Page 32 of Vilest Things
“There may be too much smuggled into the palace already.” The old gods stare down at him. They are apathetic to the desperation in his voice when he asks, “When might cinnabar heal instead of kill?”
If the elder reports him for asking this question, the palace guard could easily put together the crime committed at Northeast Hospital. Fortunately for Galipei, the Crescent Societies have no speck of loyalty to the palace, no desire in the slightest to protect the kingdom without reward.
“It can’t,” the elder replies. “It is poisonous.”
“Humor me,” Galipei presses. “Your walls and doors are painted with cinnabar. The stories speak of it as the crystal for immortality. Why?”
The elder scoffs. He laces his hands behind his back, then turns to go. “Here I was, thinking this might be something worth my time. Those are legends, boy. There are gods and there are mortals; there exists little in between. Cinnabar has no function other than coloring some pretty lacquerware.”
Galipei shoots to his feet. He moves with the aggression of someone looking for a fight, and the temple murmurs a complaint.
“No,” he snaps. The elder halts in his path, between the pews on either side. “We can switch bodies at will, and the best explanation for it isgenetics. Stories don’t come out of nowhere.”
“This kingdom hides more of its past than you could ever imagine.” Though the elder remains facing the other direction, his voice is a low rumble through the entire space, each word enunciated without room for mistake. “There have been human soldiers who can change their features without jumping. Human aristocrats who’ve torn off their own limbs in sacrifice, hoping to match their qi to the crown. There was even once a human queen who sacrificed droves of her own people, hoping to achieve reincarnation.”
The elder must take Galipei for some fool, spouting off folktales that province farmers have made up to scare their children out of trusting strangers. Galipei lifts his gaze. He meets the eyes of a figure painted onto the ceiling, one much smaller than the rest, an archaic Talinese character written on its forehead.
You weren’t assigned to me until after Otta was gone, so I don’t expect you to understand. Kill her.
“I ask if there has ever been a past where cinnabar was used to heal some-one’s qi.”
The elder starts to walk again.
As you wish.
Galipei didn’t go to his aunt for cinnabar without reason. He could have used anything. Otta Avia was comatose in a hospital room that had neither cameras nor medical personnel who cared enough to monitor the visitors coming in and out. It could have been a pillow over her face until she stopped breathing. Any one of the drugs that circulated through San-Er injected directly into her bloodstream to stop her heart. It didn’t have to be a toxic powder. He got cinnabar only because August had asked him to. Only after August had summoned him to his study later that day to apologize—he shouldn’t order Galipei around, he knew they were closer than that, the pressure was getting to him.
Cinnabar,August had declared, swiveling suddenly from the window overlooking the coliseum.A peaceful yet slow method. The hospital won’t notice. If someone investigates, they won’t think to look for those signs.
“You asked, actually, when cinnabar might heal instead of kill.” The old man disappears from the main hall of the temple, but his words echo tenfold from the hallway. “There’s a simple answer. When a god is involved, of course.”
CHAPTER 11
Your Majesty!”
Fuck.
The moment they exit Anton’s old rooms, Seiqi calls out, still waiting at the end of the hallway. Anton considers his options, panic rapidly spreading from the twist in his stomach. If he isn’t careful, Otta may expose him right now to make a game out of it.She knows,he spins in a cycle,she knows, and it would only take one slipup—
“Your Majesty,” Seiqi says again, falling into step when he and Otta pass her. Otta doesn’t look particularly bothered. Anton can hear his pulse beating in his ears, keeping in tune with his quick pace. “The gala starts soon. The council is asking for permission to allocate some Weisannas among the councilmembers for protection at the function.”
“Yes, sure,” Anton says. Whatever it takes to get her away from them.
Seiqi pauses. She’s still walking at their side, her lips pursed. They proceed into the main hall of the east wing. This part of the palace isn’t often used, and the provisions reflect that state. Statues of mythical flying horses decorate each atrium entrance, gray not by choice but by a thin layer of dust.
“If I may,” Seiqi begins, “it would be wiser to call off the gala rather thandisperse the guards. We don’t know what Leida is planning. She could be waiting for the ideal time to slip out and run—or perhaps she wants to finish her plans and attack the palace.”
“She doesn’t exactly have the means, does she?” Otta asks. Though her voice is sugary sweet, there is no invitation for argument.
Seiqi winces. She clearly doesn’t want to refute Otta. The guards are taught to obey instructions from their charges, and though Otta may not be a princess in the technical sense, she comes close enough by proximity. Close enough to order Seiqi into exile if anything upsets her. Anton urges silently,Please, give it up. Go do your job and stop caring so much.For her own sake, if not his sanity.
“There are still guards loyal to Leida,” Seiqi says in a rush. “Not everyone thinks she was in the wrong. It will only take—”
In the same moment, Otta collapses midstep and Seiqi cuts off abruptly. Anton springs to catch Otta with a sharp inhale, grabbing her by the elbows. Her body softens, turning to deadweight.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Otta? Otta, what’s wrong?”
His first suspicion is that the yaisu sickness has caught up with her. It has allowed her a momentary awakening and come knocking again when she thought she was in the clear. He shakes her shoulders, pulls her closer to him. She doesn’t respond. Her eyes stay closed, her face taking on a pallor.
