Page 5 of Vilest Things
Venus frowns, raising her cellular phone to the sky. Signal is always weak in Rincun, and only phones specifically suited for the provinces work out here. “Lieutenant Forin is having trouble getting in touch with General Poinin. He’ll call back once he checks with East Capital’s yamen. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Why are we waiting on General Poinin? All he does is give you bad advice.”
Venus pretends not to hear the remark. “He’s supposed to be here by now with East Capital’s final report.” Venus lowers the phone. She catches the look on Calla’s face. “We need to takebothprovince reports back to the palace.”
“Oh, do we?” Calla muses, though she knows. “My mistake.”
She would bet the councilmembers in Eigi and Pashe never struggle to receive prompt answers from their generals. Their chain of command flows cleanly from throne to councilmember to general to soldier. Loyalties are clear; tasks are cut-and-dried. Rincun, meanwhile, has been split into two since its conquest. It is the only province in Talin that distinguishes between a west side and an east side, yet still one councilmember remains in charge of a dozen generals operating in both. Venus Hailira is not incapable in the slightest. But she is Calla’s age,and she’s naive as any aristocrat raised without tribulation is, which means the palace is going to mangle her into pieces. Let a month or two pass, and another noble family will make a play for Rincun, even if it’s the least desirable province.
Calla would give Venus three months here, at most, before her own soldiers turn on her and the palace slams its fist down.
They wait another few minutes. Nothing more comes over Venus’s phone.
“If this goes on past sundown,” Calla suggests, “let’s just forge the report and leave.”
“The palace won’t like that.”
“The palace will notknow, Councilmember Hailira.”
“But—”
“Your phone’s beeping again.”
Venus starts. Looks down. “It is indeed. Excuse me.”
The councilmember strides off. Meanwhile, one of the palace guards appears to be calling for someone a few steps away, and though Calla hears it, though she registers that the words he’s repeating are “Your Highness. Your Highness?” she doesn’t think to respond. Not until the guard, finally, prompts “Princess Calla!” and her attention snaps up.
“I am only an advisor,” she says. “No need for a royal address.”
“All right, Highness,” the guard replies anyway. No matter her objection, there’s still a smooth band of gold metal on her head, stark against her black hair. Royalty or advisor or mere palace aristocrat, all these titles mean the same thing: she is an intruder in Rincun. “We should remain for the night if this report takes any longer. It’s getting cold.”
Calla unfolds her arms and takes one glove off, letting the breeze blow against her bare skin. The horizon has taken on an orangish tint, bringing an imminent sunset that stretches its own long fingers into the clouds.
She doesn’t remember this scene, though she must have witnessed it before. Her recollection of Rincun feels faint and faraway, like the logic of a dream uponwaking. She can recount the series of events she experienced shortly before she left this province, the events that pushed her to invade Princess Calla Tuoleimi when she was eight years old. Yet she cannot look upon Rincun and acknowledge that this was once home.
Her fist closes, her palm turning numb. All her memories have a fragile nature to them. She needed it to be that way to fool herself and everyone else in the palace. Now her stomach churns each time she looks too long upon the flat plains, plagued by repulsion and pining alike. Somewhere in this province, rotting at the bottom of a deep puddle of water, there’s the body of the girl she was born as. This place may feel foreign, but the tether between Calla and that girl has led her to this. It pushed her hand in the Palace of Heavens, bid her to spend the last five years a renegade princess instead of a comfortable one.
“Strange,” Calla remarks. “It wasn’t this cold last night.”
Even as she speaks, the temperature drops again. A sourness rises in her throat. Her pulse hastens, nudging against her ribs.
“What?”
On hearing Venus’s sharp cry, Calla swivels her gaze to the council-member.
“What is it?” Calla asks.
Venus doesn’t immediately answer, though she does turn her shoulder, caught in half motion. She’s clutching her phone tightly.
Calla pushes off from the wall. “Councilmember Hailira.” Her voice is hard enough that Venus stiffens, meeting Calla’s eyes properly. “I’ll ask again: What is it?”
“They’ve located General Poinin,” Venus answers in a whisper, her hand coming up to cover the bottom of the phone. “He’s… he’s dead.”
The freezing temperature suddenly seems like more than a weather anomaly.
“Where? East Capital?” Calla demands.
“No, he’s here in West. Outside the barracks,” Venus manages, and Callais already running for a horse and unhooking it from the carriage. “They’re getting in contact with his unit, but there’s no answer at—”
