Page 17 of Immortal Longings
“August,” King Kasa says. His golden-robed clothes are pristine, but his expression is haggard. He has been aging faster these past few years, looking wearier with every new day. Lines carve deeply into the sides of his eyes, the corners of his mouth. If August were a more patient person, he might wait for the natural tide to take his adopted father instead.
But he is not.
“You will come see me after the day’s reels have finished.”
The instruction has no room for argument. August inclines his head.
“Yes, of course,” he replies smoothly. When his gaze darts to the side, Leida taps silently at the desk, where she has set down the photographs. August clears his throat, then adds, “If I may, there is some strange business that the palace guards have seen.”
King Kasa puts his hand behind his back. His eyes narrow, and his wrinkles deepen tenfold. “How so?”
“There are yaisu deaths. We may have to investigate—”
But King Kasa is already walking out. “Deal with it,” he calls back. “Report soon.”
The guards trail behind him. The drums herald him into another part of the palace. And before long, the study is quiet again in the wake of the visit.
Unbelievable.
His Majesty hasn’t left the perimeter of the palace in five years, and nothing will prompt him to do so now. No one can tell him otherwise. Er’s councilmembers govern the sixteen provinces of Talin on the north side of the Jinzi River, while San’s councilmembers govern the twelve provinces on the southside, which lie closer to the twin cities. The basin of the Jinzi River was the original site of Talin’s civilization, in the days when the history books speak of old gods walking among mankind. Centuries passed, and the southward floods of the river turned the land plentiful for wet crops and produce, cultivating rice paddies for its farmers. The north stayed dry, which meant fields of grain and wheat and grazing animals, dependent only on the rainfall with the farther they migrated from the river. They used to keep Talin’s palaces out there: the Palace of Heavens to the north, and the Palace of Earth to the south. Then the war with Sica came, and the nobles of the kingdom funneled into San-Er for protection. The Palace of Heavens was rebuilt in Er, the Palace of Earth in San, and once the war was over, there was no need to move again when they could assign councilmembers to overlook the territory they had once controlled directly, especially while San-Er flourished into Talin’s core metropolis. The kings of Talin became the kings of San-Er, and the rest of the provinces became mere collateral resources that the twin cities could suckle at whenever was convenient.
Even a few years ago, when Calla’s parents were still around, they used to meet with Kasa, sharing the reports their separate councils gave about each province, reviewing Talin’s matters in tandem. Now, the councilmembers of Er report to King Kasa directly, the affairs of twenty-eight provinces and two cities directed to his solitary throne at the corner of the kingdom. The armies listen to their generals, the generals are loyal to their province councilmembers, and the whole council bows down to King Kasa. Such power is impossible to break without breaking the very nation. August is certain of this. The system has been instilled so deeply and for so long that the only possible path toward betterment is a smooth transference of the crown.
August pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels Leida’s and Galipei’s heavy observataion like a physical sensation. Instead of turning to meet either of them, he faces his window, searching for the line in the twin cities where the water cuts between San and Er. The palace turret is high up enough to sight it.
“Have you run through the names of the contestants?”
Leida’s switch in topic takes him aback. He frowns. “Of course. I looked through all the entries before the lottery was drawn.”
“Then you were slacking. Look at who was assigned to number Eighty-Six.”
She pulls a screen from her pocket and passes the clunky device. August presses the left button, flipping through the names backward.
88 — Decre Talepo.
87 — Sai Liugu.
86 — Cedar Yanshu.
He senses Leida’s observation grow even heavier. There is no minutia that she will miss while tending to palace tasks. She’s waiting for his every reaction, watching to gauge if he is telling a white lie or genuinely in the dark. Leida doesn’t know about his plan to recruit Calla as his weapon, so he’s careful not to appear too flippant. Or else she might ask why he doesn’t care, why he is so certain that every other player is going to die anyway.
“Cedar Yanshu,” August reads aloud. He waits for something to register.
“Did you forget about those letters we got last year?” Leida asks.
August looks up from the screen immediately.
“No,” he says, realization dawning. It is both an answer and a reaction.No, he did not forget.No, this is absolutely ridiculous.
“That’s a stolen identity number,” Leida says. Her voice leaves no room for doubt. “It’s Anton Makusa.”
The same identity he used last year to try to scam money from the palace. The moment he was caught, he disappeared again, returning to his exiled invisibility. Despite himself, August flicks his eyes to a spot on the wallpaper, a rectangular shape where a picture frame used to hang before it was torn right off. He couldn’t get rid of its sun-faded imprint—because this part of the palace actually gets sunlight, unlike everywhere else in San—without tearing thewallpaper down and renovating the study anew, so even with the picture gone, its phantom remains. August, Anton, and Leida: the three of them a formidable trio with plans to transform Talin.
Before Anton walked away from them.
“Should we take him out?” Galipei asks.
August tosses the device onto his desk. He wipes his hands like the screen was slick with grime.
