Page 66 of Vilest Things
Calla looks up at the burgeoning stars. If she squints, she can imagine how the province dwellers see a pantheon in their shapes. She can imagine why they might believe in gods who live in the heavens, looking over mortal lives and injecting unnatural force into their qi when they commit sacrifices in their patron’s name.
“Your Highness, you’re turning the pole the wrong way.”
Calla stops. She clears her throat. “You know what? Hand me the hammer and nails instead.”
Almost an hour after they’ve entered Lankil, Galipei announces that the perimeter has been thoroughly examined and they should settle into camp for the night. Anton hears it through his thin tent fabric while he’s in the middle of inspecting a map he requested from one of the guards, shining an electric flashlight.
He’s warned the guards that he will be resting. They are not to let anyonein. Not Calla, not Otta. It doesn’t matter if they say the entire kingdom is burning down; it can wait for tomorrow when they’re on the move again.
When the zip opens, he shouldn’t be surprised that it is Galipei who has managed to enter. Anton cannot exactly lock the doors on a tent, as he can in his palace quarters to avoid Galipei.
“I had quite specific instructions for the guards out there,” Anton says dryly.
“From experience, the guards know that instructions don’t apply to me,” Galipei replies. “It’s strange. They must be wondering why you have forgotten.”
Anton doesn’t like where this is going. He turns his map facedown.
“Maybe it’s time you stop expecting that you’ll receive special treatment, Galipei.”
“Given that I am the head of your royal guard, usually that’s calledaround-the-clock security.”
The electric flashlight in his hand wavers. Instead of turning it off, Anton aims it directly at Galipei—a warning, a line drawn in caution. The guard barely flinches. He shouldn’t be able to see anything past the glaring beam, but he stares straight at Anton.
“Did you need something?” Anton asks.
“I’d like to know if there’s anything you wish to tell me.”
The tent shivers. Its center pole clanks against a loose screw at the top, keeping in tune with a high-pitched cry that sounds across the camp. While the southern provinces are effectively barren of wildlife, overhunted with the intent of selling meat into the twin cities, the northern provinces stir with animals of the land. Lankil isn’t as woodsy as Leysa, which means there’s more open space, more room for sound to travel on each gust of wind.
Anton doesn’t know how to respond. He can only assume that Galipei’s suspicion has come to a head, and he needs to deal with the problem before it grows unmanageable. Still, Anton must take too long trying to decipher the tone of this confrontation, because Galipei strides forward without waiting for permission.His hand closes around the flashlight; he pushes it up to get the beam away, lighting the top of the tent.
Something is happening. Where Galipei’s fingers overlap Anton’s, he loses sensation. His arms weaken, as though he has pinched a nerve. His left ear goes out, then tunes back in with frantic buzzing.
It’sAugust.He’s fighting for control.
“I saw the letters in your study before we left for the delegation,” Galipei says carefully. “So I want to know what exactly happened back there.”
Even if Anton wants to lie in that moment, he can’t. If he opens his mouth, someone else will speak.
Back there…back in the palace? Or back at the scene of the attack?
Anton grits his teeth around a section of his inner cheek and bites down hard. A metallic taste floods his mouth, blood dripping down his throat. The pain shoves him back into the situation—and feeling returns to his fingers. Though he tries to pry out of Galipei’s grasp, Galipei takes that as a challenge and turns the beam on him.
“Enough!”
Anton tosses the flashlight to the side. Though it clatters to the tent floor and rolls hard enough to dislodge the battery, flicking the beam off, the light has already seared an imprint into his vision. He blinks rapidly to clear it.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you,” Anton says, trying to summon force into his voice. “But this is out of line.”
He expects Galipei to argue. To press further until he breaks past why exactly Anton has no idea what he’s talking about. Instead, Galipei turns on his heel and exits, whacking the tent flap out of the way.
Which is arguably much worse, because that means Anton has already lost the charade.
Shit.
He’s in trouble.
When nightfall comes, the voices begin.
