Page 84 of Immortal Longings
Anton folds his arms, waiting for August to say whatever it is he needs his minute to say. The crown prince of San looks ill-fitting here amid the rotting trash. Even in a fancy stolen body, Anton has grown right at home with the grub and the grime, but August stands like he might get infected by ten illnesses if he so much as touches a bare surface with his hand.
Prince August doesn’t speak for a long while.
Then: “How have you been?”
Anton almost starts laughing. “Don’t tell me you pulled me aside just to askthat.”
When August swivels to face Anton head-on, the flash in his eyes is dangerous. “Fine. No. I pulled you aside to ask how often you’ve been seeing Otta.”
Otta?Anton sobers quickly, taking a step away and nudging one of the alley trash bags. “What does it matter? She’s lying comatose in a hospital bed.”
“Answer the question, Anton.”
Something has happened. Or else August wouldn’t be acting the dutiful younger brother seven years after the fact. Anton reaches up. Grabs a handful of his own hair and scrunches it. He might change bodies at every corner, but he cannot seem to shake his old habits, and August brings out all of his old habits, starting with his nervous tics.
“Once a fortnight.” He forces himself to stop messing with his hair. “Why?”
“Before she fell ill with the yaisu sickness”—a shout comes from the topof the wall, but both August and Anton ignore it—“what was the last thing she told you?”
Anton doesn’t like this one bit. He had thought he was being pulled aside about the games, about Calla, about anything that August might have a problem with at this precise point in time, but now it feels like an interrogation of the past, and because Anton cannot fathomwhyhe is being interrogated, he worries that he must have been left out of something.ShouldOtta have told him something important? Did she keep it from him instead, and will August believe him if he says so?
“To wait for her by the Rubi Waterway if we got separated fleeing the palace,” Anton answers truthfully. “We were set on leaving even ifyoubailed.”
August doesn’t rise to the bait. His brow furrows in thought, silent until there is an even louder shout from the wall that startles them both. At once, the two of them lurch forward. Someone is fighting. The clang of metal echoes into the clearing.
“Calla?” Anton bellows.
August’s hand snaps out quickly, holding Anton back. “Don’t interfere.”
“What?Let go of me, you—”
“It’s a ruse. Number Six is one of mine. I put him in the games as a fail-safe, and he’s being attacked now by hired help. Calla is fighting off the attackers. All I need to do now…”
August pushes him aside and walks forward. Utterly bewildered, Anton follows, watching August pick up the pace steadily before breaking into a run, rushing onto the scene. He looks odd to be running too. One would think a prince should never break a sweat.
Anton draws his knives, in case he needs them on hand. It is an empty gesture: August lunges in front of Number Six, giving an instruction that is drowned out in the clanging of swords. Calla, meanwhile, is locked in combat with a mysterious figure swathed in black, but the moment she sees August, she withdraws her blade. Her mouth opens, perhaps to shout an instruction for August to stepback. She does not get the chance. Her opponent turns away from her and starts for August instead.
What is August playing at?
Calla doesn’t intrude. When Anton turns to search for Galipei, wondering how August’sbodyguardis taking this turn of events, Galipei is unmoving too. The rest of August’s guard team is a different manner. They surge forward, expressions under their masks terrified, and when the figure raises his sword high, right above August’s head—
Leida Miliu’s voice booms across the clearing, echoing under the heavy storm clouds despite the muffle of fabric.
“Vaire,stop!”
The figure clothed in black halts. A long second passes, where nothing can be heard or felt but the slowly rising wind. When the figure tugs the covering off his face, pulls the whole square until it is a ball scrunched in his fist, it is not Leida whom he is looking at for further instruction, but August.
Leida staggers back. Whoever this is, it’s clearly not the face she was expecting. The man who stands before them—sword lowered placatingly like he hadn’t been slashing mere seconds ago—has dark-pink eyes.
“Why did you think that was Vaire?” August asks lightly, taking on the tone of small talk.
“I—” Leida looks to him, then back to the man. Her gaze, finally, settles on Calla, whose grip tightens on her sword.
Silence descends across the clearing. Then Galipei pulls a blindfold over Leida’s eyes without warning, announcing, “Leida Miliu, you are under arrest.”
There’s something dangerous about this moment. Calla doesn’t know what it is, but as she watches the palace guards descend on Leida and force her to her knees,her senses are screaming for her to leave, lest she risk becoming entangled in business that isn’t hers. Her sword feels heavy in her hand. The weight doesn’t lessen even once she’s sheathed the weapon.
She spots Anton hovering near the alleyway, eyes wide. He hadn’t caught the beginning of the fight, hadn’t caught Galipei’s quick, whispered instructions to Calla before pushing her off to combat the other player. He definitely hadn’t caught the whirl of confusion when another figure burst out of the shadows and started attacking them both, or else he might have wondered why Calla was holding back from the fight.
