Page 99 of Vilest Things
Otta understands what he’s doing a second before Calla does. Her fistreleases its hold. Calla heaves and chokes to fill her lungs, the black spots in her vision darting away. By the time Otta throws her arm at Anton, meaning to attack him, it’s already too late.
Anton puts the crown on his head, and the room floods with white light a second time.
Calla can’t have lost consciousness for more than a few minutes. When she comes to, her ears are picking up only a high-pitched whine.
It takes several more seconds for her vision to return, and then she sees Anton at her side, the crown sitting on the floor. She puts her hand on his neck. It’s an unsteady pulse, but it is a pulse nonetheless.
She tries to lift up onto her elbow. Her muscles shriek, protesting with such calamity that Calla collapses back down. Her eyes flit sluggishly. There—Otta has been thrown near the throne. She stirs, raising a hand to her face.
Anton bought her enough time to even the battlefield. She has to end this.
Calla, carefully, eases herself to her knees, and remains steady. When she tries to reach for excess qi, for something to throw, she comes up empty. That flare from the crown did something: wiped everyone clean. There’s no time to forge a new sigil.
She runs her palm along the glass shards on the floor and picks up a fragment with a particularly sharp point.
Anton’s body jerks. He gasps for breath, his eyes flying open. He’s trying to say something, but Calla focuses on getting to her feet. She can’t hear anything. Her ears are taking a while to recover. Perhaps they’ve been blown out entirely, the eardrums ruptured by standing that close to the blast.
When Otta rises, she doesn’t immediately shift into defense. She turns her back on Calla—even seeing what Calla holds, even knowing Calla’s objective—and staggers to the window. It’s not fear in her expression. It’ssteadfast resolve, as though this encounter has ended here and she’s made up her mind about it.
The whine in Calla’s left eardrum fades. The moment she picks up the first clatter of footsteps in the palace below, Calla knows what Anton was trying to say, why Otta is readying to flee. Calla’s hearing returns like a jammed lock finally turning, and shouting floods the throne room, movement pouring from the stairs and surrounding her. They’re quick to act. Before Calla can scarcely turn around, a blade flies through the air and embeds in her shoulder.
Weisannas. Calla searches through their faces desperately, trying to make sense of what is going on, and she understands. August’s guards chased them through Rincun and the borderlands the very same way Calla and Anton traveled, then invaded the vessels outside the palace. Of course they did—the moment the guards caught up to their bodies collapsed by the border, they must have understood their tactic in an instant. One among the group marches forward, and she recognizes Galipei’s gait.
“Wait,” Calla says, her voice faint. “Wait—”
Galipei picks up the crown. He waves for his guards to surround Anton. Gestures for the others to get her, and though Calla tries to lunge away, three Weisannas converge upon her, holding her down. Despite their assorted, randomized bodies, their training moves with their silver eyes. They are too strong, and she is still too weak from the blast. She can do nothing except watch as Otta steps out from the window at the other side of the throne room. Before any of the guards can get to her, she drops silently into the snow below.
“No!” Calla rasps. She lurches her shoulder hard. It doesn’t do anything. “Don’t let her go! She’s—”
“Bag over her head,” Galipei instructs, coming in front of her. “Bind her tight, and for fuck’s sake, knock her out.”
CHAPTER 34
The councilmembers who departed from the delegation arrive in San-Er before His Majesty does. They were sent back when King August and his guards ventured forward to encounter what might evolve into a battle within the borderlands; he said that if it was no longer a delegation, then it wasn’t safe for diplomatic representatives to be present. It was difficult to argue against this point—though some councilmembers, like Mugo, tried, claiming that the council needed to be present to verify whether the crown was true. August promised that was something to be done in the capital, and if they moved forward together, the council would only slow him down. He would bring back the crown. They needed to trust him.
So Venus Hailira returns with the rest of the council.
She did what she could for Rincun. It doesn’t feel like enough. Through the journey, she ruminated on the sequence of events: her arrival declaring a province-wide lockdown, the few days when it seemed she’d achieved her task, the sudden freeze… and then everything thrown out the window. A cavity opens in her chest, blows dirt into her lungs. She takes a deep breath, and the week’s events lodge in her throat, unable to be swallowed or digested. She ought to cough it out. She can’t quite bear to.
When the delegation approaches the gates, Venus is jarred for a second. She forgot that they were expanding San-Er’s wall. It is almost finished, and she recalls what King August announced, what was cleared when the council met to discuss the administrative work. If her perception is accurate, it would appear that the wall has gone much deeper into Eigi than initially planned. Mugo won’t be happy about that. Neither will the rural dwellers who make a habit of camping outside the wall to wait for lottery selections, unless the new, expanded San-Er opens up spaces for them, and Venus doubts they’ll let that many more in.
She peers out the carriage window. Taps her fingers on her knees, restless.
Instead, the dwellers outside the wall will be asked to relocate—kindly pick up your tent, sir, before we do it for you—and they will continue camping in hopes that maybe, maybe the next draw will be successful, ad infinitum until the palace guards do their rounds outside the wall to ensure order and find new dead bodies every week.
It’s the way things are. Nothing to be done about it.
Venus holds her hands together primly. One of the migrants camped outside the wall pokes their head out from their tent and makes direct eye contact with Venus through the carriage window. The carriage starts to move.
“Maybe we should give them something,” Venus finds herself saying aloud. “Food. Blankets.”
In the seat opposite, Councilmember Farua leans forward, peering out the window too. She must be used to these sights while governing Daol Province. Venus, meanwhile, was raised in the cities, and had barely made a full trip outside the wall before she was handed Rincun’s jurisdiction.
“That’s a great idea,” Farua adds. “King August will be glad to hear that.”
The carriage passes through San’s gate. Venus still can’t quite get over the feeling that she’s sitting on nails and wires, shifting in her seat without getting comfortable. She can’t see the tents anymore, but she remembers her first trip toRincun and Princess Calla Tuoleimi rolling her eyes each time Venus said something about offering blankets.
Don’t be such an aristocrat,Venus chided then.
