Page 9 of Vilest Things
Her daughter came to stand behind her, staring at Galipei with unabashed curiosity. There was glitter smeared across her forehead, the exact shade of Miliu blue. He had never come close enough to Leida to notice. Up until that moment, Galipei Weisanna had been a forgettable face in the palace. Another boy trained in the morning hours, then sent off to the academy during the daytime so that he wouldn’t be an illiterate guard. Another orphan with nothing to do during his evenings except continue training. Long before his parents were killed in workincidents, he had been gifted to the kingdom as an expendable component. It didn’t make sense for him to cross paths with Milius or Shenzhis.
Then August walked through the doors, and Galipei’s life slotted into place, rewritten for a new trajectory. He had been given no choice in the matter, but if he were asked to do it again, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.
“Hello.” August inclined his head in a gesture of greeting. “You must be mine.”
Yes,Galipei decided. His sole purpose was August. What August needed, he would provide. What August wanted, he would seek out. In the years that followed, he was not only a companion; he was an extension of August, going where the prince couldn’t and accounting for what the prince didn’t think about. He didn’t need appreciation. He needed to fulfill his purpose, and when it came to August Shenzhi, it was day after day of unending, invigorating purpose.
Maybe that’s why Galipei has felt thrown off lately. For years, there has been only one path forward. One purpose, coloring so much of August and Galipei’s time together. It was first whispered into Galipei’s ear on a dark night, when August got out of his bed and came to crouch beside Galipei. The moment Galipei tried to sit up, asking what was wrong, August put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. His other hand rose to his mouth, a finger pressed to his lips. There were Weisannas standing guard outside, watching August’s quarters. When August spoke, his voice was almost inaudible. Only Galipei bore witness to his declaration.
“I’m going to depose King Kasa.”
It had taken no convincing for Galipei to join him. It was not treason, not in his eyes. There was only one royal who had Galipei’s loyalty.
“Okay,” he replied. He raised his right hand, like he was already swearing allegiance to his new king. “How do we start?”
Now it has happened. The twin cities have August on the throne. Yet San-Er feels more or less the same, which is perhaps the first treasonous thought Galipei has ever had against August.
“Fuck.”
In his memories, August takes his hand and presses their fingers together, a rare smile playing at his mouth. In the present, Galipei’s hand strikes hard against the boxing bag—which he’s been hitting for hours at this point—then slips, sending a flare of pain down his wrist. The bandages across his knuckles are starting to loosen. He has been spinning the same two thoughts on repeat. One: something is wrong with August. Two: it’s damnhotin here.
The bag swings awkwardly. Galipei finally takes a rest, blowing a breath out and leaning over to prop his hands on his knees.
This boxing gym is located in the south of Er, but with the amount of movement through the doors every minute, one would think it was the epicenter of San. It’s frequented most by the businessmen who live in the area, stripped down to only training gear, kicking at the bags and wooden-man apparatuses during their lunch breaks. Galipei likes coming here, despite the six flights of stairs it takes to enter the facility. Even though the bags are of questionable quality, filled with rags that often cause misshapen lumps and peculiar dips. The palace training facilities may import sand for their boxing bags, haul them in from the coastal provinces to create items of the highest quality, but they’re also surrounded by the eyes of his relatives. He wakes up and there’s a Weisanna outside his room. He takes breakfast and there’s a Weisanna eating next to him. He can’t even seem to get a word in edgewise to August, because it’s not just Galipei acting as his guard anymore; it’s the entire royal force, his aunts and uncles milling around and on high alert.
Here, he is unwatched, unmonitored. When Galipei throws his arms back, trying to stretch out his tight shoulders, he almost hits a man behind him. The man doesn’t flinch. He barely notices, in fact, despite their proximity.
Galipei wipes the sweat from his forehead. He should get going before he actually collides with someone. Every public space in San-Er is built compact—the floors here are partitioned with rope to allow multiple occupants in one section; the owners have opted to install curtains in the corners for changing areasrather than create separate rooms. An electric fan spins hard overhead. Though it does little to make Galipei less sweaty when he heads toward the changing area, it does blow a corner of the curtain to swish left and right before he smacks the whole thing out of the way. He opens his locker. Inside, his pager is lit up, the screen flashing to signal incoming messages.
Where are you?
Return soon please
The wall’s renovation is starting soon and I haven’t been briefed??????
And is the gala still happening this year?
Surely not, right?
Galipei answer
Galipei pls
The messages are from Seiqi. She’s Galipei’s cousin, two or three or however many times removed, who has been assigned as captain of a new unit within the palace guard. Since Leida Miliu was arrested for treason, the guards in San-Er have been reshuffled into units based on city quadrant, reporting to different superiors. That way, there will never be another Leida, plotting with enough force to threaten the throne.
Seiqi is taking her new role far too seriously, pestering Galipei incessantly for consultation. They’re not even that close.
“Annoying,” Galipei grumbles under his breath, shoving his pager into his pocket. He pulls a black shirt on, then his jacket, and drags the zip up so fast he almost catches his chin.
He’s in a foul mood. At Seiqi for thinking he has more sway than he really does. At the city for being too crowded, too hot. The afternoon air is better once he steps out from the building, but he still brushes against other pedestrians in the alleys, still has to skirt around the stalls when he gets to the main thoroughfare. The more perceptive civilians try their best to shuffle out of his way, sighting his silver eyes and recognizing him for a Weisanna, but most do not care.
A tremble from his pocket. Galipei fishes the pager out again.
Are you coming back soon?
“I thought I turned youoff,” he says, hitting the button again.
The palace guard is a mess, stretched too thin despite their vast numbers. August—no longer their prince but their sovereign—has put sweeping changes into place, far exceeding the promises he had whispered about before he rose to the throne. Talin’s new reign has been sending out supplies and surveys in the form of mass legions, converting palace guards into province soldiers. They’re drawing up comprehensive reports to identify each province’s problem areas, then turning over mayors and firing administrative nobles haphazardly instead of addressing those problems. They’re building infrastructure, then ordering that statues of the king be erected in every village, made of the most expensive materials paid from councilmember pockets. August Shenzhi was always quietly perceived as the heir who would one day improve conditions for the people in Talin. But his new measures—and new taxes—are so overtly a power grab that any observer would think he is trying to upset his own palace on purpose.
