Chapter 24
August’s camp puts down its roots at the border between Leysa and Pashe, behind the cover of a mountain where the northern pass is the only way in and out.
He observes the effort from the path, his hands behind his back.
Rain drenches his hair, welling where his circlet sits before sluicing down his neck, onto his shoulders.
Without access to palace carriages, their movement across province lines was slower than usual—but anyway, even if they had access, it is not as though anyone marches into war using carriages. It’s far too conspicuous.
The horses served well enough. He’s lucky most of their animals had been left alone on the security base when Calla ran off with the crown.
“Your Majesty.”
August doesn’t respond to the call immediately. He stares at the sight of his half-made camp behind the mountain, searing the image into the back of his eyes. This is pathetic. For a gasp of a moment, he had possessed the entirety of San-Er.
August turns, nodding at Marra Weisanna. He’s put her in charge of the royal guards, or at least the collection who survived the coup and made it out here. In replacement of Galipei, who was as sullen as a toad when he was waved off with the nobles being escorted to Gaiyu.
“Your sister wishes to speak to you,” Marra says.
“I see,” August replies. “And how long has she been making a fuss to warrant your role as a personal messenger?”
Marra clears her throat. She appears to consider her words very carefully. There have been significant casualties among her extended family, these members of San-Er’s elite forces. August cannot afford to send off more Weisannas as he has sent off Galipei.
But if any of them resist him, he will.
“I thought to take the initiative before she could escalate her ask, Your Majesty,” Marra says. She’s more diplomatic than Galipei is, that’s for certain. “Miss Avia is in the central tent with the councilmembers. Laya has set up your maps there too.”
“All right.” August does not let his resentment show. He turns to follow Marra.
Among August’s advisors who fled San-Er, there was only one who August thought was logical enough to listen to.
He also kept around two surviving councilmembers because they still held sway among their generals and made direct promises to support August’s war effort.
Councilmember Naov of Pashe offered this former medical clinic as a facility to build around, hence the camp’s location.
Councilmember Tishin of Ediso—who had his hand cut off by a Crescent during the first wave of attacks in San-Er—funnels food from his province in exchange for vigilant protection.
“—river for the focus. This should be straightforward provided we devastate Laho.”
Otta sets down a marker when August walks into the tent. Seated around her are Naov and Tishin, both looking exceedingly attentive. Which is absurd, given Otta Avia is not an advisor, nor has she any formal role in August’s war.
“And why,” August says, “would we want to devastate Laho?”
“August,” Otta says. “I was thinking you’d wandered off into the mountains and abandoned your camp.”
August gives her a dull look. In exchange for ridding a council that has always been a pain in his side, he has his new sister.
And because he grew up with her, because he knows how impossible Otta Avia already was, it’s inevitable that Sinoa Tuoleimi promises to be a hundred times worse if he isn’t careful.
He nods to the map of Talin hanging from the board. It’s all wrong. Otta has marked arrows in directions he does not care to go.
“I thought,” he says, “I was very clear about our intentions.”
“It was a good plan,” Otta says. “An admirable one. But the Crescents have abandoned their princess earlier than we accounted for. They are holding tightly to the capital. It will be difficult to face them directly.”
August frowns. Are their spies reporting to Otta instead of him? Has there been some instruction lost along the chain of command—have the Weisannas forgotten to pass this sentiment along to him?
“Since when?”
“Since today. The Crescent Societies are blocking qi in the capital.” Otta picks up her red marker again. She draws a big X through San-Er, and August flinches. “We have to adjust. There are provinces that will provide useful resources to begin our reign.”
“I don’t care what resources the provinces are providing,” August says. “We want the capital.”
“Why stick to the same tactics that were only relevant during the war with Sica?” Otta asks airily. “Talin has grown into formidable shape. Taking the capital is not a surefire way to take the kingdom. Just look at how Princess Calla is floundering.”
August has had enough.
“I need the room.”
“Majesty—”
“Give us the room,” August interrupts, his gaze cutting over to Councilmember Naov. “I have to discuss a matter with my sister in private.”
After joining him at the security base, Otta confirmed what he long suspected.
Their history never told the real story; the textbooks were oftentimes contradictory on purpose.
The war with Sica did not exist; it was a make-believe kingdom the capital invented to explain why Talin looked the way it did, to hide a civil war between the Tuoleimis a hundred years ago.
The two councilmembers exit the tent. Otta waits for their footsteps to fade. Then she crosses her arms.
“Was that necessary?”
“In case you have forgotten,” August replies, “until you are coronated, you answer to me. You do not make the call.”
Otta narrows her eyes. Deep black, not a wisp of color.
“I am not your subject—”
“Yes. All who answer to a king are a subject.” August picks up her marker. He draws a vicious line through Otta’s map. Rejecting everything she has scribbled. “That includes you. Tuoleimi or not.”
His outburst doesn’t scare her. Otta inspects his handiwork. Reaches over to rub off some extra ink that bled onto the board.
“Where is Galipei Weisanna?” she asks. Her tone is casual, but the intent behind the query is anything but. “I didn’t see him on the journey here.”
“He has been relieved from his duties.” August puts the cap back on the marker and slides it into his pocket.
Perhaps Otta had not noticed August watching from his window, but he observed her speaking to Galipei while the base waited to disperse.
Why ask a question she knows the answer to?
“We cannot afford to bring deadweight around with us.”
“I assumed he would have fought to stick around,” Otta muses. “Do anything in his power to convince you otherwise.”
“Galipei understood my wishes.”
“It seems to me that Galipei Weisanna is not the type of guard to sit obediently in Gaiyu.”
“I fail to see how that matters.”
Otta takes a lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger. “Such little time you have spent in power,” she says, “yet how quickly you take to it.”
“I have been preparing for this my whole life.” Long before he was named the crown prince.
Perhaps long before he stepped foot in the palace, beginning from his childhood, when he was forced to bear witness to his father’s noble clients cheating and deceiving his business without consequence.
Since the moment he could comprehend the life-blood of this kingdom, August has been ready to inject himself at its very top.
“Do not provoke me into proving myself.”
“I would never. I understand. I understand more than anyone.”
Otta’s attention drifts off. Wherever she goes in her mind’s eye, she is somewhere August cannot fathom. Some bygone era of the kingdom.
“Otta,” he says, because he refuses to call his half sister Sinoa, regardless of accuracy. “You lost once already. Let’s not forget that.”
“I don’t forget.”
“And therefore”—he gestures to the map—“either I take the lead this time, or we will have a problem.”
“What happened to our alliance?”
“What will you do in lieu of an alliance with me, Otta? Will you join Calla instead?”
He has her cornered. Of course she will not.
“Perhaps—”
“Majesty!” Marra’s harried call booms into the tent before she puts her head through. She makes a quick scan, almost looking relieved to find August present. “There’s a woman approaching the base. Rural dweller.”
“Warn her that this is a private installation,” August says calmly, “and that she is to turn back.”
“We tried.” Marra can’t seem to catch her breath. “She… she pushed us back. With qi.”
Despite their existing friction, August and Otta exchange a glance. It cannot be an attack coming from Calla if it is only one individual. Otta seems to agree with the way her attention darts off, beyond the tent.
“Let me see,” she decides.
Otta strides out from the tent before August contributes a word of approval. He makes to follow.
“I would advise that you stay back, Your Majesty,” Marra urges.
“I’ll stay back,” August returns. He doesn’t need to wander far from the tent. He has a fine view of the path—as well as the woman walking forward, passing the five Weisannas she’s tossed aside, all groaning and rendered incapacitated.
This kingdom has transformed before August’s very nose. Despite his years and years of planning, he went out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly Talin doesn’t recognize him anymore.
“Right there is fine, please,” Otta says from the end of the path.
The woman has not tried to attack Otta yet.
She is short, her hair cropped at her neck, her sallow appearance indicating middle age.
An unfamiliar face. Nothing of her clothes or the color of her eyes speaks to her identity.
But the sort of power necessary to attack Weisannas could not belong to an ordinary rural dweller.
This tangible use of qi is not natural outside those who have been experimenting with sigils, and as far as August is aware, only insurgent groups have gotten their hands on such defenses.
He takes a step forward. Marra hisses under her breath and puts her arm out.
“Stand down,” August says.
“Your Majesty—”
“Stand down,” August repeats.