Page 39 of Black Salt Queen

“Sorry, Dayang?” Waran eyed her, confused.

Laya glanced back down and realized she hadn’t let go of his arm. She gestured to the gardens with her free hand. “Care to escort me inside?”

He grinned broadly and inclined his head. “It would be my honor, Dayang.”

They started down the main path, where began the tour. The palace opened its gardens once a year, and Hari Aki did not spare any expense. For weeks, he had been enlisting horticulturists and architects to revive the parts of the garden he deemed dull or uninspired. Laya wished she had half her father’s vision. Mere steps into the gardens, and she was dumbstruck. For as far as she could see, flowers bloomed in patterns too complex for her mind to decipher. Marigold and carmine and cerulean, and other shades too lovely to be named, swirled together in a visual feast. Her nose flooded with the flowers’ scents, sweet and nectarous, as yellow sunlight streamed through the swaying palms above.

None of that would last?—none of it. But for a moment, Laya, delighted by the gardens’ ephemeral beauty, forgot the secrets plaguing her.

“You are awfully quiet today, Dayang. Have I said something to upset you?” Waran asked as they reached the fountain at the end of the main path. Jets spouted from the open jaws of the golden crocodile perched at the heart of the white-jade basin.

“Not at all, Waran. I have a lot on my mind.” Laya leaned against the mouth of the basin and dipped her hand into the water. The liquid was cool against her fingers. She cupped the water in her hands and let it fall back into the basin, watching rings ripple across its clear surface.

Waran leaned on the edge of the fountain beside her. “Forgive my boldness, Dayang, but please know I am here if ever you’re in search of a confidant.”

Laya looked up to find Waran eyeing her hopefully as he inched too close for her liking.Not him too.“You’re very kind, Waran,” she said, feigning a smile.

The presence of one suitor summoned the others. Bato Tanglaw strolled over to the fountain, a bandage pressed to the side of his face. He’d been wounded at Luntok’s hand, which made Laya brighten in glee.

“Is he bothering you, Dayang?” Bato asked, eyeing the other boy with disdain.

Waran’s kind face contorted into a frown. Laya spoke for him. “No, Bato. No one is bothering me.”

Long before the tournament, Bato saw himself as Luntok’s rival. Whenever Bato appeared, Luntok was never far behind. As expected, the Kulaw boy appeared then in a bolt of scarlet, the hornbill hilt of his sword peeking over his belt. Laya met his gaze as he, too, sauntered over to the fountain. “La?—Dayang,” he called, catching himself before he lapsed into familiarity.

“Luntok,” she said breezily, “how wonderful of you to join us.”

He planted himself at Laya’s other side on the edge of the fountain, his shoulder brushing against hers. Boldly, he reached over, a honey-colored narra bud between his fingers. “May I?”

Demurely, Laya nodded and leaned in so he could tuck the flower behind her ear. She held her breath, giddy at their sudden closeness. For a brief moment, his fingers trailed from her ear, grazing the underside of her chin. The touch was featherlight, nothing like the kiss they’d stolen after the parade the previous night. Her skin grew hot when she thought about it.

With a sharp breath, she drew back against the fountain, lest the others see the fool Luntok made of her.

“Kulaw,” Bato barked, displeased with the onslaught of competition. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Luntok glanced at Laya, smirking, before turning to Bato. “The tournament doesn’t resume until sundown?—ah, but you were eliminated in the previous round, weren’t you?”

“Come now, you mustn’t gloat,” Laya said, but her reprimand was without teeth. Luntok smiled over at her, shoulders shaking with a suppressed chuckle.

Bato scowled. “You may have defeated me, but I don’t envy you. Utu Luma will slice you to ribbons.”

“I have nothing to fear from Utu Luma,” he said, his chest puffing up with all the confidence he had yet to earn.

Bato opened his mouth to retort when Bulan rushed over. His posture shifted, and he greeted the other princess warmly. “Good afternoon, Dayang!”

Laya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bato had his sights set on Hara Duja’s heir, but he couldn’t resist courting her eldest daughter as well.

“How lovely to see you,” he added, and Laya heard an echo of his father’s groveling in his tone. She wasn’t surprised to find him pursuing her sister. Bulan did not possess the power of Mulayri, but perhaps Bato thought her Gatdula blood might revive the Tanglaws’ ancient ability to sketch out omens in molten candlewax or divine the future from runny egg yolks?—or whatever it was his family believed.

“Yes, hello.” Bulan all but ignored him?—flattery, like most games of courtship, slid over her head like butter. She swept past Bato to join her sister, her brow knitted in worry. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Laya asked.

“The earthquake.”

“Oh, that was but a minor tremor,” Waran said with a wave of his hand. “Hardly lasted more than a few seconds. I made sure Dayang Laya was unhurt.”

Bulan met Laya’s gaze. In an unspoken way, they both knew what that earthquake meant. Something strange was happening with their mother.

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