Chapter 40 #2
They have already discussed this during their ride out.
Anton argued it was less risky for him to go instead.
But Venus did not communicate precisely whom circumstances have changed for, and if there was a chance that August had sent a delegation up to Rincun to occupy it, they needed to be prepared for Weisannas.
Calla needs to be present—she can pull from the crown’s power to engage in battle.
“It doesn’t have to be Rincun first, then,” Anton hisses. “I could jump into August’s front line again and see—”
“Absolutely not,” Calla says, her vehemence only increasing.
Anton scoffs. “Is it that only you are allowed to access the power of gods?”
“What— That’s not it at all.” Calla wipes the rain off her face while she tugs the reins, leading their horse to follow, and her nose stings with her movement.
That trickle of blood back at Kelitu’s manor is threatening to begin again.
It’s so typical of Anton to want to play with new toys without thinking of the consequences.
Whether it’s the side effects of destructive qi being emitted into the world, or…
“If you are caught spying on August, then we will not be having our little peace talks. We are to follow his lead and attend, because that narrows us down to one of two outcomes. Either August agrees to pull back and settle somewhere in exile where he will not bother us, or I kill him then and there, and it’s over. ”
Anton stares at her for a beat, his expression caught in concern. Quick to anger, then quick to settle—he is predictable, just as his ideas are.
“You promised Galipei otherwise.”
“Yes,” Calla says. “I can break a promise if it doesn’t serve us any longer.”
“And how,” Anton says, “do you expect to handle Otta afterward?”
“I kill her too.”
Calla glances around. They’ve made their way over to the side of a marsh. It’s not quite the safety of a ravine, but the cattails grow tall enough to hide behind.
“Tell me something,” Anton says suddenly.
With a sigh, Calla turns to him, giving him her full attention. The rain splatters on her shoes. Cleaning the edges of her clothing.
“Are you still taking my qi?”
Her pulse kicks up.
“No,” Calla says. I promised I wouldn’t, she almost adds, if it weren’t for what she has just declared, for the clear lack of sanctity she treats such oaths with.
Anton lifts his hands, cupping both sides of her face.
He watches her for a long moment, and when he relents, she leans forward for a kiss.
Their lips meet more softly than she intended.
Already fortified with the murmur of goodbye, a graze rather unlike what they’re used to.
Calla presses in properly, and she holds the moment.
The feeling of his hands, still clasped to her face.
Her arms, collapsed against his chest. Her hair, picking up with the wind, a sheer curtain to offer seclusion.
As though they might be lovers at some provincial getaway, the bedroom of the inn set aside for their use, not to be interrupted no matter who comes knocking.
Calla draws back. There is doubt in Anton’s eyes. He says nothing to convey it, but she sees it all the same.
“Listen,” she says. “We’re already in dangerous territory.
We wanted Rincun and Youlia free to force the right battle conditions in Actia, but if Venus has hit trouble, we can’t follow that plan anymore.
Perhaps there is another path. It is better to make a small detour than turn back entirely. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Anton remains quiet. But he offers the barest nod. That is enough.
“I’m going,” Calla says. Then, because it seems like a necessary concession to make, she asks, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Anton says. He swallows hard. “I’m ready.”
“Catch me.”
Calla draws from the crown. The crown draws from Anton—she can’t help it, she can’t. The barest notch appears in his brow, and she knows that he senses it this time.
Calla jumps.
Smooth wood beneath her palm. A cash register sitting before her. She peers around to find herself manning an ice shop, the display cases dark and an air-conditioning unit humming from the corner. Calla, slowly, moves toward the door, sighting no one else present in the shop.
This is one of the villages in Rincun’s West Capital. Near enough to the yamen that she doesn’t feel the need to jump again. It is a quiet night. Many of the other shops are long shuttered and asleep, the lanterns dim out front.
Calla begins to walk, using the mountains to gauge her sense of direction.
She would have been intimately familiar with one of these villages at some point in her life.
She would have walked these harsh fields, knowing who owned the wagons left on the dirt roads, which stalls set up shop for which season.
For the first time since her coup, she looks up and finds only a scattering of clouds.
An earlier wave of sleet gathers on the path, but otherwise the night is clear.
The moon shines brightly. Calla does not need another source of light to find her way, trekking through Rincun in her utter lonesome.
She passes no villagers. There is no need to rush when she and Anton are in place for dawn—they had traveled into Teefa to give themselves the quickest route toward Actia’s yamen—but Calla finds herself hastening anyway, wanting to get this over and done with.
Whatever has caught Venus, the ceiling of its severity is limited.
Venus is indefinitely waiting for her at the yamen, for heavens’ sake.
West Capital’s yamen appears in the distance. Rincun, in typical fashion, grows darker the closer one creeps toward the mountains. Calla follows the flickering lantern left to burn outside the building.
She calls, “Venus?”
And a bolt of qi strikes her in response.