Page 109 of Vilest Things
Another guard takes aim closer. Calla bends down and kicks his legs out from underneath him, swinging her arm and yanking his sword off his belt without touching him. The sword skids through the dirt and comes to a stop by Anton’s hand while he swoops to grab it. He unsheathes, then reverses his hold on the weapon. Before the guard recovers from kneeling to the ground, Anton rams the blunt pommel into his temple, and he goes down.
Then the remaining three guards rush in at the same time.
“You can’t immobilize them?” Anton calls. He swings fast, but he can hardly combat in unison. A blade narrowly misses his ribs. Another fist catches him by the ear before he ducks and rolls.
“I don’t know how. I can’t concentrate on that many things at once—”
Calla emits a pulse of energy. It pushes the guards back a few paces, and she’s on the move without hesitation, yanking hard at Anton’s shoulder.
“Come on. That’s only going to work once. Over there.”
They run, heading for the pathway out of the security base. Calla’s stolen a sword too, though it might as well be decoration compared with the metal on her head. She’s got her eyes pinned on the group of guards lined up on their horses in ready defense, and Anton doesn’t quite understand the plan until she says, “Go left. Break them apart.”
“Oh, so I’mbait.”
“Anton!”
He pivots fast, following instructions despite his back talk. While the guards expected the two of them in dual combat, he makes it appear that he’s charging away from the line. One of the guards scrambles after him, steering the horse away from the cluster. Anton can’t outrun him, so he veers until he’s put enough distance from the other guards, and then he lets the guard catch up, acting as though he’s growing winded. The guard leans down, reaches with his arm, wanting to make a grab.
Anton pitches into his path, ramming hard into the side of the horse.
The guard jostles. Before he’s secured his balance, Anton grabs his foot and throws him clean off the horse. In an instant, Anton has latched on to the reins and gathered the momentum he needs to swing himself into the saddle.
He turns the horse around, searching the distance, and finds Calla in the midst of the other guards.
“Princess!”
The morning shines bright over Eigi, turning its plains into endless fields ofgold. She looks up, and through the blood splattered down her face, she is the most glorious vision across Talin, second only to the sun.
Anton reaches his arm out as the horse dives into the gathering of guards. His hand grabs Calla’s, their wrists meeting before he hauls her off the ground and into the saddle too.
“Go,” Calla urges, her mouth near his ear, her arms curling around his shoulders. “Until we reach San-Er.”
San-Er’s wall materializes out of nowhere, a mirage in the distance made of real stone and steel.
Calla gasps, holding tight when Anton pulls to a halt. With the guards in pursuit behind them, they’ve been going at a speed that could tear a rip through the ground. As soon as they see the forces around the wall, though, it’s clear there isn’t a visible way in, and Calla squeezes his shoulders once, signaling that they must stop.
August waits with his guards. Galipei is nowhere to be found, but the other silver-eyed Weisannas seem to be doing a fine job holding their stances in front of their king.
“Enough, Calla,” August says. His voice is quiet. Calla glances to the side and finds regular palace guards lining the scene too, holding back the rural dwellers who camp outside the wall. With the ruckus, many of them have emerged, wanting to see what is going on. She knows they see what is on her head. Even outside the wall, removed from newsreels and slow-loading web articles, they have heard about the divine crown and the delegation that went out in search of it. The citizens of Talin know that their throne is contested.
Calla must emerge victorious in this encounter. If she doesn’t, August will kill every person camping out here to erase the evidence of what passed through, to hide that Calla can wear the crown without being struck down by the heavens.
“I’d like you to step aside,” she says.
The frantic pursuit has settled. The guards chasing from the security base warily form a semicircle, blocking her and Anton in.
“I can’t do that. The two of you are a threat to San-Er.”
Anton moves to get off the horse. Calla grips his hand quickly, stopping him. For as long as they’re on equal height with the guards behind them, they can’t be ambushed with a quick swing of the sword. Before the crown, August would have preferred to keep her alive to prevent the Crescent Societies from thinking of her as a martyr. Given current circumstances, she wouldn’t put it past August to hack her head off here and now if it means getting the crown back.
“Are we a threat?” Anton calls in return. “Calla has been divinely chosen. If she is a threat, then the gods desire a threat, and you are nothing but a usurper. No royal blood. No heavenly approval.”
August’s expression grows tighter. There are more spectators gathering.
“Don’t make this difficult.”
Anton pushes them forward. The horse takes a step. Instantly, the Weisannas in front of August prepare to engage, and Calla reaches for the reins. She won’t fight them at once. It is too risky, especially for Anton. One careless slip of a blade, and the mortal body crumples.
