Page 42 of Black Salt Queen

“This tournament isn’t over,” Bulan declared as she climbed up to the platform.

Eti gasped in Laya’s ear. “What on earth is she doing?” she cried.

Laya didn’t answer. Her heart sank as Bulan stalked closer to Luntok at the center of the platform. She remembered the broken look on Bulan’s face when the men insulted her earlier that afternoon in the gardens. Oh, Laya had a good idea what her sister was doing; she prayed to the gods she was wrong.

At the sight of the princess in the center of the fighting ring, the sea of spectators fell silent. Luntok dropped his arms. He and Vikal looked at Bulan in shock.

“Dayang Bulan!” Vikal said. “What are you?—”

Bulan ignored him and faced the crowd. She cleared her throat. “I, Bulan Gatdula, challenge the greatest warrior in Maynara.” Then she turned to Luntok with a hardened expression. “That is, if he’s brave enough to accept.”

Fury surged in Laya’s veins. “Luntok’s already won. Don’t be ridiculous!” she called out, only to be ignored.

“I accept the princess’s challenge.” Anger flashed on Luntok’s face. He took a threatening step toward her.

Bulan gave him a cold nod. She drew her sword and threw the sheath over the edge of the platform. “I knew you would.”

Vikal pulled Luntok to the side and whispered in his ear, trying to reason with him. Laya lunged forward. She wanted to grab Bulan and shake some sense into her, but Eti grabbed her wrist.

“Laya, no,” Eti pleaded, yanking her back. “Not here.”

At the tears threatening to spill from her little sister’s eyes, Laya relented. Maybe Eti was right. For Laya to clash with Bulan within the privacy of the palace walls was one thing, but to air their grievances before all of Mariit? Their mother might never forgive them.

Laya bit back a groan as she glanced back at the tournament ring. Healers had mounted the platform. They dressed Utu Luma’s wounds and carted him away for further treatment. Servants came with buckets and rags, mopping up Utu’s blood the best they could. Laya’s stomach turned at the rusty smell.

This was how the tournament would end?—her sister versus her lover. Laya wanted to strangle both of them. Instead, she stood helpless in the pit. What else could she do?

Vikal whispered one last thing in Luntok’s ear. He patted him on the back and descended from the platform, casting a grave glance at Bulan before he left. Vikal was afraid, either for Luntok or for Bulan. Laya’s eyes darted between the two warriors, terrified for both.

The drums picked back up as Bulan and Luntok began to circle each other on the platform. The sun had set fully now. In the glow of the torches, Luntok’s blade gleamed red, his face half basked in shadow. Laya didn’t need to see him to know what he was thinking. That this was his victory. That Bulan couldn’t rip this away from him. He wouldn’t let her.

And Bulan?—Laya wanted to scream at her sister. Couldn’t she have chosen another moment to prove her worth?

Bulan attacked first from the upper right. Luntok blocked with a flick of his sword. Unlike in his previous fight, he shifted immediately into offensive mode and attempted a low strike to her knees. Bulan parried and maneuvered out of his range.

With frightening speed, they continued to exchange blows. The crowd roared as they watched them dart back and forth across the platform in a perverse imitation of a dance. Luntok had speed and strength on his side, but Laya had watched her sister train her entire life. He couldn’t match Bulan’s eye for weakness. Bulan pursued every opening he gave her, no matter how fleeting. She forced him to defend and counterattack again and again, refusing to let him catch his breath.

Luntok’s chest heaved, slick with sweat, as he came at her with an outward strike. She deflected and returned his attack, aiming at his ribs. This time, Bulan didn’t need to exert quite as much effort to push him back. He was slowing down, tired. Any physical advantage he lorded over her was useless. Bulan broke free from the breakneck rhythm they’d fallen into and thrust forward, aiming straight for his groin.

Below the platform, Laya fumed.No, Bulan, don’t you dare.

Luntok parried in time but lost his balance. He regained his footing and stared at Bulan with wild determination in his eyes. Bulan met his gaze with equal fervor. Laya’s heart raced. She knew what was next to come.

Bulan whirled her sword and advanced on Luntok in relentless, fanlike patterns. He tried to gain the upper hand, tried to fly above her. Each time, Bulan dragged him back to the ground, breaking his graceful footwork. His frustration built. He grew sloppy. Bulan feinted, tricking him into a forward lunge. Then she spun around him and swiped at the tattooed plane of his back.

Luntok cried out, and Laya gasped. The cut was angry and long and red, but it wasn’t deep. The true damage Bulan had inflicted was to his pride.

He whipped around, snarling. “You’d wound a man with his back turned?”

“Don’t be a baby,” she shot back. “That was a fair blow.”

In the shadows, his jaw tightened. “What are you trying to prove?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’ve got nothing to prove to you.”

The corners of his mouth curled into an unkind grin. “You’re a decent warrior, Bulan, but you’d have made a terrible queen,” he said, loud enough for the watching crowd to hear.

Bulan froze. A look of alarm passed over her face for a brief moment, but Laya caught it. Luntok had noticed it too.

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