Page 20 of Vilest Things
“I appreciate it,” she repeats. “I know we haven’t always gotten along, August. But I am thankful that you will take care of me nonetheless.”
“Of course.” Anton releases her hand. “Get some rest.”
He’s quiet while walking out. Galipei, wisely, says nothing too, trailing three steps after him on their way to the king’s quarters. Though he doesn’t speak, Galipei’s footfall comes down hard, each audiblethumpkeeping rhythm like a heartbeat. Anton tries to block it out, but it is as potent as another pulse inside him: August, trying to come back to life the moment Anton falters.
Not a chance,Anton thinks. They reach his quarters. Without a goodbye to Galipei, he enters the antechamber and slams the door closed.
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 priceof 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!”
“Holdon, 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.
