Page 13 of Black Salt Queen

“He’s awfully devoted. I’ll give him that,” Vikal said with a shrug.

Imeria raised an eyebrow at him. “To the princess, or to the cause?”

Vikal chuckled in response. “To be frank, my lady, I believe Luntok has yet to figure that out.”

She sighed. Laya was not the core of the Kulaws’ plans, as Luntok claimed, but a distraction. Imeria might not be able to save her son from heartbreak, but maybe she could grant him the power he desperately craved.

At the great stone walls that protected Mariit, the guardsmen barely glanced at Imeria and her traveling party. All she had to do was play the role of the bored noblewoman, unable to part with her luxuries for more than a week. One look at her dour expression, and the guards waved them through the checkpoint.

Imeria gazed out the window as the carriage trudged deep into the heart of the city. It was dusk, and the market canal had long since emptied. Boats crowded its lanes during the day, laden with green cabbages and dried fish and unripe mangoes. Hundreds of baskets exchanged hands over the water each day?—food and wares as far as the eye could see. Silence, rarer than snow in the capital, had settled over the market canal when Imeria rolled past. The only boats docked to the moorings drifted empty, thudding against the wooden planks of the walkway as they swayed.

The carriage followed the canal west before crossing the nearest bridge into the central district. The buildings there stood tall on sturdy coral stones. The Kulaws’ town house stood the tallest, with slanting, gold-tipped roofs that mirrored the architecture of the royal palace. After the carriage rolled to a stop, Vikal popped open the door and helped Imeria to the ground.

“Welcome back to Mariit, Datu Kulaw,” one maid chimed. She and a handful of servants had been waiting to receive Imeria in front of the veranda.

“I’m parched,” Imeria said by way of greeting. She shrugged off her traveling shawl, which smelled of brine and rotting seaweed from her journey, and handed it to the maid.

“We’ve prepared wine for you, my lady.” The maid bundled up the shawl in her arms and gestured to the veranda. Imeria spied a pitcher waiting for her at the center of the rosewood tea table beside a platter of sticky-rice balls wrapped in banana leaves. It was one of Luntok’s favorite dishes. He would have been sitting on the veranda sampling them had he waited for Imeria at the town house as he promised.

“I don’t suppose any of you have seen my son lurking about,” Imeria called, when the front gates swung open. In stormed Luntok. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. Hard lines creased his young, handsome face. It was too early in the day to invite himself into Laya’s bedchamber. No doubt he’d tried. If allowed, Luntok would spend every spare moment at her side. But that afternoon, the ghastly Gatdula girl must have refused him.

At the sight of Imeria’s carriage, Luntok looked up in surprise. “Mother, you’re here.” He swept over and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Is something bothering you?” she asked. The golden bands on her wrists jingled when she reached up and brushed a thumb across his jawline. The sound echoed over the hollow walls of the veranda. Imeria thought of those first few months after her husband had died. Luntok would curl up beside her in bed, and she’d lay a palm on his temple to soothe away the nightmares. Those moments stood out among her untainted memories, which were few and far between.

Her sweet, foolish boy?—if only he knew how much she loved him.

Confusion flickered in Luntok’s eyes. He shook his head and drew back. “No,” he said. “Nothing’s bothering me.”

She pursed her lips. A wall had sprung up between them since Luntok had taken up with Laya three years before. Imeria knew this stemmed from Luntok’s fervent desire to have Laya to himself. But politics, not passion, dictated the princess’s decisions. The entire court suspected, even if Luntok was too blind to see it, that Laya would choose another man for her husband?—no doubt one of Hara Duja’s preselected bores?—within the next year.

Instead of subjecting her son to a lecture, Imeria took a seat on the veranda. She gestured for Luntok and Vikal to join her. Luntok sauntered over to the tea table. He removed the scabbard from his belt and leaned it against the capiz-shell screen that walled off the veranda from the rest of the house. Vikal watched him, a small smile on his boxy face, and followed suit.

“Oh my. Has she tired of your company already?” Imeria drawled as she poured them each a glass of wine.

His gaze snapped to hers. “Dayang Laya sends her regards,” he said sarcastically.

“I don’t like how she toys with you,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Laya doesn’t toy with me. She’s very fond of me, you know.” This time, Imeria could detect a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

She barked out an unkind laugh. “Fondness,” she said. “Surely you can inspire something stronger than that.”

Across the table, she and Vikal exchanged a knowing look, but Luntok didn’t notice. He crossed his arms and slouched further in his seat. To avoid an argument, Imeria turned to Vikal. They went over the schedule for the week of the feast days while Luntok stormed silently between them. Imeria resisted the urge to hold him to her chest. He was a man now, and a sensitive one at that. She wished she could soothe his angry thoughts as she had when he was a child.

Luntok deserved not the princess’s mocking, but a throne of his own.This, too, is temporary,she wanted to say. For now, it was the sole comfort Imeria could give him. Instead, she laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. His brow was still knitted in frustration, but his shoulders softened at her touch.

Rage now, my boy.Soon, the Gatdulas would toy with them no longer. Once Imeria’s plans came to pass, the Kulaws would be the ones laughing in the end.

Six

Laya

At the first glimmer of light, the royal guard drew open the palace gates to make way for the procession. Laya stood wedged between her sisters on top of the great marble steps and watched their subjects flood in. The procession stretched through the pebbled ground of the forecourt and along the full length of the main canal, its water glittering a preternatural shade of turquoise thanks to the cone-hatted workers who’d spent the past week fishing out debris.

At least a hundred Maynaran nobles had already professed their devotion to Hara Duja and presented the Gatdula family with lavish gifts. Laya lost count of the imported porcelain, rare stone vases, and pongee-wrapped parcels they received.

The best tributes came from the Council of Datus, who arrived at the end of the procession. Second in rank only to the Gatdulas, these were the highest-born members of the royal court. Their gifts, intended as small tokens of their loyalty to the queen, were but an excuse for the datus to flaunt their wealth before the rest of the court. Often, they reflected the datus’ personal tastes.

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