Page 104 of Vilest Things
Anton’s hand tightens. He hasn’t found the right key, but he’s still attempting this one.
“There is no pathinto San-Erat present,” he says. “There are plenty of paths out of this base. A wide terrain in fact, leading to any part of the provinces.”
Calla jerks her ankle, rattling her chain loudly. Anton clearly doesn’t expect the harsh motion, because he inhales sharply, leaning back to prevent being thrown off-balance. They both go still in the aftermath. Turn slightly, facing the door and preparing for intrusion, only it remains quiet outside. It is late, and August Shenzhi trusts himself too much. Lodgings at the base are located on different levels, and August has yet to understand that with this sigil, there don’t seem to be limits to how they can use their qi. No one will discover the guards who watched over Anton. Not until morning comes and the group doesn’t convene as expected.
“This is laughable,” Calla says. “You didn’t want to run when I offered to run. Then we hit the point of no return, andnowthe provinces are an option? There’s no use even trying. We don’t have connections. We don’t have money. We would be more comfortable being imprisoned here.”
“Fine.” Anton tries a new key. This one finally slots in smoothly, and he turns the mechanism. “I don’t like the sound of the provinces either. But that’s not the best course of action here anyway. The best course of action is entering San-Er by force.”
“And what force do we have?”
The cuff unlatches. Anton yanks the chain away. “You know very well, Calla.”
“Stop,” Calla says immediately.
“He can’t be allowed to go on like this. He organized multiple attacks on the provinces for the sole purpose of weakening some of the council. He would throw his own guards into the fire for the chance that a councilmember catches an arrow and dies easily and quietly.”
Rincun. Then Leysa. Calla hasn’t forgotten.
“We are no better,” she says. “We are murderers just the same—”
“When have we had the choice otherwise?” Anton returns.
“August could make the same argument.” Their back-and-forth will only go in circles. She’s been having this debate with herself since the moment she left Galipei’s body, the moment she understood why the delegation was being attacked by the Dovetail across the provinces. “He acts for the sake of the kingdom. King Kasa gave him no choice; the council’s restrictions forced him into a corner—”
“He is theking. He should order his councilmembers dead himself if he feels so strongly about it. Why murder hundreds of other innocents?”
Calla tilts her head. Anton hasn’t risen, so he remains crouched before her, his breath heaving. He looks upon her like he has never seen her before, and maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s never truly known Calla Tuoleimi at her most cowardly: the child who wants to rest, who doesn’t want to be told that her revenge isn’t finished until she has cut down every nameless soldier that marched into Rincun. Where does it end, then? Has she doomed herself to unending hunger?
“He’s fair,” Calla says quietly.
“His fairness agreed that my parents needed to die. He would have sat on it forever just so he could remain Kasa’s prized little heir. Calla, heknew.”
The scorching burn in her chest is sudden, and unexpected. At least he knows who is to blame for taking his family from him. Calla almost wishes she could trace it to August too, adopt unshakable reason to widen her razor net. She’s very good at holding personal grudges. Less so at being the judge of others and their grievances, others and the justice they should be granted, because Calla is neither a tolerable person nor an impartial judge.
Once she starts handing out penance, it will be hard to stop.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I don’t need that from you.”
“What do you need, then?” The question comes out in a rasp. “You want me to wage war on him, is that it?”
Anton shifts onto his knees, rising higher. Though he brings his palms to either side of her hips, he doesn’t touch her. His hands hover in ritualistic prayer.
“You are theonlyperson in this kingdom who can. San-Er will rally behind someone they believe was always in line for the throne. My mother and my father died attempting another way.” His voice hitches. “You understand the cities just as well as I do: if they were caught, it is because they failed to garner support outside of revolutionary groups and Crescent Society temples. The rest of the kingdom still believes there might be good in their royals. The rest of the kingdom believes the heavens had a reason to select the ruling bloodlines. If August is to have an adversary who might actually succeed, it is you. You would be saving the kingdom from him.”
Calla looks up. The lamplight wavers.
“I thought myself the kingdom’s savior during the games too,” she says. All those years spent training, tucked inside a ground-floor apartment swinging a blunt black-market sword. “Look at how that ended.”
Anton’s blood, running through the arena. The loudspeakers, luxuriating in his death.
“It doesn’t have to be the same. It was still August who pitted us against each other.”
“It was us, Anton,” Calla says. Since the arena, she’s lost track of how wholehearted her anger used to be. She wanted a righteous ending. The kings responsible for her hurt needed to die, and that had to be enough.
But she has no name, no history, noanythingexcept the knowledge that one day she was lost on the streets of a far-flung province. Of course the blood of three royals is only an arbitrary payment.
