Chapter 49
It is August who reaches San-Er first.
Of course it is.
Three days after leaving Actia, he merged with his traveling army in Eigi.
The offshoot branch made satisfactory progress by foot, taking unconventional paths, staying out of view from whispering rural dwellers, and August, after slinking away from battle just as Sinoa’s marked gods slithered over the horizon, made good time on horseback.
He arrives in the capital just as sunset kisses the horizon.
Sinoa prepared the attack on San-Er too, promising to get the Crescent Societies out of his way, and she made good on delivering.
The wall has been devastated to rubble. August steps through a gap between the ruins, ignoring Marra Weisanna when she calls him back.
She frets about danger, urging the royal guards to enter first and clear the area.
There’s no need. Inside the wall, there are only mounds of the dead, piled up from formidable attacks.
The battle has long finished, Sinoa’s sigils losing effect.
The damage has been done, the twin cities turned upside down once more.
San-Er is in stasis. Surviving Crescents are scrambling to hold on to some form of authority; surviving gods have opted to go dark rather than stake a claim on the capital.
When the Weisannas enter, Marra splits them into groups, initiating their usual protocol to sweep a perimeter, post guards over the thoroughfares.
They will want to reclaim the Palace of Union.
Put Weisannas in the throne room; put Weisannas in front of the vaults and take back what has been given out.
Reroute the surveillance room, retrieve the identity numbers, recover the banks in Er’s financial district.
August begins to walk through his capital.
Damage sullies every corner. The shop fronts are singed, littered with glass and discarded bullet casings.
Civilians in the midst of cleanup spot him while he walks by.
Their eyes turn wide; they rush inside to pick up the phone, to begin spreading the news.
It is not a difficult turnover.
At the main entrance of the palace, there is only one Crescent Society member, shadows under his eyes, barely holding down the makeshift security gate.
The Weisannas escort the Crescent away, and he does not fight it.
August lets his guards sweep in front of him now.
Through the palace, clearing the riffraff.
The palace employees have departed—it is for the best, because August would not want to keep any who cared to continue working for the Crescent Societies.
They come across a few who are still scurrying away with their bags, and August gestures for the guards to let them exit without trouble.
“Set up the throne room,” he instructs when Marra reports that the palace has been secured. “I will be there shortly.”
“Would you like me to accompany—”
“No,” August answers, already walking off. He passes through the north atrium. It is a mess. One of Sinoa’s, no doubt, barreling their way through. A part of the ceiling has torn clean off, leaving rubble over the floors. The mural in the corner is missing half its old gods.
He descends into the cells. Conversation eddies from the air vents, carrying echoes from overhead and beyond the palace. Without the continuous rain, the flooding stops too. The aisle is dry as August steps down.
He imagines the scene. Opening the door to Galipei. Galipei’s penchant for hurrying to see if August is all right first, beyond anything else, beyond saving himself.
But when his vision adjusts in the dark cells, that is not the scene to greet him. The door at the end of the cellblock is already open. August stops short.
“Galipei?” he calls. No response. No chance of a trap laid, Galipei merely waiting in the corner, out of sight. There is one key to the room. Last he saw, Buira Makusa held it in her pocket, and in what world would she hand it over?
August, carefully, continues forward again. He’s finally close enough to see the damage. The corner of the door has been bent back. The top hinge is missing entirely, tilting the entrance at an angle.
He enters the cell.
Blood, on the floor. Only a small amount.
Then, next to it: scribble after scribble of what seems to be the same symbol, with slight variations.
August tilts his head, trying to read it as though it might be a word in Talinese, but he cannot parse it.
He cannot understand until his eyes lift back up to the broken door, and then the answer lands as though it is a physical blow.
This is a sigil. Scribbled on the cell floor, practicing and practicing a faint recollection until it seemed correct to use.
Galipei broke himself out, with a sigil even August wasn’t aware he possessed.
A new frenzy sets into August’s manner. His mind is whirling as he exits the cells and returns to the north wing.
Something is peculiar about the discovery.
Galipei defected and offered up information.
But he did not offer it as he could have—he sent Anton and Calla on a meaningless detour when he could have shared the sigil then and there.
At the very least, he could have shared his variations until he stumbled on the correct one.
Galipei kept himself in the cells when he could have broken out. Galipei sat tight. Why?
August returns to the throne room. The Weisannas straighten up, at attention. The throne room has been provisionally tidied. Tables pushed aside, walls cleared.
“Guard the palace closely,” he warns. This next moment is critical. Sinoa will want him dead. Only then can she take back her kingdom. “Do not let Calla Tuoleimi step foot inside. She is to be executed the moment she is sighted in San-Er.”