Page 53 of Black Salt Queen

Sensing the panic of denial rising inside him, Laya pulled him to his feet. She leaned in and kissed him, long and deep, so he knew she meant it. The last fraying thread inside her broke when she pulled back to whisper, “Lie with me tonight, Luntok. Be with me, as if it were the last time.”

Luntok’s breath hitched in his chest. He didn’t lunge to make love to her as he would have in the past. That was when they’d thought their love might be spared from the harsh rules that governed their world. When they believed their tragedy would be different. Gently, he caressed her face, tracing a line with his knuckle from the ridge of her cheekbone to the curve of her bottom lip.

“I cannot lose you, Laya,” Luntok said again. This time, her name rolled off his lips like an ardent prayer. He looked down at her, his eyes darkening with a zealous need. Then he gave her another shake, this one more restrained than the first. “How can I make you understand?” he asked. “I would do anything for you. I love you. Gods help me, I love you.”

Luntok’s urgent pleas didn’t scare her anymore. Hearing the desire in his voice, Laya’s blood surged. She drew him to the bed. “Come, then,” she murmured, pulling him on top of her. “Show me how much.”

They did not tear off each other’s clothes. Rather, they shed each layer with care, as if unwrapping a delicate gift. For once, they made love slowly, as if they were the only creatures on earth, as if time had yet to begin. Laya shivered when he dragged his lips down her throat and past her stomach, lower and lower, until he reached the juncture between her legs at last.

“Luntok!” she choked out, tangling her fingers in his hair.

This, too, they took time with. Luntok teased out her pleasure nimbly, patiently, as she arched into his tongue.

The rattan bed frame creaked afterward, when Luntok joined her on the mattress. Laya moaned against the pillows as he eased inside her, her legs still quivering from her climax. Laya did not recognize the foreign rhythm. Tonight, Luntok rocked against her with a different kind of desperation?—that of a dying man, craving a last, gentle touch.

The rhythm built gradually to a crescendo. That, Laya recognized. It crested over her body, rippling up from her core, shooting past her toes and fingertips. She drew him closer to her by his shoulders, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath his skin. In her arms, Luntok became an eagle, arching his mighty wings. Deeper and deeper, he drove into her. Then his hands curled around her hip bones, and he finished with a strangled cry.

“By the gods,” he sighed, breathing heavily as he collapsed beside her on the pillows. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Laya curled into his chest. “I love you,” she said again to make sure he heard.

Luntok didn’t answer right away, nor did he speak of the argument they’d had mere moments before. After they made love, a new peace seemed to dawn over him. He retreated to some faraway place as he traced small, featherlight circles on her shoulder. Laya listened to his heartbeat. It thudded in her ear, strong and steady, like soldiers marching through the rolling foothills. For once, she didn’t ask him to leave?—didn’t want him to. Their bodies molded together so easily. How warm she felt in his arms.

The fatigue washed over her, pressing her into the gentle night. Laya didn’t fight it. She nestled deeper into Luntok’s embrace. Her eyes fluttered shut. She was half-asleep when he finally stirred. He leaned over to kiss her once more, his breath hot against her cheek.

“I love you, Laya. Whatever happens, I pray you won’t forget this.” But the darkness swallowed his whisper. So soft and strange it sounded, like rain rapping against shattered glass, Laya was convinced she must have dreamed it.

Nineteen

Imeria

Imeria watched as Datu Gulod filled the bowl of his pipe for the fifth time that evening. Vikal struck a match against the side of the tea table and held it to Gulod’s pipe.

“Where’s your boy, Imeria? Isn’t he the reason you called this meeting?” Gulod asked. He drew in a deep puff before sighing impatiently, flooding the veranda with the scent of burning cloves.

Through the thick cloud of pipe smoke, Imeria scowled at the two men sitting before her. She might have found the physical differences between Vikal and Gulod comical in other, less traitorous circumstances. Vikal was not only taller than most men, but he also had a broad chest and arms strong enough to swing the heaviest sword. Beside him sat Gulod, who was hardly taller than Imeria, was slight, and had thin swindler’s fingers. Gulod was a pest, but a useful pest. Imeria had done well, cementing such alliances. With their combined strength and the vials of precioso, they might stand a chance to achieve Imeria’s perilous schemes.

They gathered at the Kulaws’ town house late that evening to discuss how they might proceed. After what had happened at the tournament, Mariit was beginning to grumble, condemning the Gatdulas for their brutality and negligence. It was not the first time one of Hara Duja’s daughters had nearly brought their family’s regime to its knees. Three years earlier, Laya had horrified half the kingdom when she’d destroyed the eastern wing. The previous night, the entire capital had watched Bulan steal Luntok’s victory. Maynarans, low and highborn alike, squabbled over gold and land and influence, but dishonor was the one thing none of them could stomach.

Imeria wondered to what extent she could spin their outrage in the Kulaws’ favor. She had invited Vikal and Gulod that evening to hear their thoughts about the matter. Luntok was supposed to attend the meeting, but she had sent him to the palace first. Imeria knew he would take his time with Laya, but it was nearing midnight. He should have returned hours earlier.

The front gate swung open. Luntok’s long, lonely shadow appeared, splitting the yellow lantern light that illuminated the veranda. He slammed the gate behind him and trudged inside, his uneven footsteps echoing across the cobbled pathway. His shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He dragged his feet as if he were drunk, but Imeria knew he was not. She saw from the pain in his eyes and the tight muscles in his jawline that Luntok was tormented.

Imeria waved him over. “Come, darling. Join us.”

He obeyed, barely acknowledging the other men at the table when he slouched into his seat. “So, have you decided?” he asked in a flat voice.

She frowned. “Decided what?”

“How you’re going to destroy them.” Luntok’s gaze snapped to hers. Beneath his stone-faced calm, he was furious?—but Imeria could not tell at whom the anger was directed.

Luntok had barely spoken to Imeria since his loss during the tournament. She’d distanced herself to give him the space to lick his wounds, the ones inside, which Imeria couldn’t heal. The one time they had spoken, he’d asked how she planned to take down the Gatdulas, which surprised Imeria. Sneaking in and out of the palace was one thing, but Luntok had never played an active role in Imeria’s schemes. He loved Laya too much, and the rift between their families confused him. For a long time, Imeria had kept him in the dark, thinking it would spare him the guilt.

But now, Luntok stared at her with an expression of stony resolve. This was not the same version of her son who’d gaped moon-eyed after Laya, the princess he thought would one day fall within his reach.

“You’re contentious tonight,” Imeria said. “Is there a reason for this change?”

Luntok exhaled sharply through his nostrils. “I’ve learned something, Mother. The Gatdulas will grant us neither love nor victory, even when it’s earned. If we want anything in this swamp of a city, we’ll have to steal it on our own.” He met her gaze and, in a low voice, added, “I think this is what you’ve been trying to tell me all along.”

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