Page 37 of Black Salt Queen

Luntok had never heard his mother speak of her schemes so boldly. His eyes dropped once again to the vial of precioso between her fingers. Something told him that the drug had broken the delicate balance between his family and Laya’s in a way that was irreparable.

“Is that what Datu Gulod believes?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Imeria barked out a laugh as her hand dropped to her side. “Datu Gulod? His aptitude for deduction stretches only so far?—and I wouldn’t have come all this way based on theory alone.”

Luntok’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead when he realized the meaning lurking beneath her words. “You’ve already tried it.” He shook his head in disbelief.

In the moonlight, his mother’s gaze hardened to steel. “One touch is all it takes,” she repeated, without a single trace of doubt. “A tempest is brewing on the horizon, Luntok. We must bide our time until it comes.”

He frowned. “All because of the precioso?”

A harsh breeze rattled the window screens in their panes. Imeria gave an incriminating nod, her next words nearly lost to the wind. “Precioso, Vikal, Gulod?—they will give me the rest of Maynara. But when the storm comes to pass, I can overpower the Gatdulas on my own.”

Fourteen

Duja

Each time Duja felt herself dozing off, she cast her gaze toward the window. In the streets beyond the palace, the uproar of the previous evening’s parade had faded to a distant buzz. Guests had begun to arrive and were trickling in through the courtyard to the royal gardens. Hari Aki remained downstairs to receive them. For the hundredth time that morning, she wished to be by his side instead of trapped inside the palace. She was convinced that one does not know boredom until one has listened to Datu Tanglaw drone on about matters in the north, his dull voice echoing across the domed ceiling of the council room.

“Relations with the Skyland tribes remain amicable. I have zero conflicts to report since last season. The situation in the foothills along the northern road, however, remains tenuous?—if I may, Hara Duja, propose a few suggestions?” Datu Tanglaw, at last, broke off his speech to address the queen.

She nodded to encourage him?—at any rate, Datu Tanglaw could not expatiate forever. The feast days ran on a tight schedule, and this council meeting was expected to conclude within the next half hour.

Duja did not hate these meetings with the Council of Datus, as many of her entourage assumed. In fact, she preferred the intimate, closed-door affairs to the bustling feasts, where she found herself accosted by hundreds of nobles from all sides, each of them vying for her attention. It was easier to focus on the six nobles who joined her at the council table. To her right sat Datu Luma, Datu Tanglaw, and Datu Sandata; and to her left, Datu Patid, Datu Gulod, and Datu Kulaw. Across from Duja might have sat Laya, her heir.

Next year,Duja thought, which was what she told herself the year before. Next year, she would prepare Laya thoroughly. The council had never criticized Laya outright, at least not in the queen’s presence. Three years had passed since the accident in the eastern wing?—not long enough for the council members to forget what it had cost them. They’d accept Laya as their queen, but unless Duja proved Laya was ready for the role, they wouldn’t make her daughter’s reign easy. It didn’t help that the heir to the throne had a habit of speaking out of turn, brusquely, and in utter defiance of Duja’s warnings. Laya was showing signs of maturity, tempering her tongue before the rest of the court, albeit more slowly than Duja would have liked. But soon they would have to address the datus together. These were the heads of the highest-born families in Maynara. Once sovereigns in their own right, each family first knelt to the Gatdulas after conquest, then in search of protection. Their own ancient magic might have dried out eons before, but they wielded more political power than Laya could fathom. Bound they may be to the Gatdulas, but they required a gentler hand.

The Council of Datus was a curious invention, formed by Duja’s ancestors to consolidate their hold on the island. Before the council, Maynara was less a kingdom than a loose network of warring clans. That changed generations earlier when invaders from the west barreled into the Untulu Sea. They gobbled up the gold and enslaved the natives. They worshipped one false god who whispered in their ears. The god convinced them that the world’s wealth was theirs for the taking. With the blood of Mulayri in their veins, the Gatdulas were the only sovereigns powerful enough to keep the invaders at bay. Hatred of the foreigners, with their pale skin and ardent greed, united Maynara. The datus pledged their loyalty to the Gatdula family in blood. They named the Gatdula heirs the paramount kings and queens of Maynara, whom they served willingly, reverently?—all the datus, except one.

“Before we move on to the Skylanders, I was wondering, Hara Duja, if we might take this opportunity to speak of the gold tax on foreign traders,” Imeria Kulaw said, jolting Duja from her thoughts. The men around the table stilled. Imeria needn’t raise her voice to send a pang of dread through Duja’s body. The faintest echo already promised a challenge.

Duja cleared her throat. The king had tried to teach her how to handle Imeria. If allowed to speak, Imeria enjoyed spinning tales of the Gatdulas’ drama and negligence?—tales that rarely portrayed the queen in a favorable light. Duja knew after two decades on the throne that Imeria’s disrespect was a contagion. To grant her the floor was to give her power?—and Duja couldn’t allow that to happen. “The gold tax was not on the agenda for this meeting,” she said flatly.

Imeria refused to drop the subject. Unrelenting, she held Duja’s gaze. “I’m arguing that it was wrong to omit it.”

It was Datu Luma, this time, who defended her. He was an old man with white hair and serious, sunken eyes. He had sat at this table since Duja was a child. “The sovereign dictates the agenda, Datu Kulaw,” he said in a stern voice. “You are out of bounds.”

Imeria’s gaze hardened. Duja wished she could forget, but there were times when she looked at Imeria?—at the curve of her eyebrow and the spite in her smile?—and saw with painful familiarity the beautiful, fearless young girl she had once been. Years had passed since they’d lived alongside each other in the palace, and Imeria had only grown more beautiful, more fearless. When their eyes locked across the council table, a trace of the old longing shivered across the queen’s skin. Even after so much time, Duja found herself drawn to Imeria’s flame.

“I merely have Maynara’s interests at heart,” Imeria replied. “Your office has proposed to lower the tax on foreign gold. I fear this sets a dangerous precedent for our trade policy. It will bring economic ruin far more disastrous than any of your advisers have foreseen.”

Ah yes, Duja was familiar with this tactic. Imeria had a flair for the dramatic, and that had been the fun of her when they were children. Duja no longer indulged her as she had back then. “I apologize, Datu Kulaw,” she said before Imeria stirred further anxiety around the table, “but we don’t have time to entertain your unfounded beliefs.”

The bangles on Imeria’s wrists clapped against the wood when she pressed her palms against the table. A faint flush crept across Duja’s cheeks as she gazed at the other woman. Imeria was lovely in her fine jewels and scarlet silks, and her anger made her lovelier. “Ah, Hara Duja, but they aren’t unfounded. Our recent history has taught us never to allow foreigners to enter Maynara in any fashion, no matter how innocent they appear. They come as merchants and missionaries one day, and the next, they start calling themselves our masters.”

A murmur of dread spread among the Council of Datus, who exchanged dark glances across the table. The truth alone would not reassure them. Duja wished she possessed her husband’s warm voice and easy grin, a balm against Imeria’s bluster. Guilt wound through the queen when she thought of a time when words of love, not venom, dripped from the Kulaw woman’s sweet, tender lips.

Duja shifted her thoughts back to the other council members. “The policy change would apply to foreign imports, not individuals,” she said. “The world has changed so much in the past few decades. We cannot remain friendless. In isolation, our people will suffer. Our wealth will dwindle.”

Across the table, a few datus nodded in agreement. But Imeria had a brutal vision of the world, and she had since she was a child; she could not be convinced. “And what of our friends across the Untulu Sea?” she demanded. “The Orfelians thought themselves clever when they gave Salmantica the key to their kingdom, and now they are slaves in their own land. I am urging you, Your Majesty, not to fall prey to the same trap.”

“Of course not, Datu Kulaw. Do you think me a fool?” Duja asked more harshly than she ought to have dared. The other council members interpreted her bitterness as strength. They nodded somberly.

“No one thinks you are a fool, Your Majesty,” Datu Tanglaw said, bowing his head in deference.

“Thank you, Datu Tanglaw, but I was speaking to her.” The rest of the table quieted as Duja fixed her sights on Imeria.

“I am merely worried,” Imeria said in a tempered voice, “that these foreigners will mistake your goodwill for weakness.” Her demeanor changed. She appeared more resigned than she had a moment earlier. Briefly, Duja thought she had her tamed.

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