Page 57 of Black Salt Queen

Duja watched him leave, unable to shake the anxious feeling that she had forgotten some dreadfully important detail. High above the doors, the clock ticked. Around the table, the datus began to grumble. Duja kept her gaze trained on the entrance to the great hall, expecting Imeria to appear any moment in a flutter of scarlet and gold. But the clock hands edged closer to midnight, and the Kulaws remained conspicuously absent.

“Mother,” Laya whispered again.

“Yes, darling, I know,” she said, distracted.

Questions swirled in the queen’s mind, along with the sensation that, by sending Imeria away in the throne room the other night, Duja had done something horribly wrong.

Twenty-One

Imeria

The walls of the tunnel were cool and smooth?—too smooth for Imeria to find a handhold as she stumbled through to the other side. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.

“Hold on to me,” Luntok whispered as he reached for her other arm.

Behind them crouched the first wave of attackers: Vikal and five of the men chosen for this mission?—a mix of Kulaw warriors and Gulod’s mercenaries. Imeria couldn’t hear their breathing over the sound of her own. No one spoke, and the tunnel filled with the muted sound of swords rattling in their sheaths. In the dark, they couldn’t see how afraid she was, but Luntok felt how her hands shook. He threaded his fingers between hers, his own breathing steady as he led them beneath the eastern walls of the palace.

Imeria had never seen Luntok so calm. Hours earlier on the veranda, he went over the plan with Vikal and Gulod a final time. They and the other men on the mission fed off his stone-faced confidence. They followed him into the tunnel without question. With a burst of pride, she recognized how they looked at him. It was the same blind faith so many Maynarans placed in their beloved Gatdulas.

Water dripped in fat drops from the roof of the tunnel onto Imeria’s forehead. She let go of the wall to flick it away, her fingers catching on the left wing of her raptor-shaped headpiece. For the midnight feast, she had come dressed in armor of her own: scarlet silks that blazed like phoenix fire and her gaudiest jewelry. Hidden beneath her blouse lay the heaviest piece, a single vial of precioso she had attached to a thin chain around her neck. The other vials she’d hidden away for safekeeping; one would suffice for this night if they were lucky. She groped for the one at her neck, sighing in relief when she felt the hard glass slide beneath her fingertips.

“We’ve reached the gardens,” Luntok announced in a low voice. He squeezed Imeria’s hand. “Mother, are you ready?”

No. Imeria wasn’t ready. She had prayed to the old gods of Thu-ki, her ancestors’ fallen kingdom, to clear her mind and harden her heart and make her the monster she needed to be. The gods never answered her, but that was expected. She wasn’t one to wait for divine intervention. Imeria was fully capable of becoming a monster on her own.

“Yes,” she said, and heard Luntok rustle in his pockets for the pipe. Beside him, Vikal struck a match on the cave wall. In the flame, their faces glowed orange. The other men hung back, shuffling in trepidation.

They watched solemnly as she reached for the vial around her neck and unscrewed the cap. Carefully, she poured its contents into the bowl of the pipe and held it to her mouth. Vikal lowered the flame to the bowl. Imeria felt the heat on her face as she inhaled deeply. When she breathed out, her eyes watered from the smoke. She leaned against Luntok, fighting the urge to cough. The drug had flooded like poison into her veins, but she felt nothing.

A jolt of panic wound through her?—no. It wasn’t possible. They had come so far. She’d waited too long. The preciosohadto work.

Imeria steeled herself and took in another breath, letting the smoke fill her lungs slowly. This time, as she exhaled, her skin tingled. The cold sensation began at the crown of her head. It oozed down her spine and arms and, finally, through her fingertips. She felt detached from her body, yet she could not ignore the power that pulsed in her veins.

“Mother?” Luntok called.

She felt his gaze, even though Vikal had long let the match go out. He was staring at her, eyes wide in concern. Beneath his calm, she could feel his fear like turbulent waves pressing up beneath the icy surface. Imeria reached for his face, and the threads of his mind wrapped around her fingers. She need only tug, and his mind would be hers to wield.

I could make him sleep, could make him slit his own throat if I wanted to. I could?—

Imeria wrenched back her hand, startled by her own thoughts. “Careful. The drug is potent,” she said, and thrust Vikal the pipe to pass around.

Around her, the drain tunnel filled with smoke. It smelled chalky and medicinal, and it burned the inside of Imeria’s nose. In mere moments, the precioso would take root in each of the men. A single puff would make monsters of them. Not even the palace guard, the finest trained in Maynara, would stand a chance against their superior speed and strength.

The pipe passed to Luntok last. Imeria struck another match and relit the bowl for him. His chest expanded like paraw sails as he inhaled, and his gaze snapped to hers in the second before the flame went out. She saw the spark of power reflected in his eyes.

“Very potent,” Luntok muttered. He clenched his hands into fists. Imeria heard his knuckles crack in the dark.

Vikal laid a hand on Imeria’s shoulder. “We are ready, my lady.”

Imeria closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. At this quantity, she didn’t know how long the precioso’s effects would last. She could only feel how its power pooled through every pore of her body. The drug possessed her with the vehemence of a wrathful god.

Again, she reached for Luntok’s arm. “Lead us in, Son,” she said.

He parted the vines and hauled himself up into the palace gardens before reaching down to help her climb. When they breached the surface, a calm breeze broke the night air, which was thick with humidity. Silvery light streamed through the canopy of palms. The nectarous scent of flowers drowned out the last remnants of smoke.

“Full moon tonight,” Vikal murmured. “They might see us coming.”

“They won’t,” Luntok said. “I’m sure of it.”

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