# 1
Format: Hardcover, 384 pages
Release Date: July 18, 2023
Publisher: Gallery / Saga Press
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy
#1 New York Times bestselling YA author Chloe Gong’s adult epic fantasy debut, inspired by Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, is a fiery collision of power plays, spilled blood, and romance amidst a set of deadly games.
Every
year, thousands in the kingdom of Talin will flock to its capital twin
cities, San-Er, where the palace hosts a set of games. For those
confident enough in their ability to jump between bodies, competitors
across San-Er fight to the death to win unimaginable riches.
Princess
Calla Tuoleimi lurks in hiding. Five years ago, a massacre killed her
parents and left the palace of Er empty…and she was the one who did it.
Before King Kasa’s forces in San can catch her, she plans to finish the
job and bring down the monarchy. Her reclusive uncle always greets the
victor of the games, so if she wins, she gets her opportunity at last to
kill him.
Enter Anton Makusa, an exiled aristocrat. His
childhood love has lain in a coma since they were both ousted from the
palace, and he’s deep in debt trying to keep her alive. Thankfully, he’s
one of the best jumpers in the kingdom, flitting from body to body at
will. His last chance at saving her is entering the games and winning.
Calla
finds both an unexpected alliance with Anton and help from King Kasa’s
adopted son, August, who wants to mend Talin’s ills. But the three of
them have very different goals, even as Calla and Anton’s partnership
spirals into something all-consuming. Before the games close, Calla must
decide what she’s playing for—her lover or her kingdom.
Chloe Gong's Immortal Longings is the first installment in the authors Flesh and False Gods series. Book is inspired by the 1990's Hong Kong Kowloon
Walled City. Also inspired by Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra. This is a story that revolves around (3) key players. August Shenzhi, the apparent heir to King Kasa of the Kingdom of Talin; Calla, the mysterious young woman who committed regicide on the former royals and is supposed to be dead; and Anton Makusa, the man who can easily swap bodies and become anyone at any time.
Every
year, thousands in the kingdom of Talin will flock to its capital twin
cities, San-Er, where the palace hosts a set of games. For those
confident enough in their ability to jump between bodies (transferring your consciousness into another body), competitors
across San-Er fight to the death to win a prize that will allow them a life free of poverty. This year, 88 players will fight to the death in a Gladiator like game, but things are not as they seem. Not when 3 have plans to bring down the King himself, and set a new course for the combined San-Er which used to be two kingdoms until 5 years ago when the monarchs where murdered.
year, thousands in the kingdom of Talin will flock to its capital twin
cities, San-Er, where the palace hosts a set of games. For those
confident enough in their ability to jump between bodies (transferring your consciousness into another body), competitors
across San-Er fight to the death to win a prize that will allow them a life free of poverty. This year, 88 players will fight to the death in a Gladiator like game, but things are not as they seem. Not when 3 have plans to bring down the King himself, and set a new course for the combined San-Er which used to be two kingdoms until 5 years ago when the monarchs where murdered.
Princess
Calla Tuoleimi lurks in hiding. Five years ago, a massacre killed her
parents and left the palace of Er empty…and she was the one who did it.
Before King Kasa’s forces in San can catch her, she plans to finish the
job and bring down the monarchy. Her reclusive uncle always greets the
victor of the games, so if she wins, she gets her opportunity at last to
kill him. The most interesting part of Calla, is that she has a deep, dark secret which she hides behind by wearing a mask on the lower half of her face. But one person knows that she is alive, and she is about to be one of the 88 forced to fight to the death.
Calla Tuoleimi lurks in hiding. Five years ago, a massacre killed her
parents and left the palace of Er empty…and she was the one who did it.
Before King Kasa’s forces in San can catch her, she plans to finish the
job and bring down the monarchy. Her reclusive uncle always greets the
victor of the games, so if she wins, she gets her opportunity at last to
kill him. The most interesting part of Calla, is that she has a deep, dark secret which she hides behind by wearing a mask on the lower half of her face. But one person knows that she is alive, and she is about to be one of the 88 forced to fight to the death.
Enter Anton Makusa, an exiled aristocrat. His
childhood love has lain in a coma since they were both ousted from the
palace, and he’s deep in debt trying to keep her alive. Thankfully, he’s
one of the best jumpers in the kingdom, flitting from body to body at
will. His last chance at saving her is entering the games and winning. Anton wants nothing more than to kill the King and take his rightful place as the sovereign after he was exiled. Curiously, he was best friends with August Shenzhi, the current heir of the kindgom of San-Er.
childhood love has lain in a coma since they were both ousted from the
palace, and he’s deep in debt trying to keep her alive. Thankfully, he’s
one of the best jumpers in the kingdom, flitting from body to body at
will. His last chance at saving her is entering the games and winning. Anton wants nothing more than to kill the King and take his rightful place as the sovereign after he was exiled. Curiously, he was best friends with August Shenzhi, the current heir of the kindgom of San-Er.
Calla finds both an unexpected alliance with Anton and help from King
Kasa’s adopted son, August, who wants to mend Talin’s ills, but is also dealing with an internal betrayal by a group which would love to she him removed and replaced. The
three of them have very different goals, even as Calla and Anton’s
partnership spirals into something all-consuming. Before the games
close, Calla must decide what she’s playing for—her lover or her
kingdom. The author has stated that this story was inspired by the 1990's Hong Kong Kowloon Walled City. This is definitely an enemies to hesitant allies to lovers to we shall see, shalt we?
Kasa’s adopted son, August, who wants to mend Talin’s ills, but is also dealing with an internal betrayal by a group which would love to she him removed and replaced. The
three of them have very different goals, even as Calla and Anton’s
partnership spirals into something all-consuming. Before the games
close, Calla must decide what she’s playing for—her lover or her
kingdom. The author has stated that this story was inspired by the 1990's Hong Kong Kowloon Walled City. This is definitely an enemies to hesitant allies to lovers to we shall see, shalt we?
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CHAPTER 1
A living thing, when faced with a break or injury, is
compelled to heal itself. A cut will clot with blood, trapping in a
person’s qi. A bone will smooth over, knitting new threads at every
split. And San-Er’s buildings, when an inconvenience is identified, will
rush to mend the sore, pinpointing every fracture and hurling remedies
with vigor. From the top of the palace, all that can be seen are the
stacked structures composing the twin cities, interlocked and dependent
upon one another, some attached to a neighbor from the ground level and
others connected only at the highest floors. Everyone in the kingdom of
Talin wants to be in its capital—in these two cities masquerading as
one—and so San-Er must grow denser and higher to accommodate, covering
up its offenses and stenches with utter incoherence.
August
Shenzhi tightens his grip on the balcony railing, tearing his gaze away
from the horizon of rooftops. His attention should be with the
marketplace below, which bustles at high volume inside the coliseum
walls. Three generations ago, the Palace of Union was built beside San’s
massive coliseum—or perhaps it’s more apt to say it was built into
the coliseum, the north side of the elevated palace enmeshed with the
coliseum’s south wall, its turrets and balconies pulling apart stone and
slotting itself right in to close the gap. Every window on the north
side has a perfect view of the market, but none better than this
balcony. Back when he still made public appearances, King Kasa stood
here to make his speeches. The market would be cleared out, and his
subjects would come to gather in the only plot of open space inside
San-Er, cheering for their monarch.
There’s nowhere quite like
the coliseum. San-Er itself is only a small protrusion of land at the
edge of the kingdom, its border with rural Talin marked by a towering
wall, the rest of its perimeter hemmed in by sea. Yet despite its size,
San-Er functions as a world of its own—half a million inhabitants
crammed into each square mile, again and again. The needle-thin alleys
between every building sag, the earthen ground always muddy because it
is sweating with overexertion. Prostitutes and temple priests share the
same doorway; drug addicts and schoolteachers nap under the same awning.
It makes sense that the only space protected from builders and
squatters is the coliseum, under the vigilant eye of royalty and
untouched by the desperate expansion pressing in on its walls. They
could raze the coliseum and build ten—perhaps twenty—new streets on the
land cleared, squeeze in hundreds more apartment complexes, but the
palace won’t allow it, and what the palace says goes.
“Give me leave to strangle your uncle, August. I’m tired to death of him.”
Galipei
Weisanna strolls into the room, his voice echoing out onto the balcony.
He speaks as he always does: clipped, terse, honest. Galipei is rarely
willing to tell a lie, yet finds it of utmost priority to be running his
mouth too, even when silence is a better option. August tips his head
back to look at his bodyguard, and the crown in his hair shakes loose,
hanging lopsidedly to the left. By the light of the palace, the red gems
resemble fragments of blood encircling his bleached blond curls, its
position so precarious that one wayward breeze would sweep the band of
metal right off.
“Do be careful,” August replies evenly. “High treason in the throne room tends to be frowned upon.”
“So I suppose someone ought to be frowning at you as well.”
Galipei
comes to join him upon the balcony, then nudges August’s crown back
into place with a practiced familiarity. His presence is domineering,
shoulders wide and posture tall, in contrast to August’s lithe
sharpness. Dressed in his usual dark work garb, Galipei looks a part of
the night—if the night were decorated with buckles and straps holding
various weapons that wouldn’t otherwise keep against heavy leather.
There’s a melodic clanking when his body comes into contact with the
gold-plated railing, his arms resting atop it to mimic August, but the
sound is easily lost to the clamor of the market below.
“Who
would dare?” August asks matter-of-factly. It’s not a boast. It’s the
profoundly confident manner of someone who knows exactly how high his
pedestal is because he hauled himself there.
Galipei makes a
vague noise. He turns away from the walls of the coliseum, having
searched for threats and finding nothing out of the ordinary. His
attention shifts toward August’s line of sight instead: a child, kicking
a ball beside the closest row of market stalls.
“I heard that
you took over preliminary organization for the games.” The child draws
nearer and nearer to the balcony. “What are you up to, August? Your
uncle—”
August clears his throat. Though Galipei rolls his eyes, he takes the correction in stride.
“—your father, my apologies, is vexed enough with the whole palace these days. If you go pissing him off, he’ll disown you in an instant.”
A
warm, southerly breeze blows up on the balcony, swallowing August’s
skeptical huff of breath. He pulls at his collar, fingers sliding
against silk, the fabric thin enough to bring a chill to his skin. Let
King Kasa push his adoption papers through a shredder. It won’t matter
soon. Maneuvering the last few years to get the paperwork to exist was
only the first part of the plan. It is nowhere near the most important.
“Why are you here?” August asks in return, diverting the topic. “I thought Leida summoned your help for the night.”
“She sent me back. San’s border is fine.”
August
doesn’t voice his immediate doubt, but he does frown. Other than the
coliseum, the far edge of San right beside the wall is the only place
within San-Er where civilians might have the space to gather and make a
fuss, crowding around the mounds of trash and discarded tech. It never
lasts long. The guards spread out and break them up, and then civilians
can either spend an indeterminate amount of time in the palace cells or
scatter back into the dense labyrinthine streets.
“Fascinating,” August says. “I don’t remember the last time there weren’t riots the day before the games.”
A
few more steps, and the child will be directly underneath them. She
pays no attention to her surroundings, weaving her ball in and out among
the shoppers and sellers, her thin shoes clomping down on the uneven
ground.
“This year’s games should be quick work. There were hardly any applicants who volunteered for the draw.”
By hardly,
Galipei means that there were hundreds as opposed to thousands. The
games used to be a far larger event, back when there were two kings
funneling their coffers into the grand prize. Kasa’s father had started
them in his previous reign, and what began as a yearly one-on-one battle
to the death eventually grew to a multicontestant affair, expanding
past the coliseum and using all of San-Er as the playing field. Once,
watching skilled fighters tear each other apart in the arena was mere
entertainment, something that was distant to the ordinary civilian. Now,
the games are a thrill that anyone can participate in, a solution to a
kingdom simmering with complaints. Don’t worry if your babies drop dead because they have hollowed into starved husks, King Kasa declares. Don’t
worry that your elderly must sleep in cages because there is no more
apartment space, nor that the neon light from the strip club across the
alleyway keeps you awake night after night. Put your name in the
lottery, slaughter only eighty-seven of your fellow citizens, and be
awarded with riches beyond your wildest dreams.
“He drew his list, then?” August says. “All eighty-eight of our lucky participants?”
Eighty-eight, the number of luck and prosperity! the advertisement posters for the games declare. You must register before the deadline for your chance to be among our esteemed competitors!
“His Majesty is very proud of himself. He got through the names in record time.”
August
scoffs. It is not efficiency that had Kasa going so fast. Since August
suggested an entrance fee two years ago, the random draw has shrunk
significantly. One would think that the worsening conditions these days
mean more are throwing in their lots for a chance to win, but the people
of San-Er are only increasingly terrified that the games are a sham,
that the victor will be cheated out of the grand prize just as the twin
cities persistently cheat them out of rewards. They’re not wrong. After
all, August did fiddle with the draw this year to get one name in.
With
a wince, he takes a step back from the balcony rail, releasing the
tension in his neck. For only two distinct days of the year, the
coliseum before him is cleared out and used as the arena it was
originally built for. Today, it remains yet a marketplace. A compact,
concentrated world of food hawkers splashed with oil and metalworkers
clanging on blades and technicians fixing up unwieldy computers to
resell. San-Er spends each moment functioning off the fumes of its last.
There is no other way to survive.
“August.” A touch on his
elbow. August spares a glance to his side, meeting Galipei’s
steel-silver eyes. There’s a warning in the way he flings his prince’s
name around, title and rank discarded. August does not take caution; he
only smiles. That small quirk at his mouth, barely a change in his
expression at all, and Galipei falters, taken aback by the rare
expression.
August knows exactly what he’s doing. Offer that
brief distraction, and when Galipei’s attention is turned elsewhere, he
decides on his next move.
“Take my body inside.”
Galipei’s lips part in protest. He recovers quickly from his brief enthrallment. “Would you quit jumping like—”
But
August has already left, fixing his sight onto the child and slamming
right in, opening his new eyes with a quick snap. He has to adjust to
the height change, off-balance for a second as the people nearby jolt in
surprise. They know what has happened: the flash of light between jumps
is unmistakable, marking the arc from old body to new. Though the
palace has long made jumping illegal, it is still as common as a beggar
swiping a rice cake from an unwatched stall. Civilians have learned to
look away, especially when the light is flashing so closely to the
palace.
They just don’t expect their crown prince to be the one jumping.
August
looks up at the palace. His body has dropped like a stone, collapsed in
Galipei’s arms to enter stasis. Without a person’s qi, the body is only
a vessel. But a vessel that belongs to the heir of the throne is an
incredibly valuable possession, and when Galipei’s gaze meets August’s
pitch-black eyes in the girl’s body, he mouths what appears to be a
threat to strangle him too.
August, however, is already walking
in the other direction, giving Galipei no choice but to guard his birth
body ferociously, lest someone come within ten feet and attempt to
invade it. In any case, it wouldn’t be hard for him to boot an intruder
out. August’s qi is strong—if his body were doubled, he could wrestle
back control from the other person easily, either forcing them to find
another host or subject them to being lost. When it comes to doubling
other bodies, there is no vessel in the twin cities that he cannot
invade as long they have come of age: twelve, maybe thirteen, when the
gene for jumping manifests.
The problem isn’t so much the matter
of someone using his body for pleasure or power. It’s troublemakers who
might invade with the purpose of destroying his body out of protest,
making one quick throw off the edge of a building before their prince
can jump back.
August nearly collides with someone and flinches,
ducking to find a less crowded path through the market. The sudden
assault on his senses always takes some getting used to: the louder
noises, the brighter colors. Perhaps he has dulled the senses of his
birth body too much, and this is true normalcy. When a shoe-shiner barks
at him from behind a stall and holds out a few coins, August simply
reaches his small hands out and receives them, uncertain why. The child
must be some sort of errand runner. All the better. Very few civilians
are powerful enough to jump into children, which makes them the most
trusted, darting between buildings and into every corner of San-Er
without notice.
August makes quick time exiting the coliseum,
emerging onto the one main street that acts as a thoroughfare from north
to south of San. He is well-acquainted with the lefts and the rights of
his byzantine city too, so he steps off the main street for the less
populated routes, hurrying under drooping electric wires and barely
wincing when the damp pipes overhead drip water down his neck. But the
cold moisture irritates his skin after a while, and with a sigh, August
enters a building, deciding to travel by staircase and wayward building
passages instead. There isn’t enough on this body to draw any
conclusions about its identity, though that is an answer in and of
itself. No markings or tattoos, so no allegiance to the Crescent
Societies.
“Hey! Hey, stop there.”
August—ever
accommodating—stops. An elderly woman has called out to him, the picture
of concern as she hovers in front of her apartment door, a water bucket
clutched to her hip.
“Where are your parents?” she asks. “This
area is no good. The Crescent Societies have their eye on it. You’ll get
yourself invaded.”
“I have it handled.” From the girl’s body,
his voice comes out high and soft and sweet. Only August’s tone is too
confident. Too regal. The woman can tell, and her expression shifts into
suspicion, but August is already walking again. He follows the
spray-painted directions on the walls, moving through another corridor
to enter a neighboring building. Low moans filter through the thin
plaster. Privately run hospitals are aplenty in this area, facilities
filled with unhygienic practices and dirty tools, though they still
receive a constant stream of patients because they charge far less than
the proper places in Er. Half of these private facilities are surely
body-trafficking schemes. Still… if a body goes missing here and there,
no one cares enough to find out why. Certainly not the palace, no matter
what August does.
He turns the corner. The atmosphere shifts
immediately, cigarette smoke permeating the low ceilings in such
thickness that the dim bulbs can hardly cut through. San is a city of
darkness. It is nighttime now, but even when the sun rises, the
buildings are so densely packed that the streets remain shrouded in
shadow. He counts the doors as he passes: One, two, three…
He
knocks on the third, his small fist easily fitting between the metal
bars of the exterior door. When the second wooden door opens inward,
there is a man who towers above him twice over, looking down his nose
with a huff of air.
“We don’t have scraps—”
August jumps again. It is instantaneous from the outside, he knows, as fast as that clap of light, but it always feels
slow, like wading through a brick wall. The closer the jump, the
thinner the wall; from the farthest away, at the absolute ten-foot
limit, it always feels like forging through a mile of solid stone. Those
who have gotten themselves lost between bodies are snagged here,
condemned to wander about this incorporeal space forever.
When he
opens his eyes, he’s staring at the little girl again, her
bright-orange eyes wide and confused. Not everyone in Talin can jump,
and even among those with the gene for it, many have such weak abilities
that they don’t risk it, in case they attempt to invade a body and lose
the fight for control. But at any point, gene or no gene, a body
holding a single person’s qi can be invaded, especially by someone like
August. The girl figures out quickly what must have happened.
“Move
along,” August instructs, closing the inner door to the gambling den.
The people inside saw the flash of light, aware that their bouncer is
now occupied. Thankfully, August is expected.
“Your Highness!”
Though
the den-keeper who runs up to him has a different face from the last
time August was here, he knows it’s the same person. Bodies can be
switched, but the man’s pale purple eyes remain the same.
“Have you found her?” August asks.
“Right in time, you’re right in time,” the man gushes, ignoring his question. “Come with me, please, Prince August.”
August
follows, careful with his steps. This body is large, muscular. He
doesn’t want to go too fast, or he might tip himself off-kilter and
stumble. He closes his fists together and frowns, circling around the
card dealings and mahjong tables with barely enough room to maneuver
between them. His shoe crunches down on what could be a needle filled
with heroin. A woman at one of the tables reaches out to touch his
jacket, with no aim except to stroke its fine leather exterior.
“Right through here. The pictures should have finished developing by now.”
The
man holds open the door, and August walks through, looking around in
the red light. Thin drying lines crisscross at his eye level, filled
with dangling photographs in various shades. The man reaches up to
unclip one. His fingers tremble as he lets the line spring back, cupping
the photograph in his palms. Before he can extend the offering to
August, however, he hesitates, eyes pinned on the picture.
“Something wrong?”
“No.
No, nothing at all.” The man shakes his head, erasing any appearance of
doubt. “We scoured the records to their very roots. Not one database
was left unturned. This is her, Your Highness. I promise. Your trust and
sponsorship are appreciated.”
August lifts an eyebrow. It is
hard to do in this body. He gestures for the photograph instead, and the
man hurries to pass it over. The entire darkroom seems to hold its
breath. The vents stutter to a halt.
“Well,” August says, “good job.”
Though
the light overhead runs only in one shade, coloring the photograph the
wrong hue and washing out the subject’s eyes, there is no doubt. The
woman in the photograph is stepping off the stoop of a building—her nose
and mouth covered with a mask, her hands gloved in leather, her body
angled away in movement—but August would recognize her anywhere. She is
not the sort to abandon her body, even under such circumstances. She
would instead flaunt what she managed to keep, living in this city for
five long years right under his nose.
“Oh, cousin,” August says to the photograph. “You can hide no longer.”
Princess Calla Tuoleimi, found at last.
