Page 19 of Black Salt Queen

“In a stiff white shirt and heavy trousers. Almost like a westerner,” she said. “You don’t think he’s actually from the west, do you?”

Imeria diverted her gaze, unable to give Yari an answer. Instead, she reached for the tiny purse in the pocket of her skirt and counted its contents in the palm of her hand. “For your services,” she said, tossing Yari a gold coin. “If you learn more, you know how to contact me.”

Yari bowed once again. “Anything for you, my lady,” she said, eyeing the coin greedily.

Imeria glanced again at her reflection in the sitting-room mirror. She looked tired, and not as young as she had once been. “Thank you again,” she said to Yari, before returning to the clamor of the dawn feast.

Servants had appeared with more trays of food: glass noodles, steamed mussels, and salted duck eggs, followed by pickled cabbage and tender oxtail and dipping sauces of every color. The smells assaulted Imeria’s senses, and the music soared even louder than before. She couldn’t hear herself think.

According to Yari’s observation, Hara Duja could be harboring a foreigner behind these walls. He must have posed a threat if she was so determined to keep him a secret. Imeria needed better information, and for that she needed a keener set of eyes?—eyes that could penetrate deeper into the palace’s inner workings. A lowly serving girl would be of little help to her there.

Perhaps Luntok’s tryst would prove useful, after all. In a single gulp, Imeria finished her wine and threw her goblet onto a passing tray. Her gaze, alert now, swept over the crowded hall of the receiving room. She needed to find her son.

Nine

Laya

Laya collapsed against Luntok’s chest, pink cheeked in pleasure. “Oh, darling,” she whispered breathily, “tell me you are never leaving Mariit.”

Luntok sighed into her hair, his breath tickling her earlobe. They’d snuck away after the feast, stumbling and sloshing wine across the wax-glazed floorboards, and were now lying naked beneath Laya’s sheets. The sun, once high and bloated on the horizon, had long since dipped beneath the golden crocodile jaws that dotted the palace roofs. Pale shadows streaked through the window screens, painting lines across Luntok’s flushed face. Laya hadn’t thought she could want him more until just minutes before, when he had been pressing their hips together and moaning her name. She loved that it was her name on his lips, no one else’s. She’d wear his name like a brand. She’d let him carve it with his nails, sharp as razor blades, into her unmarked skin.

“I’d stay in bed with you forever,” Luntok said as he ran his fingers along her back, leaving a trail of goose bumps down her spine.

Then stay.Laya swallowed the words. The bustle and alcohol of the feast had made her giddy, but she had yet to completely lose her head. Instead, she allowed herself to giggle?—and Laya never giggled. She raised her head to peck him on the lips, her mouth curling and wet and ravenous.

“You must never leave. I forbid it,” she said.

“Would you take me as your prisoner, Dayang?” Luntok asked, grinning.

“Oh, yes.” She clambered on top of him. The feast wine had given her a playful spark of energy, along with a set of thumbs. She grappled for his wrists, pinning them clumsily to the sheets. When she sat up, the room spun around her. Laya braced her weight against Luntok’s shoulders to steady herself. Maybe she was more inebriated than she’d thought.

Nestled between the pillows, Luntok feigned confusion. “And what crime have I committed, Dayang?”

She leaned over him, close enough that she could smell the tang of rice wine on his breath. “You, my lord, are much too handsome. The other ladies have started to take notice.”

His grin darkened. He flipped her onto the bed and crawled on top of her. “Jealous, Laya?” he murmured against the hollow of her throat.

“No,” Laya said. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled back hard enough to make him wince. The corners of her lips turned up into a smug smile. She lowered her voice an octave. “Not as long as you’re imprisoned with me.”

Luntok swallowed, the lump bobbing in his throat. For a moment, the fire in his gaze dampened. “I just want to be with you. I don’t care about anything else,” he said, tightening his grip on her waist. She heard a hitch in his tone, a kind of desperation that stretched deeper than lust.

Of all the women in Maynara, Luntok wantedher. Be it the wine or the bustle or the desire surging in her veins, Laya wanted him more than anything else on earth. This was not a war she could win, but she wouldn’t surrender him without a fight.

Laya gazed up at him with a challenge in her lidded eyes. Rather than push him away, she yanked his lips down to meet hers. Luntok kissed her back hungrily, as if he were a dying man devouring his final feast, as if they hadn’t made love mere moments before. He dragged his mouth down her jawline, along the delicate skin of her neck, then lower, lower still.

Her toes curled in delight, and she reached for him beneath the sheets. Luntok tore himself from her touch with a strangled groan.

“Laya, wait.”

Laya fell back against the mattress, relenting. “It’s OK if you can’t keep up, you know,” she told him.

Luntok scowled. “You know I can keep up just fine.”

“I’m only saying,” she said with a shrug. “We can always dootherthings while we wait.” Laya looked down, pretending to examine her fingernails. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a smirk spread across Luntok’s face.

“We can do whatever you like, Laya,” he said, hovering over her. “Tell me something first.”

“Oh? What would you like to know?” Laya’s eyes fluttered shut as Luntok leaned forward, skimming his lips along her throat once more.

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