Page 41 of Black Salt Queen

“Let’s go up to the stands,” Eti said, tugging Laya along.

She held back. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “We’ll see the fight better from down here.”

Both Laya and Eti stood out amidst the throng of commoners with their gleaming jewelry and fine clothes. Over her shoulder, curious whispers broke out. A few of the commoners would have jumped at the chance to speak with them had the fight not been about to begin.

A small smile spread across Laya’s face as she gazed up at Luntok. He held the love of the crowd tonight, that was certain. Maynara may have hated his mother, but they adored him. How could they not, with his easy smile and chiseled features? Desire flared in the pit of her stomach as she watched Luntok draw his sword from its sheath.

Gods help her, she loved him.

Utu Luma’s bulky form towered over the opposite edge of the platform. He wore nothing but a handloomed loincloth and a boar-tusk necklace, whose curved ends jutted from Utu’s chest like gnashing teeth. He brandished a single-edged sword with a thick blade and a buffalo-horn hilt. He gazed coldly at his opponent, face melded into a mask of steel.

Above, the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Clouds stretched, painting pink and purple streaks across the sky. Day faded into dusk as the crowd in the pit grew restless. Laya’s hands clenched into fists as the two men started to circle each other on the platform. The drums came to a halt. Around her, the crowd held its breath.

On the other side of the platform, a deep voice rang out, cutting through the silence. “Begin.”

Utu charged at Luntok first. The air cracked with the sound of clashing metal as Luntok fended off his attack. The sheer force made Luntok’s arms quake, but he managed to parry each and every blow.

The fight had barely commenced and already, Laya saw the sweat gleaming off Luntok’s face and chest. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. He matched Utu move for move. But Utu was the one setting the pace. He forced Luntok to keep up his defense, never once giving him a moment of rest. Luntok had the nimbleness of youth, but he lacked the stamina that came with experience. Laya was no expert in swordsmanship, but she knew that much. How long would he be able to keep it up?

The crowd jeered as Utu made a swipe at Luntok’s neck, missing the skin by a mere fraction of an inch. A cutthroat act for a friendly tournament, and it wouldn’t be the last. Fire raged in the dark pools of Utu’s eyes. Had Luntok done something before the match to anger him? Utu looked ready to kill.

Utu Luma didn’t relent. Each slash of his sword pushed Luntok back farther and farther until his right heel slipped off the platform’s edge. The air left Laya’s lungs as he swung his arms forward, regaining his balance.

“Luntok!” Her shriek pierced the air. Hundreds of heads turned toward her. Laya didn’t glance at a single one of them. She didn’t care who heard.

Luntok looked up, meeting Laya’s eyes. She gave him a nod of encouragement.Win,she urged him, clasping her hand over her chest.If not for you, then for me.

He stood far away atop the tournament platform. But to reach Luntok, Laya didn’t need words. Her burning gaze told him everything he needed to hear. Moments after she called out Luntok’s name, something in his demeanor shifted. He held himself taller. The crowd could sense the shift as well. They spurred him on with deafening cheers.

Utu’s thick eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He raised his sword, beckoning to him. Luntok didn’t hesitate. He attacked.

Finally, Laya understood why the nobles had begun to whisper after watching Luntok’s first fight in the tournament. Why the men in the crowd gasped in awe, calling Luntok a god. He moved with inhuman speed, like a bird midflight. In some maneuvers, his feet barely touched the ground. His relentless strokes took Utu by surprise. Not even a seasoned warrior like him could anticipate Luntok’s next move.

What use were the tusks of a boar against the swift wings of an eagle? Before long, Luntok gained the upper hand. He was the one forcing Utu to retreat across the platform. He was the one setting the pace. Utu could charge all he wanted, but none of his attacks landed. Luntok slipped out of every trap Utu laid for him and succeeded in setting up a few of his own.

“Argh!”

Utu cried out. Luntok had slashed him across the outside of his thigh. When he drew back his blade, blood splattered over the stained surface of the platform. The wound glowed red?—deep and, judging by the anguished expression on Utu’s face, debilitating. Around Laya, the crowd grew rowdier. Never had Utu been wounded in a tournament like this before.

Bravely, Utu lunged for Luntok, but he couldn’t place much weight on his leg without crying out in pain. Luntok made the end brisk, bringing his weight down on Utu’s sword with two decisive strokes that brought him to his knees. He cracked the hilt of his sword into the side of Utu’s head for good measure. With a cry, Utu crumpled to the ground in a bloodied heap.

Luntok raised the hilt again. The flash of steel in the torchlight brought terror to Utu’s eyes.

“Yield,” he gasped, raising his palm to defend himself. “I yield.”

Luntok lowered his sword, relenting at last. On all sides of the platform, the spectators burst into worshipful applause. Laya threw her arms around Eti and hooted in delight. The fight was over, but Luntok did not take a moment to relish his victory. He stalked over to Utu like a tiger. Before Utu could react, he raised his sword and cut the boar-tusk necklace clean off his neck. Luntok met Laya’s gaze as he sauntered in her direction. When he knelt over the edge of the platform, she reached for him instinctively. He poured the necklace into her open hand.

“A token for you, Dayang,” Luntok announced and brought her free hand to his lips. Cocky bastard that he was, he didn’t kiss her knuckles like a gentleman. He turned her hand over and ran his lips over the tender flesh of her palm?—a ridiculous, sensual gesture that sent a naughty ripple through the watching crowd.

Laya forgot herself completely. Her brown cheeks flushed pink. She swayed on her feet, gazing up at him in rapture. She could not help herself; love turned her into an idiot. A helpless, moon-eyed idiot.

“Fool,” she whispered, so only he could hear.

“A fool for you,” Luntok murmured and released her hand.

By the time he rose, Vikal had fought through the tittering spectators. He crossed the platform and raised Luntok’s arm high in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared, “I present to you the greatest warrior in all of Maynara!”

Laya laughed as she watched Luntok drink in the glory. He raised his bloody sword to the heavens, inviting more applause. The drums resumed their thunder. Joyous shouting swelled above the music like a wave. How she yearned to join Luntok on the platform and kiss him for the entire city to see. So giddy was she, she might have done this, when a new figure broke away from the crowd.

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