimes stupid, and if one of them gets up from the round table and wanders a bit, they will have gotten too close.

“Trust me,” Galipei says. A vein stands out on the side of his neck. “I’ve made it very clear how easily this could go sideways. Just keep your guard up where you can. We’ll be performing identity checks on everyone before they leave this room.”

Calla scans the meeting table. Venus Hailira is staring intently at her hands, seated on the far end. On the opposite side, Councilmember Aliha and Councilmember Rehanou are in quiet, intense discussion, their graying heads bent together.

“Fair enough,” Calla mutters. “Still risky, but fair enough.”

Galipei doesn’t bother countering that. He only repeats “Guard up,” and then goes off to inspect the main entrance. He’s got weapons hanging from his belt. Calla was given nothing. They could have at least offered her a baton. Even if Leida can’t break out of the room, she may still attack for the sake of it.

Calla brings her thumb to her mouth and bites down on her nail. Miliu blue. Weisanna silver. Tuoleimi yellow. There are people in this kingdom who have long been marked for attention. The thought should put her at ease, that there’s no chance Leida could escape and go unseen. But Calla lasted in the cities for a long, long time before she took herself out of hiding. She wouldn’t underestimate Leida’s ability to disappear either.

A low drum rolls down the hallway. Anton steps in through the main entrance, walking a beat faster than Otta Avia, who meets Calla’s eyes briefly the moment she enters too. It’s alarming how similar she and Anton look at present. August and Otta are half siblings; it would be only fair for them to bear a resemblance to each other. Now that Calla knows it is Anton wearing August’s body, though, it is hard for her to consider any alternative. Every reminder that he should be August is jarring to her senses, nauseatingly wrong and especially so when Otta gets onto the tips of her toes, whispering something into Anton’s ear. She’s wearing a red dress, the bodice made of a heavy brocade. Alongside each of Otta’s movements, the skirts follow suit like a tailed phoenix curling around her feet.

To the councilmembers, her proximity is a natural gesture from a sister. Calla forces herself to look away, knowing better. She can barely breathe past the fire licking up her stomach.

“Let’s make this quick,” Anton declares.

He doesn’t take a seat at the table. He walks right past the guards toward Leida, and Galipei grabs his elbow. Calla crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for the outcome, and unsurprisingly, Anton pays Galipei no mind, brushing him off as he would any irritating councilmember bringing an irrelevant agenda to the throne. The lights in the room are dim. It is hard to argue that there is anything odd about the way Anton doesn’t look directly toward Galipei.

He stops before Leida. While he inspects her, Calla looks down and stares at her own ragged fingernails, sighing to herself. If there is any danger, Galipei will step in. He’s always been somewhat of a kicked dog in August’s presence, and it’s ten times as bad with Anton playing imposter. Poor loyal Galipei. It must hurt when the one you love most disappears.

Calla doesn’t realize she’s been picking at her nail bed until a bead of blood wells by her thumb. She winces, smooths down the skin, and clasps her hands firmly behind her back. Though the meeting room doesn’t cleanly face the marketplace the way the throne room does, she can hear the bustle outside the palace. In her mind’s eye, the coliseum flashes vividly—the circular walls that boxed her in when she entered the final battle, the imposing masses on either side that wouldn’t let her leave when they dragged Anton in.

August hadn’t given them a chance to run. The moment Calla and Anton faced each other at the end, only death would preserve whatever love they’d thought they possessed. Really, it’s August’s own fault he’s been invaded as a result.

Yet he will still blame her when he comes back.

“Leida,” Anton says. “Do you know why we’ve brought you here?”

“I’m blindfolded, not earplugged,” she says. “I can hear all this muttering.”

“Good. It would be a waste of my time to stand here and explain it. Did you plant more of your people in the provinces?”

Leida doesn’t answer immediately. Her brow furrows, half disappearing behind the fabric of her blindfold. The air conditioner in the corner of the room blows lukewarm air. Calla can’t tell whether it’s supposed to be cooling or heating.

“No.”

“No?” Anton mimics August’s head shake. It’s subtle: the smallest left-right-left with his lips thinned. Calla has never seen Anton do that in any of his other bodies, so surely this is a maneuver adopted intentionally for faithful emulation. It shouldn’t, but the realization takes her by surprise. She forgets sometimes that Anton and August were once very well acquainted. Far more than she was with August despite their familial connection, and certainly more than she was with Anton despite the frantic, heedless time she had with him.

“I’ve already confessed to conspiracy inside the twin cities. I have nothing to do with the provinces.”

Calla feels an itch skate along the side of her face. Her eyes flicker to its source.

“Somehow, no one in this room believes you. What about your co-conspirators in the Crescent Societies? Any names come to mind with connections to the provinces?”

Otta, upon catching Calla’s gaze again, smiles. Calla looks away, then wonders a second later if she shouldn’t have hastened, in case the response made her appear intimidated.

“No one in the Crescent Societies was my co -conspirator. They’re religious fanatics. I offered them an opportunity to commune with the old gods, and they took it.”

Someone at the table clears their throat. Calla can’t immediately place the woman who stands, though her eyes are a steely gray, familiar in a way where Calla suspects she might have once been a councilmember for the Palace of Heavens.

“An attack in Laho found three generals with their chests carved clean and their hearts taken,” the woman says. “This is nearly identical to what the Hollow Temple did on your instructions.”

Leida tilts her head. “Is that you, Councilmember Savin?”

The woman grimaces. She glances around the table like she’s seeking backup, but none of the other councilmembers look too eager to jump in. Most of their faces blur together—Calla could name a handful and would start to stutter after that.

“It is.”

“I thought I recognized your voice. Is that all? Is this why I have been disturbed from my eternal imprisonment?”

“It doesn’t have to be eternal,” Councilmember Rehanou interjects. “We’re at liberty to have you executed at any point.”

Anton holds up a hand. His sleeve falls to his elbow. “We don’t need to be issuing threats.”

He was once friends with Leida too, Calla reminds herself. August Avia, Leida Miliu, and Anton Makusa—even from the other palace, she knew their names in tandem, knew that the three came together as a unit. She forgets, because the trio fell apart when Anton was exiled, and before that, when he and Otta became a unit of their own.

Otta is still watching her.

“As I stated to His Majesty weeks ago, I never instructed the Hollow Temple to do that.” Leida’s voice remains steady. “I shared my knowledge about jumping. They took it too far.”

“Tell us this, then,” Councilmember Savin says. She has a tablet in front of her. A clunky thing, probably only with enough storage to hold one picture and three documents. “What do you know of the Dovetail?”

Calla, almost unconsciously, steps forward, chasing that first appearance of a thread. Though a few guards look at her askance, she’s saved from rudely interrupting when Venus Hailira grimaces and says:

“Were we briefed on this?”

Aliha and Rehanou glare at Rincun’s councilmember. Though Calla is equally confused, she has to resist the urge to drop her head into her hands for the way Venus just asked. Perhaps before her own soldiers boot her out of power, the council will get annoyed enough with Venus Hailira to put a hit on her from inside San-Er.

“The Dovetail,” Leida starts to answer, before any of the councilmembers can. “The largest revolutionary group in the provinces, with operations based out of Laho.” She tilts her head. Her hair is tangled by her neck. “It sounds like there are others in the room. Deepest apologies. Under King Kasa, the council was prohibited by the crown from acknowledging its existence. I wasn’t sure if that had changed or not.”

Calla stays quiet. The only others in the room who seem surprised are the guards at the doors. Anton isn’t facing Calla. Otta doesn’t even look like she’s listening.

Venus pushes away from the table slightly. “No one told me about this either.”

“You will be told sensitive information when you’re deemed capable in your seat,” Councilmember Mugo rumbles. He has his hands laced across his stomach, his legs stretched long under the table. Rich of him to speak of capability when he was kidnapped in his own province a few months back.

Savin turns her tablet off and places the screen facedown. At some point, she seems to have taken over the interrogation, and Anton isn’t doing anything to resume command. Calla waits for him to interject, but his expression is unfocused. He’s following some other track in his head.

“The Dovetail, as far as we have gleaned, believe the old gods remain supreme, and the kingdom has taken its people away from this natural order. They regularly attack any delegation that encroaches on their operation route, largely in the provinces above the Jinzi River. The palace guards usually think they’re common province rebels.”

“I’m still not hearing why I have been made the scapegoat,” Leida says.

“The Crescent Societies didn’t start carving out hearts until you told them they could sacrifice qi and commune with the gods for more power,” Savin says. “Now six provinces have experienced similar attacks across a few days that target royal soldiers and palace generals. The death counts have already exceeded those of the attacks in San-Er.”

Leida squares her shoulders and tips her nose high. It should look ridiculous while she’s blindfolded, but her figure grows in the shadows, the line of her jaw stark enough to catch light. “If you already suspect that the Dovetail are responsible,” she snaps, “then ask their revolutionary insurgents outside the wall. I have nothing to do with it.”

“Don’t you think we have surveillance out in the provinces? The Dovetail were paid off from within the palace. A large sum of bills was taken out from the vault the day before you were arrested, and their serials have reentered circulation at each yamen where the attacks are taking place.”

Anton swivels suddenly. “No one told me this.”

It is almost the exact line Venus said, but the effect cuts differently. The councilmembers flinch. Some look away, not wanting to be the one to explain why. Others stare forward, as though it wouldn’t be their job to explain to their king anyhow.

They resent you, Calla wants to say. They have always resented August, and now Anton isn’t doing him any favors by digging into his plans and speedrunning them without any sensitivity to the politics of the council.

“The perpetrator is evident enough,” Rehanou concludes, speaking for the table.

“It wasn’t me,” Leida insists.

“Leida,” Anton prompts again, urging her attention back to him, and Calla hears the change in that word alone. She’s not the only one in the room who has noticed: Otta’s attention finally shifts away from Calla, her black eyes narrowing. “Did you know about the Makusas’ involvement with the Dovetail?”

What?

The councilmembers don’t seem to be taken too aback. Calla, however, can’t believe her ears. Anton is asking about the Makusas while posing as August. He’s dropping his act, and if anyone in this room has even the vaguest suspicion about his identity, this would surely be the battering ram. Besides, why would his family have been involved with a province group? They were killed in Kelitu by rural rebels… weren’t they?

“What are you talking about?” Leida asks in return. “What do the Makusas have to do with this?”

Councilmember Savin clears her throat, trying to steer the questioning back on course.

“If you provide us with names of the members of the Dovetail you communicated with, we may spare you from execution.”

A sudden, metallic clang booms from the lectern, and the room collectively jolts in surprise. Leida’s tried to tug herself free, rather aggressively but unsuccessfully.

“Have you considered that maybe the similarities between the Crescent Societies and the Dovetail start and end with their hatred for the palace?” she spits. “You don’t think anyone out in the provinces might have tried sacrificing to their gods for the fun of it and realized it worked? You don’t think they would then try to use that power to fight back?”

Mugo scoffs. “The old gods aren’t real.”

Leida goes very still.

“You’re right,” she says. “They’re not.” Her cuffs clank again, but this time, she’s not the one doing it. “But we are.”

Every light bulb in the room explodes.

Calla breathes a curse, ducking as the shards splinter outward. The Weisannas hurry into action, raising their weapons and training them upon Leida for the first sign of attack. Leida Miliu, however, hasn’t even tried to free herself, her hands still looped in the metal holding her to the lectern. Low gray light from the window illuminates enough of the room to show the councilmembers slowly straightening from around the table. Only a false alarm, perhaps.

One of the guards stationed beside Calla shifts. She sighs, then nudges the rear door and steps out. Calla only caught a flash while the guard was turning her face, but it’s enough.

In an instant, she follows suit, pushing out after the guard. She waits a beat—the door swings closed. Just as the guard hears motion behind her, Calla’s hand shoots forward and grasps the back of her neck, digging in hard.

Inside the meeting room, the first sound of alarm is called. Someone has finally noticed that Leida Miliu has jumped without light.

“How did you know—”

“Don’t struggle,” Calla interrupts evenly, pushing her forward in the hallway. It’s empty. “I’ll kill you if you so much as flinch. Come with me.”