Page 12 of Vilest Things
“How silly of me,” she says in lieu of a reply. “It’s been here all along.”
San-Er feels it the moment she comes back.
The twin cities may have lost most of their stories, but their temples still worship. And where there is worship, there must remain remnants of the past. Practices that only make sense within their context, methods of sacred care passed on from old to young. It is there that fragments of collective memory cling to life, lurking in obscurity. No one alive now was around for the war, but there are some who remember growing up in its shadows, in those years after the kingdom’s masses took refuge behind the wall. They remember their parents refusing to speak about why they fled the provinces; they remember the fear at any mention of the enemy.
Talin’s borders have been undisturbed for over a century. When the throne won the final battle, it breathed a sigh of relief. It cleaned its streets, wrapped its history away with a neat bow so no one could haul it back into the light.
It didn’t realize it had never been granted victory, only momentary armistice.
The enemy has achieved her greatest play. She isn’t going to accept defeat this time around.
CHAPTER 5
The delegation finally returns to the capital shortly after nightfall.
Calla was quick to clamber out of the carriage as soon as they stopped outside the wall, but she’s been waiting around for what feels like eons now. There’s metal and rubble littered everywhere, decorating the ground with ladders and half-prepared dig sites. Muted green lights beam down from the top of the wall at two-meter intervals, enough illumination to let the incoming carriages navigate their way but not to disturb the occupants living at the edge of San. At this hour, most of the apartments taller than the wall have their blinds pulled down anyhow, preparing for sleep.
Calla wraps her arms around her middle and drums her fingers along her elbows. Every time there’s movement near the gate, she thinks it must be opening wider, but it’s only province migrants trying their luck to get closer to the wall before being shooed back by the guards and their batons. Calla has been tracking a young boy who keeps skirting in and out of sight to avoid them. First he was poking his head around the left of the main path. A few minutes later, he was sidling nearer and nearer the right side before a guard barked at him and he skittered away. No one has called for him. No parent, no adult to chide him to be careful and usher him inside one of the tents.
Calla shakes her head, pulling her attention away. It’s not her problem. There are too many orphans in Talin. If she were to start tending to every one of them, it would drive her mad.
“What’s taking so long?” Calla calls to the nearest line of guards, finally losing patience. “It’s like a snail is pulling the gate open.”
“Manual operation, Your Highness,” one of them replies. “The electric wiring has been shut off and taken out.”
There’s a pause. She’s waiting for the guard to elaborate, but he only stands at attention, watchful in the dark.
“Shut off and taken out,” Calla echoes, “for what?”
“Renovation starts tomorrow, Highness. We’re moving the wall a mile out.”
The gate groans a colossal complaint. It lurches once in a taunt of speeding up—pulling just wide enough for a carriage to squeeze through if it didn’t mind getting its sides scraped off—before the gate stops entirely, stuck.
Calla waits a moment. Someone is shouting from the other side of the wall, but the voice is muffled, as though water fills the space between rather than brisk night air. They’re calling instructions for this disaster of a manual operation, she’s sure. She’s also sure that the manual operators aren’t even listening, because the sides of the gate suddenly inch closer together again.
The carriage door opens behind her. Venus Hailira steps out, shivering in the cold. She likely heard every word Calla was exchanging with the guard, so she doesn’t ask what’s going on. She watches the wall for a few seconds before asking, “I don’t suppose we could ride through anyway?”
“San-Er only has a small number of carriages,” Calla replies. “The council won’t be very happy with you for destroying these.”
Venus sighs. “This could take a while.”
“It could,” Calla agrees. She makes up her mind. “I’ll see you inside, then?”
“You’llwhat?”
Calla starts forward, her chin lifted high, the glint of her circlet beaming backthe wall’s green lights. The guards nearest to her don’t find the fortitude to say anything when she strides past them on the main path. Movement flashes in the corner of her eye. The boy again, still circling the crowds. Right as he pushes to the edge of the cluster, surfacing among the other migrants, she reaches out to snag him by the arm.
“Move fast,” she hisses under her breath.
“Your Highness—” The guards at the wall half-heartedly raise their batons at the sight of her, but Calla merely ducks under one of their arms and keeps moving, tugging the child along. She makes use of their shock, and then she’s in, through the gate and scuffing her boots against overgrown yellow grass.
“Go,” Calla hisses, letting go of the boy. “Hurry!”
He doesn’t hesitate. The boy is running immediately, headed for one of the alleys. Behind her, the guards scramble to follow, calling protests, but Calla has already located her own route, crossing the short field behind the wall and cramming into another small alleyway between two residential buildings. They’ll go after the boy first, but he didn’t seem like he would be easily caught. By the time they send people after her too, she’ll already be out of sight, and then why would they bother pursuing it further?
The cities vibrate beneath her feet, as though they’re voicing agreement. Calla climbs a few steps up and emerges from the alley, turning right to use a narrow pedestrian walkway. She’s not a little girl from Rincun anymore. She’s not one of the rural dwellers waiting outside the wall, hoping to be granted entrance into the cities on the palace’s whim. She’s Calla Tuoleimi. The man on the throne may be doing everything in his power to squeeze her out of sight, but Calla’s been wearing a weapon in the shape of a face far longer than he has. Anton Makusa doesn’t even know what he can do yet. He can’t play this game like she can.
Calla pulls a cellular phone from her pocket and presses it to her ear. Along with her small knife, this was also swiped from the palace—the surveillance room, specifically. It only works within the twin cities, or else the wireless signal isn’t strong enough.
