Page 4 of Black Salt Queen

The tiny golden pellet Eti had been tampering with fell into her palm. Where Laya wielded the wind and the rain, Eti’s affinity was for metal. And while Mulayri’s power burst from Laya in raging torrents, it trickled from the younger girl in a gentle stream, which suited Eti just fine.

“I was going to turn this into a bracelet and give it to you for your coronation, but I think I’ll keep it for myself,” Eti said loftily, in near-perfect imitation of Laya’s tone.

Laya chuckled?—for a child, Eti was a talented mimic. “Do whatever you wish with that bracelet. I don’t care.”

Eti stuck her tongue out at her. Unlike with Bulan, there was no malice between Laya and her younger sister.

Laya stuck out her tongue back, tousling Eti’s hair as she continued up the steps. She paused when she reached the landing. On the flight below, Eti had stretched out to occupy the full width of the stairwell. The younger girl kept her gaze trained on the golden pellet, which now floated a few inches above her nose. Her brown cheeks were still as round as steam buns. Between them, Laya could make out the beginnings of a woman’s chin. A bittersweet warmth burst in Laya’s chest when she realized how much Eti had grown.

Laya knew this time with Eti was fleeting, like everything else in her life. At the moment, all Eti wanted was to get lost in her world of pretty shapes and shining things. She didn’t care for fancy titles or Maynaran politics. Eti was content with what she had. It had not yet occurred to her to want more. In a few years, that would change. Eti would either grow up to fear Laya, like their mother did, or resent her, like Bulan. Laya couldn’t decide which prospect she hated more.

She tore her gaze away from Eti as she made her way to the upper floor. The passageway leading to the queen’s chambers was long and narrow, with a high, coved ceiling. Deep-mahogany panels lined the walls, interspersed with latticed window screens that overlooked the palace courtyard. A few feet from the landing, a pair of servants were hunched over an ancient Xitai vase. Both were busy replacing the wilted flowers inside with a gigantic white-orchid arrangement as high as Laya’s waist. They bowed to Laya as she walked by. She gave them a cursory nod, then breezed past them to the end of the hall, where Hara Duja was waiting. When Laya opened the door, her nostrils flooded with the thick, heady smells of honeysuckle and burnt wood.

Laya wrinkled her nose and stepped inside. “Mother?”

She found her mother lying in the dark. The window screens had been drawn tight. The only light that penetrated the white-shell panels pooled across the floor in wavering strips. The queen was still in bed, her eyes closed and her black hair unkempt. Shadows danced across the dusky hollows of her cheeks. She barely stirred when Laya settled on the chair beside her.

Slowly, her mother opened her eyes. “Laya, is that you?”

“Yes,” Laya said. “It’s only me.”

On shaking arms, the queen pushed herself up to a seated position. Her tremors had gotten worse over the past year. Mornings, she said, were the toughest. Her muscles were the last to wake up. For now, the queen managed to run the palace and corral the court into submission. But Laya could see better than anyone that Hara Duja was fading, far more quickly than she said she would.

A lump formed in Laya’s throat as she watched her mother struggle to prop herself up against the pillows. The same fate befell each human; only it befell descendants of the Gatdula bloodline faster than most. It was no secret that the Gatdulas’ ability to wield the elements was equal parts blessing and curse. Their bodies hosted celestial gifts, but their human muscles were not built to withstand powers of divine magnitude. Gatdulas burned brighter than any other being on earth?—and they burned out twice as quickly. This was the price of being a god.

“Strange to see you up and about this early,” Hara Duja said, voice scratchy from sleep.

“There was an emergency down at the port.”

Hara Duja quirked an eyebrow at her. “Oh? What sort of emergency?” she asked, suspicion edging her tone.

Laya tensed. She could see the thoughts swirling in her mother’s mind?—the beginnings of a lecture. “A ship got stranded on the rocks. It was blocking the entrance to the harbor. No one else could move it. And I?—”

“You what?” Terror flashed in the queen’s eyes. “You moved an entire ship?” she demanded.

Frustration flared at the base of Laya’s throat. “I’ve moved bigger things before. I’m strong enough, you know.”

Stronger than you.Laya stared back at her mother, her hands balling into fists. Sometimes she wondered if the queen had any intention of stepping down from the throne. Even though Hara Duja’s days in power were numbered, she was more determined than ever to keep any true responsibilities out of Laya’s reach.

Her mother’s mouth flattened into a tight line. She gazed at Laya as though she were a batch of kindling that was ready to explode. “I’ve seen you exercise the full extent of your strength, Laya.Thatis what worries me.”

A stone dropped in Laya’s stomach. Bitter tears threatened to spill out of the corners of her eyes. “Why are you blaming me?” she cried. “I freed that ship. I helped those people. You speak as if that was a bad thing.”

“Nonsense, Laya. What you did with the ship?—it isn’t abadthing. What you might have done, however...” The queen fell back against the pillows, pinching the bridge of her nose. In the shadows of her bedroom, she looked wearier than Laya had ever seen her. “We have a long week ahead of us,” she said, in a voice like broken porcelain. “Please, darling. Let me rest.”

Laya swallowed hard. Hara Duja wished to hold her at arm’s length, and she had no choice but to let her. Dejected, she rose and made her way out. She paused when she reached the doorframe, unable to bite back a retort.

“If you want to blame anyone, blame Bulan,” she said. “Because of you, she thinks she’s in charge of me.”

“Laya?—” the queen said sharply before Laya slammed the door behind her.

The rage surged inside her chest, rising, up and up, like a cresting wave. She barreled through the corridor and down the stairs, stomping on her sister’s feet on the way.

“Hey!” Eti whimpered.

This time, Laya ignored her sister. She rushed through the palace’s cavernous halls, her sandals slipping across the freshly waxed floorboards. She did not stop until she was back in her chambers, where she let out a desperate scream. Her cry, harsh as the monsoon winds, echoed across the vaulted ceiling of her bedchamber. What had possessed her to tell her mother about the ship? Laya should have known she would react that way. In the queen’s mind, Laya could do nothing right.

For all her strength, Laya could not ignore the pain blossoming in the nethermost corner of her soul?—the part of her that still craved her mother’s warmth. It stretched miles deeper than her peaks of rage, this raw and tender ache.

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