Page 8 of Vilest Things
The two shake their heads. They remain silent.
“But you didn’t run.”
“It was my idea,” the girl insists. She stands, too, now, as though her dignity is at risk. She’s so small, barely taller than Calla’s waist. Calla has the absurd thought that she could pick her up and shove her into her pocket if she wanted. “It felt safer to hide.”
“And you were right to do so,” Calla murmurs. No attacker came in. The world simply turned cold; the throne’s soldiers fell dead. In the midst of it, two village children remained perfectly unharmed.
“There you are!”
Calla turns over her shoulder. A woman runs in through the entrance, her eyes the same gray as the two children’s. They both scramble around the trough, hurrying to their mother. It’s then that Calla catches sight of the scuff marks by the trough where the children were hiding. Three lines—simple enough that it may be mere coincidence.
Few matters tend to be coincidence when the unexplainable has occurred.
“What is this?” Calla asks. She points to the lines.
“A sigil,” the girl chirps immediately, clinging to her mother’s dress. “For protection—”
“Deera,” her mother interrupts. There’s a scold in there, sharp but subtle. “Remember what we said about making things up?” The woman looks to Calla and says, “I’m terribly sorry. May I take them home? They shouldn’t be seeing this.”
Odd that the woman hasn’t asked what happened. Nor does she seem shocked at the presence of so many dead bodies.
“Of course,” Calla says anyway.
“Your Highness!” A new racket comes from the entrance. The three yamen officials, finally catching up. “Your Highness, your palace guards are nearing!”
She registers the announcement dimly, still thinking about the situation at hand, trying to make sense of it. Hearing the officials, the little girl echoes “Highness?” with an edge of surprise, and Calla nods once in response. For thefirst time, she’s starting to wonder if the provinces are better at hiding secrets from the palace than she thought.
“Better hurry out of here before the guards come to clean up,” Calla says lightly. She looks to the mother. “If these two have anything more to say about this incident, please ask your mayor to reach me directly.”
The woman lowers her head. “Yes, Highness.”
I’m just like you,Calla said to the children earlier. Then the officials called out, and all they heard was:I am nothing like you.
She watches them go. The officials enter the barracks. They talk over each other, debating what happened and what could have possibly caused this. Though Calla doesn’t look again for fear of bringing attention to it, she traces the shape of the three lines on the back of her hand. It reminds her of the two lines that the Crescents in the Hollow Temple wore.
“Shit,” she whispers under her breath.
Just as the palace guards rush into the barracks, Calla finally gathers her thoughts and makes up her mind, storming out.
“Let the yamen deal with this,” she commands. “We’releaving.”
CHAPTER 3
On Galipei Weisanna’s fifteenth birthday, the palace assigned him to Prince August. It was a random draw, pulled from a list of every Weisanna who was near the prince’s age and could follow him around like a personal shadow disguised as a child’s companion. It could have easily been one of Galipei’s cousins—another Weisanna, since they were all interchangeable as long as they had the silver eyes, the genetic inheritance that protected them against invaders jumping into their bodies.
But by whatever chance, the councilmember who’d made the list had put their finger on Galipei’s name and sent the instruction down the chain of command. August had just been named Kasa’s heir. He needed someone to keep him out of trouble, especially when the Palace of Earth recently had a scandal of colossal height: Otta Avia and Anton Makusa caught trying to raid the vaults. With Otta half-dead and eighteen-year-old Anton tossed into the streets of San in exile, the poor prince had such few friends left.
“Through here, please.”
They took Galipei into one of the sitting rooms, a second-floor location in the east wing with very little sunlight. It must have been rarely in use, becausehe was greeted by a burst of dust, and coughed up a storm while the captain of the guard gave him a funny look. Though Mayun Miliu said nothing, Galipei clamped down on his itchy throat, too intimidated to draw more attention to himself. The royal guard usually gave him his daily tasks at a distance, addressing him in tandem with the other younger Weisannas. He had never received personal attention like this before. Nor had he been in direct contact with the captain of the guard herself, who had brought her daughter along for the proceedings. That was Galipei’s first time meeting Leida too. In his memories, it’s always overshadowed by August’s arrival.
“Sit, sit,” Mayun said. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
Galipei swallowed. His throat was dry, but he wasn’t about to ask Mayun Miliu for water. “No, ma’am.”
The seat creaked underneath him. A large rug took up most of the room, though it did nothing to muffle sound against the floorboards. Old portraits hung somberly on the walls, overlooking the wooden chairs placed in a circular arrangement. There was very little else to survey; Galipei doesn’t find it strange that he can still recall each detail of the room to this day, from the silver drapery around the windows to the burgundy red of the wallpaper.
“Don’t look so tense.” Captain Mayun Miliu dropped into the seat opposite him. “Think of this as a small change in your daily routine. You’ll still eat and sleep and go to school the same. The only difference is that it will be at the prince’s side.”
