Chapter 3
It is an uncanny feeling to have believed himself alone in his bloodline, to have constructed his entire personhood around this sense of abandonment, only to discover he was mistaken.
Anton Makusa, exiled noble. Anton Makusa, the only surviving member of the massacre in Kelitu…
until he was suddenly reunited with a sister left stranded outside San-Er.
Though Anton understands the progression between the Bibi who works as a rebel and the Bibi in his memory, there is very little overlap.
Her unfamiliar accent abrades his ear. She has a tendency to shift from one foot to the other, even while she is supposed to be standing still and listening.
Nothing about her is palace trained. And yet while Anton was occupying August’s body, Bibi was stealing into San-Er.
While Anton was quarreling with Calla during their search for the crown, Bibi was stirring revolution in Talin, the both of them unaware of the other.
He’s struggling to wrap his head around everything Bibi has facilitated without notice, because for the duration of her schemes, Anton was sitting on the throne.
He must have done a better job at making a mess than he thought.
No one was paying attention to her work.
He turns the next corner, checking the empty dining room.
Morning seeps through the palace at a measured speed, and Anton is trying to outpace it, as well as the two Crescents trailing him for safety.
He’s getting increasingly embarrassed about how long it is taking him to find Bibi.
He assumed she would claim a room where the Makusas used to live, but those quarters were empty, as were the other rooms down the hall.
He checked the servants’ quarters, in case Bibi felt particularly compelled to continue living in derelict conditions for the sake of her rural morals, but she wasn’t there either.
“Where could you have gone?” Anton mutters under his breath.
The question, spoken aloud, finally summons her.
Despite the early light, Bibi looks like she’s been awake for hours when she shoulders the door aside and emerges from the kitchens.
Her hair is slicked back with an excessive amount of gel.
Her mouth is moving, chewing on something, and a bag sits cradled in the crook of her elbow.
She doesn’t seem surprised to spot Anton walking toward her. She lifts the bag in offering.
“What’s this?” Anton asks.
“Your favorite,” Bibi replies. She pushes the bag into his hands unceremoniously. “I was going to the surveillance room. Do you wish to accompany?”
Anton peers into the bag. In that initial second, he hasn’t a clue what it is or why it’s his favorite.
Then he smells the scent of green apples.
It’s hard candy. The images appear as flashes.
Fighting with Bibi over that last slab their mother brought back from the market in Kelitu.
Stomping his feet. Fuming. He was the eldest—he needed to be good to his little sister.
He gave Bibi the candy with a huff. Moments later, Bibi would wander back to offer him half of it, already wet with her toddler slobber.
The memory has evaded him for twenty years. And suddenly, with Bibi, it returns too.
“Where have you been?” Anton asks. “I couldn’t find you yesterday.”
Bibi slips her arm through his, then pulls him to continue walking together.
“You were busy enough yesterday,” she replies. “Watch your step. I hid one of the explosives under a rug here.”
Anton sidesteps a minor crater in the floor.
The damage around it has been tidied, the black charring scrubbed away.
They didn’t manage to retain every employee.
Plenty had no interest in staying behind to work with the Crescent Societies, no matter how much money he offered from the vaults.
But enough were swayed that the palace had been cleaned corner to corner since the coup, no chance of loaded explosives still waiting to go off.
“Let’s chat,” Anton says under his breath, quietly enough that the Crescents trailing him can’t hear it. “Alone.”
Since their reunion, he would have thought there would be more time to debrief, draw level with each other about all that has happened in these years.
But he’s barely seen Bibi, and every time he snags a short chance to ask questions, Bibi can’t offer much.
She remembers less about the massacre in Kelitu than he does: while Anton witnessed the bloodshed, Bibi was hiding upstairs.
She doesn’t remember much about how she ended up north of the Jinzi River before the Dovetail in Laho found her.
She was separated from baby Hana immediately.
She hasn’t a clue where Hana is now. Dead, most likely.
Just because Buira Makusa survived does not make it any more statistically probable that Hana did.
Bibi turns over her shoulder. She flashes a big smile at the Crescents behind them.
“Could we have a moment?” she asks. “I can keep a close eye on Anton. I know how to keep him out of trouble.”
Bibi’s northern speech is thick enough that Anton frequently finds himself waiting a beat after she’s spoken, needing the time to parse through her words before he’s understood what she said.
But it is ideal among rebels, a marker that she is not residue from the palace and the people they overthrew.
The Crescents, though reluctant in their manner, stop walking.
Bibi veers left, pulling Anton out of sight with her.
“Calla wants to attack August at his base today,” Anton says, wasting no time. “She needs Crescent Society forces to make the approach.”
Bibi hums a noise under her breath. “Is that necessary?”
“It is always better to have an army than have no army, Bibi.”
Her eyes flicker up. They are the very same shade as his, inherited from their father.
As Fen Makusa told it, qi from his side of the family comes from thousands of years before them, and ought to last thousands after them.
Black like the overripe berries of deadly nightshade.
Black ringed by the hue of live electricity.
“That crown alone is worth an army,” Bibi says. “She could approach August Shenzhi’s base herself and fare fine.”
They make a turn. It’s busier in this corridor. The chandeliers overhead shiver. When a group of palace employees walk by from the other direction, they nod politely, hoisting their laundry baskets higher.
“Let’s be forthright.” Anton waits until the employees have disappeared around the corner before continuing. “The Crescents only succeeded in their takeover because Calla was launching a coup against August at the same time.”
“That’s—”
“No, Bibi, you know I’m right. You did great work, I’m sure.
The Weisannas and the councilmembers were dropping dead.
All the conditions were ripe. But I need you to be honest to yourself, and then I need you to pass that sentiment on to the clerics who trust you.
If Calla hadn’t driven August out, then the Crescent Societies would have been obliterated by the next night.
You would not have beaten the Weisannas.
There are more of them than there are of you.
No matter the amount of sacrifice or new sigils thrown in, the Weisannas are stronger merely because they are untouchable. ”
Bibi tightens her grip on his arm, slowing them down. They’re approaching the surveillance room.
“I understand the situation,” Bibi says evenly. “How auspicious it was. How grateful we are that Calla Tuoleimi picked up the crown that day and ejected August from the capital.”
“Ejected the Weisannas, most importantly,” Anton corrects.
“And just as the Crescents reaped the benefits of Calla’s gambit during the coup, they should understand that it’s in their interests to continue supporting her war effort.
If August gains momentum through the provinces and succeeds in marching back through San-Er, it is the end for the Crescents too. ”
Bibi stops. Abruptly, she turns to face Anton, her expression tight. Rapid typing echoes from the surveillance room, its door left wide open.
“Anton,” she says, “I admire what you are doing here. But as you said, let’s be forthright.
Even if San-Er names Calla Tuoleimi King-Killer, she is still a royal—and the last true one at that.
The Crescents admire her, insofar as they are aligned with her.
When she attacked her parents, she was their darling.
When she killed Kasa, suddenly the balance tilted.
The Crescent Societies find themselves in the precarious position of desiring her power and fearing it…
and where do you think that leaves them? ”
“Owing her,” Anton returns.
“No,” Bibi says, her annoyance visible. “They are not stupid. They understand their weight and power too. The Crescent Societies occupy San-Er on Calla’s behalf.
She cannot be everywhere at once, so she needs them holding the capital while she engages in this fight for the kingdom.
And they will not help her. They will let her tire herself out.
Then when the time is right, they will move to kill her. ”
Anton scoffs. Yes, he understands that this is what the Crescent Societies intend. Whether or not they can truly accomplish it is another matter.
“How will they do that?” he asks. “Prayer?”
“They do not need to pray. They already consider themselves gods.”
Bibi must notice that they’ve paused in the hallway to argue, because she waves for Anton to follow her, stepping into the surveillance room.
It’s hectic enough that Anton’s presence goes unobserved.
His sister sits down at a desk, gesturing that he should grab a seat and join.
Anton is slow to find a plastic folding chair from one of the other cubicles.