Page 47 of Vilest Things
“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it.” Otta leans back with a sigh, lolling her head into the curtain on the other side. “It just seems tiring that you are running around keeping tabs on your leading royal advisor more so than said royal advisor is going about her job advising. She wasn’t even going to come on this delegation until I requested her presence. Fancy that!”
Anton’s eyes slide again to the Weisannas, and he bites his tongue. He hasn’t had a moment alone with Otta since she played her hand at the banquet. He hasn’t had the chance to ask plainly about what she’s doing, why she’s insisted on Calla Tuoleimi’s obligation to be present for this retrieval mission. Surely she would prefer Calla stay out of it. Especially given the snide remarks she’s been throwing whenever the opportunity arises.
But if Anton had to guess, he would say this: Otta doesn’t go about anything half-heartedly. She’s woken to him on the throne. She won’t wait for a natural conclusion where Anton either decides to keep the role or jumps back into his birth body purely to beat the shit out of a conscious August. Anton may have the patience and wherewithal to wait for clarity in his circumstances before playing his hand. Otta will find power in her grasp and clutch tight immediately.
Remember, I’m doing this for you.
Why?Anton thinks, staring at Otta. She stares back, and maybe she can read his question in that gaze alone.What comes after finding the crown?
The carriage rolls over a cluster of hard rocks. A long creak sounds from the floor. The walls shift, then settle.
“I have to admit,” Anton says aloud, “it would have been nice if you had told me about this in private first.”
It’s a risk to start this conversation in front of the Weisannas, but with this delegation now, Otta has more to lose by exposing him than by playing along.
“And why is that?” Otta returns easily. “I know you. You would have chosen the safe maneuver. You would have quietly sent a small force to the borderlands to fetch it and spent all your energy on making sure the news never got out.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Really, August, perhaps I should be your advisor instead.” The carriage is starting to slow. Otta shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other and letting the silk fabric of her green skirts flutter. “It is thedivine crown. We must fetch it personally. Is there anyone in the palace that you trust enough to send for a task like this?”
Anton huffs. He gestures to the two Weisannas before them. “My guards are very trustworthy.”
“Leida Miliu was a traitor.”
The Weisannas can’t help but frown. They resent the insinuation here, but it isn’t in their place to speak. Otta smiles sweetly at them.
“Sooner or later,” she goes on, “every secret comes to light. You would have preferred to risk the chance that the crown went missing along the way as long as the kingdom didn’t find out. It doesn’t work like that. The reward of this crown is far too great. You must act accordingly.”
The carriage stops. Outside, one of the guards dismounts from her horse with an audible splash of her boots in the wet grass. They will check the perimeter before calling the all clear that lets the nobility disembark.
“You weren’t worried that my council would turn against me?” Anton keeps his words tame for the listening guards, but Otta surely senses the warning underlying them. “It’s not unimaginable that if they were feeling less generous, they could have voted to unseat me until the crown was brought back.”
“Your Majesty,” Otta says, sniffing. “Youarestill mandated to rule by the line of succession. They cannot simply decide you are not their king anymore.”
“Ah, but theycandecide to wait for a proper coronation. Treat me as they might handle an underaged heir apparent: appoint a regent from the council until the crown actually says I have divine right to rule.”
Otta rolls her eyes. With the way that the two guards have perked up—a subtle shoulder tilted forward, an imperceptive shift of the knees—they would be nodding along if it were appropriate.
“All to say,” Anton finishes, “we got lucky this time. You have my respect, Otta. But if you keep trying to decide what’s best, I will have to rein you in. There’s a reason you are only my sister, not my advisor.”
Seven years have passedis the silent warning whispered between the words, under and over.You must know we are not the same people anymore.
“Your—”
The carriage door opens. “All clear. You’re welcome to exit, Majesty.”
Otta clamps her mouth shut. She flounces out first, not hiding her annoyance. When Anton follows after her, poking his head through the door, his gaze lands on a small cluster of midlevel buildings to their left. He pinpoints theircurrent location immediately. They’ve barely passed the middle of Eigi. This used to be Eigi’s capital, before King Kasa burned it down and built a security base instead. The yamen has since moved farther north, the villagers evacuated. When the reels reported the event and panned to those blackened buildings, the newscasters spent mere minutes on it before moving on to the total casualties of the games that day.
Slowly, Anton steps onto the grass. His shoe squelches into the earth. He’s waved forward with Otta, the guards herding the delegation toward a large gray building in the distance, and Anton barely keeps his expression even.
He hasn’t seen the provinces in so long. He doesn’t remember the world outside the wall, not really. The memories exist as faint impressions in his mind, the same way he only retains flashes of what the palace felt like when his parents were still around. He remembers Kelitu through the longing in his chest when he breathes open air. He remembers Kelitu by its frequent echo of sound, miles and miles of wetlands waving in every direction. Though he can’t envision what their vacation home looked like anymore, he hears Buira whooping while she runs alongside the tall fronds sprouting in a perimeter around their property. Kelitu is a seaside province. It smells of salt, screams with the caw of its cliff-climbing birds. Nothing like the pigeons of San-Er that he was used to, and when he hears Eigi’s birds overhead and lifts his head to look, the fleeting images come rushing back, superimposed over the present like an exposed film reel.
“Cousin.”
There’s a tug on his elbow, then the slithering sensation of cold fabric when Calla loops her arm through his. To his left, Otta casts a glance over, frowning. Galipei keeps distance to their right, hovering in and out of his periphery.
“What is it, Calla?”
