Page 85 of Vilest Things
“I always wondered why someone as shrewd as my sister would be obtuse enough to believe jumping repeatedly into Weisannas would be a good idea,” August says in the present. “She wasn’t trying to escape that day—she was trying to perform a ritual, and it failed. Her qi got stuck, and that brought on the yaisu sickness. Cinnabar is a cleansing element of qi.”
Galipei must know this explanation doesn’t make sense. He watches the path ahead warily, his knuckles white on his horse’s reins. He must know that there was more that pushed August’s hands, but Galipei Weisanna does not ask further.
“Now she’s awake,” Galipei mutters, “and going after your crown.”
“That’s exactly why we woke her up.” The desert is leveling out. They have entered Actia proper, and they must hurry. “She’s going to lead us to it.”
CHAPTER 30
They arrive in the capital of Actia Province after two days of nonstop riding, and Anton is close to passing out. He won’t admit it if asked—and he’s denied it each time Calla has asked throughout the ride—but it has started to show. When he gets off the horse, he holds still for a few moments, gathering his composure.
Calla eyes him suspiciously. Although her efforts are focused on tying the horse down outside the village stables, her face is pale too, not entirely a trick of the moonlight that rises slowly over the horizon. They need water. Food. Riding any farther without pause isn’t sustainable.
The sand under their feet stirs. A southerly wind blows with the faint smell of ash, and Anton shudders at the same time that Calla does. They both feel it: every minute they spend inactive is time afforded for August to catch up.
“If anyone inquires,” Calla says, “we’re travelers heading for the borderlands after the rumors about the divine crown. I doubt we’re the only ones taking refuge in Actia tonight.”
Anton stretches his neck, then his arms side to side. There’s a muscle strain at the left of his back, and he can’t get it out no matter how much he throws his limbs around. “Otta’s grand declaration was a week ago. Most travelers south of Actia would have passed through already.”
“We’re particularly slow travelers, along for the thrill rather than the appeal of acquiring treasure for the black market. No one’s going to interrogate us too closely.”
She decides it, and that is that. It’s not like Anton has the energy to debate her anyway. By fortuity, they happen to be aligned now, but it’s the days before the Juedou all over again. Anton is on the run to survive, still plotting a way to hit August while they proceed; Calla is clearly concerned about stopping Otta. They cannot press too hard on why they have decided to join together and continue onward as a unit, lest it give way and reveal what lies beneath.
Calla tilts her head toward the yamen, then gestures for him to turn his face down too when they begin to walk. It’s late, so there are unlikely to be people working there, but a yamen always functions double as the gate into the village, and two palace soldiers are stationed on either side of the entrance. The soldiers let them pass without trouble, not bothering to call a greeting. Perhaps the warning hasn’t been put out; perhaps August didn’t spread the word that Princess Calla Tuoleimi and Anton Makusa were wanted, for fear it would incite trouble in the provinces.
The sand jostles with their steps before it fades to grass inside the yamen. Much as Anton tries to keep his gaze forward, his wandering eye automatically latches on to the doors on his left that lead deeper into the building. Someone’s silhouette moves behind one of the papered panels. The mayor of Actia must be busy these days keeping a handle on affairs. He will be preparing for the royal delegation that is soon to pass through, assuming it wasn’t entirely wiped out in Laho.
Somehow, Anton doubts that August will be that easy to kill—certainly not by a bunch of cult worshippers, even ones with tricks of qi at their disposal.
“Whoa.”
Calla’s soft exclamation comes the moment they step out the yamen’s other side. The village unfolds before them, soft lantern light hanging from the shop sides and velvet shadows coating the space the orange glow doesn’t touch. Stallsline the street, as do throngs of villagers flocking to the activity. Unless Actia is hiding a secret funnel of finances that Talin doesn’t know about, this must be a special festival, its vendors hauling out food items and windup toys and incense sticks for sale. A kite cut to resemble a short, round man flies off one of the stalls, waving with the wind.
Somehow, they hadn’t seen it from outside the yamen.
“A rendering of a god, I’d gather,” Anton remarks, gesturing to the kite man.
Calla says nothing. Whatever she’s thinking, she only strides forward, making an ambiguous noise. Anton’s limbs are stone when he goes to follow. He makes an effort not to ram into people’s shoulders in the crowd, but the street is narrow. At Calla’s side, his birth body is considerably taller than her, tall enough to give the impression of looming. He has to resist the urge to fold his arms over his chest and slouch, the schoolboy urge to be flippant in the very manner he’s walking. His birth body has never been comfortable for him—not by self-consciousness, but because it’s too wholly his, and anything of his in full view of others is privy to being ruined. Anything an opponent can home in on is at risk of attack.
“Did you hear that?” Calla says under her breath. Her hand jerks to the side. When she pulls it back, she’s stolen two sticks of roasted taro.
“What a delinquent,” Anton says, but he takes one of the sticks.
“Listen.”
They pause, as though there’s something to inspect at the next stall selling joss paper, but Anton quickly determines which conversation Calla wants him to tune into.
“—said he hasn’t heard from him since then. I know there aren’t exactly phone lines in there, but it doesn’t bode well.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. They went in knowing it would require a search. It’s not like he has a map.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t going to throw his life away for it. He said if he couldn’t find it in two days, he would come back. It’s been a week.”
They’re speaking about the crown. With Actia located this close to the borderlands, there must be plenty of civilians who took the chance to trek into the mountains and take a look around.
Foolish of anyone to think they’d be able to stumble onto a centuries-old object in the borderlands intwo days.Anton exchanges a judgmental glance with Calla. Nonetheless, goose bumps rise on his arms.
“Come on,” Calla says.
