Page 37 of Immortal Longings
Yilas stumbles off the steps of the temple, finally getting a proper look at the Crescent Society member who had pushed her out. They’re old and wrinkled, exuding seniority.
“Crescent Society business stays within the Crescent Societies.”
Then the temple doors slam, and Yilas is left blinking.
“Well,” she says to no one, “at least it wasn’t a knife in the gut.”
Blood is hard to wipe off once it dries, which Anton knows because he’s only getting flakes from his neck despite his vigorous rubbing. He thought maybemixing new blood with the dried blood would help it all come off at once, but alas. It only becomes a smear of red.
Anton gives up. As he walks, he wipes one of his blades clean on his shirt, deciding that he’s already a bloodied mess anyway, so what’s a few extra stains? He glances over his shoulder at the alley corner, waiting a beat before wiping his second blade. He left a dead body behind on the third floor of a building in the financial district, and although he checked for a pulse and even waved up at the surveillance cameras to make sure they knew the fight had finished, there’s a part of him convinced he’s still being tailed by an opponent. He cannot let his guard down—not now, not ever.
They’re a week into the games. The kills slowed tremendously after the first battle, and they’ll only occur further apart the longer the games proceed when there are fewer and fewer players. They crossed the halfway mark for eliminations after the first day of the pings, but they have not moved past ten more deaths since then.
With a grimace, Anton slides his blades back into his sleeve. The whisper of metal echoes in the alley. Then: the ghost of a footstep, from the other end. Before he can be sighted, Anton ducks behind a stack of woven baskets. His breath remains shallow from the last fight. If someone really has been tailing him…
“You can come out, Makusa. I know you’re here.”
The voice is familiar. Anton pokes his head out from the baskets just enough to see Princess Calla Tuoleimi stride into the alley, holding some sort of device in her hands. She looks up, then at the device again, squinting and pivoting around. Typical. August probably gave it to her to track fellow contestants.
Anton stands up. “That doesn’t seem to be working very well, does it?”
With dizzying speed, Calla kicks a pebble, launching it in Anton’s direction. He barely darts out of the way before the rock strikes the wall, leaving a visible white dent.
“Oops,” the princess says, and she doesn’t sound the slightest bit apologetic. “You scared me.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been scared in your life,” Anton mutters. He rubs his jaw out of phantom pain; that strike could have done some damage if he hadn’t moved in time. “I urge you to be careful—the face is pretty, but it is borrowed.”
Calla puts the device away. She keeps her hands in the pockets of her long coat. “Like I said, you startled me. Sneak up on me in a new face and it’s only fair my sword flies at your neck next time.”
Sneak up on her? She’s the one who snuck up onhim.
“Convenient excuse to slaughter an ally,” he says.
Calla steps forward and starts to circle him. Though she makes the action appear casual, the hairs at the back of Anton’s neck are standing straight up under her scrutiny.
“When did we become allies?”
“Was it not agreed?”
She is silent, continuing to appraise him like he’s an object of curiosity at the market.
“Why are you here otherwise?” he asks.
“Why areyouhere?”
“I’m playing the games.”
“As am I.”
Anton grasps for another retort, but finds none. They’re talking in circles while she walks, and he is willing to bet that Calla Tuoleimi could keep going until she’s eaten him whole. He switches tactics.
“What will it take to be careful with my life?” Anton eyes her pocketed hands. Who knows what other weapons she keeps hidden in her clothes. “Shall we come up with a code word? Something only I know to say to identify myself?”
Calla stops in front of him. When she lifts her brow, her yellow eyes areso bright that he can hardly believe he did not recognize her instantly on first contact.
“That’s unnecessary, given—”
“What fine daylight we have today,” he interrupts, inspiration striking. “That’s what I’ll say.”
