Page 3 of Vilest Things
He strides past her, through the door. Farther down the hallway, Anton doesn’t take the turn that’ll lead him toward the banquet hall. He proceeds in the direction of August’s bedroom, his polished shoes beating a war drum underfoot. Perhaps Calla has made her strike at the banquet already. King Kasa will die, and then Calla will be free to luxuriate in the only matter she truly cared about.
“Prince August.” Someone hurries to catch up to him. Another guard. “Your presence is strongly requested at the banquet.”
“No, that’s okay,” Anton replies.
Confusion dampens the air, a beat taken where the guard is perhaps wondering whether he was misheard. Anton is expecting rebuttal—of course there should be rebuttal. This is the Palace of Union. Affairs can’t be derailed simply because he doesn’t wish to tend to them.
But August Shenzhi is the heir to the throne, not some noble who has to capture favor. The guard nods in understanding, and Anton is free to continue onward without argument. He pivots left, then into August’s anteroom.
“You can go.”
The guards stationed outside August’s quarters are exclusively composed of Weisannas. No Galipei, so he must be at the banquet, waiting for his charge’s arrival.
“All of you,” Anton prompts. He waves vigorously toward the door.
It takes a few seconds more, but the Weisannas nod and step out, entering the hall. Only then can Anton toss his file onto the desk. Only then does he immediately follow the movement by slamming his fist against the paper too, a zip of pain spiriting down his arm.
See to it that the Makusas are eradicated.
That was all it had taken. A single command, and life as Anton knew it had been decimated. Did King Kasa invent the excuse because his father upset him over some arbitrary matter in a council meeting?Revolutionaries. It is laughable, knowing their lineage. Yet the suspicion worms its way into his mind, wiggles free the faint impressions he has of his childhood. He remembers little of their trips out to the provinces, but they were frequent. There’s a possibility that this was true, but still—
A drum beats throughout the palace, declaring the banquet coming to either a start or an end. Shouting echoes through the halls, either in ecstasy or horror. When Anton glares up, the mirror upon the wall catches his face, reflecting his expression. August dresses so regally, his hair combed neat and his posture straight as a needle. Anton’s sneer turns his appearance off-kilter. He has the desire to pick up the decorative vase on the table and hurl it at the mirror, so he does. The glass shatters. A few jagged pieces fall off, littering the carpet.
“You knew what he took from me,” Anton says to August. August’s mouth moves with each of his words. A mockery, even now. “You let him get away with it.”
August doesn’t have the decency to look remorseful. The broken mirrorcuts away parts of his cheek, carves into his forehead, distorts his mouth, yet Anton can find no scenario where his former friend might have apologized. The golden crown prince, only working to procure the throne he desired.
Fine.Fine.If King Kasa wanted to brand the Makusas as revolutionaries, then that is the inheritance Anton will accept. He’ll finish what they say his parents started.
And then, Calla Tuoleimi is going to answer for what she did too.
CHAPTER 2
AFTER
At the farthest edge of Talin’s border lies a province called Rincun, but that wasn’t its original name. Ask the people living there how they used to refer to their home, and they aren’t allowed to answer. A decade of the soldiers posted in the villages has instilled a healthy dose of fear, coating the villagers’ teeth like a plaque they can taste any time their tongues press up to speak. They have seen the decapitated bodies staked by the yamen to make an example of those who kept using the old name. They would much rather survive than become the next example.
Calla Tuoleimi used to know Rincun’s true name. She lost it at some point over the years, along with her own.
“Have you been out to the provinces at all, Councilmember?”
She’s trying to ignore the conversation in the carriage. They entered Rincun this morning, picked up General Poinin where he lives, and are continuing onward to the yamen in West Capital. The general didn’t have any luck starting a conversation with Calla, so he’s moved on to lecturing Rincun’s newest councilmember.
“First time,” the councilmember answers. Her powder-blue eyes flicker over to Calla, silently requesting help. “My father never brought me when he visited.”
Venus Hailira is the firstborn daughter of Buolin Hailira, who recently passed in his sleep. His council seat passed to her, and though the rest of the council questioned whether it was wise to continue with their delegation visit to Rincun while she was so green, their king was more impatient to get his newest palace advisor out of his sight after his coronation. There was no time for Calla to plead for forgiveness, to ask him how in the high heavens he was standing in front of her like this. The moment the coronation finished, Calla was ushered away, pushed out by the Weisannas with one wave of the king’s hand. Hours later, while she paced the sitting room outside the royal quarters with each of her requests to speak to the king denied, she was told that she would be accompanying the delegation visit to Rincun.
“You’ll be surprised at how backward everything is out here,” General Poinin says, slapping his palms on his thighs. “The first time I met someone who still worshipped the old gods, I thought they were joking.”
“I’m aware that the provinces still pray,” Venus replies politely.
“They don’t merely pray. You should pay attention to the number of bird figurines in the villages. I suggest ordering a province-wide sweep one of these days to get rid of them. It’s unseemly.”
Calla frowns, turning so that she’s looking out the window. There are small clumps of snow still frozen where the paved road meets clay ground. Keeping bird figurines is about the most an ordinary villager can do in old worship anyway—it seems like overkill to be ridding them of that.
“I will add that to the agenda.” Venus clears her throat. “We can ask the soldiers to make note of the numbers first.”
That seems to mollify General Poinin. He settles into his seat, lacing his hands over his white jacket.
