Page 17 of Black Salt Queen

“Yes, Your Majesty, I am from Orfelia,” the alchemist said. Behind his spectacles, a shade of sadness flickered in his expression. “I came here because I needed to escape. That man?—Pangil. He said he could help me.”

Duja stiffened. How strange it was to hear her brother’s name uttered from a foreigner’s lips?—although she suspected her brother must have befriended a great number of foreigners during his many years in exile. Twenty-two years earlier, she’d watched her men drag him onto the first ship out of Maynara. The ship had disappeared into a blanket of fog on the horizon, and her brother along with it. In the beginning, she had her people track his whereabouts. They followed Pangil north to Wakon, then west to Xitai. Last she heard, he had ingratiated himself with the sultan of Mandoo, who’d financed his trip to the Sunset States. Before discovering his letter in the king’s stack of books, Duja had never expected to hear from Pangil again.

And now, the alchemist rose to his feet before Duja?—a common Orfelian and a strange choice for a messenger. How he had wandered into Pangil’s path, Duja didn’t know. If she hadn’t been afraid her brother had sent him to waste her time, she would have almost felt sorry for him. He looked haggard, confused, and out of his depth.

“What did Pangil promise you? Safe harbor in Maynara?” Duja asked. “I don’t know what he told you, Orfelian, but I am the only one who can grant you that.” She raised her chin to give the alchemist the impression that she was looking down at him. Her mother did not teach her this; despite the blood of Mulayri that had run in her veins, the old queen had been softer than wool. No, Duja had learned the move from Imeria?—another memory that came with the bitter sting of regret.

The alchemist’s mouth flattened into a line. His body language shifted. He slid his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, which made him look taller. Duja observed him, fascinated. This was a man who was accustomed to conducting negotiations.

“You are correct, Your Majesty. I do seek safety in Maynara. And I understand I am in no position to make demands of a queen. However...” He trailed off. His eyes flitted to General Ojas, who was standing behind Duja’s shoulder, no doubt with one hand on the hilt of his sword. The alchemist swallowed hard and met Duja’s gaze. “I would not have come if I did not have something to offer in exchange.”

Duja’s heartbeat quickened. She remembered the promise Pangil made in his letter.“The key to abiding glory,”she echoed.

The alchemist let out a surprised chuckle. “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “Or something to that effect.”

Hope fluttered without warning in her chest. She shoved it down. The alchemist looked harmless, but Duja knew nothing about him?—what he offered, why he needed to leave Orfelia. For all she knew, he came to Duja on her brother’s orders to lay some elaborate trap. She studied him closely. “If we’re going to strike a deal, I can’t go on calling you Orfelian,” she said. “Tell me, young man. What is your name?”

The alchemist opened his mouth just as a violent tremor shot through Duja’s hand. She fisted the silk of her sash and spun around.

“Your Majesty!” Ojas gasped.

Duja shook her head to hold him back. The vibrations rocked up her arm to the stiff muscles at the base of her neck. She bit back a hiss of pain, cradling her hand until the shaking dissipated.

“You?—yes.Of course.” The alchemist’s voice rang out across the room’s vaulted ceiling, awestruck.

Duja looked up. Her hand fell limply to her side. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The tremors. I’ve seen them before. Do you see now? This is why he sent me.” The alchemist’s eyes lit up in excitement. He spoke in rapid Orfelian. With his accent, Duja found him hard to understand.

“Are you talking about Pangil?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, Pangil. He had these tremors. I helped him. I can help you too?—” The alchemist’s mouth snapped shut. His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment when he remembered who Duja was. “Your Majesty,” he added, lowering his head in deference.

Questions flooded Duja’s mind as she stared at the alchemist. She detected no trace of treachery in his eyes. Maybe her brother had been telling the truth after all.

“Pangil,” she said again. A shiver of apprehension ran through her body. “How did you help him, exactly?”

The alchemist’s eyes trailed down to Duja’s fingers, which quivered like dying leaves at her side. Something clicked in his gaze. For a brief moment, he didn’t appear lost at all. In fact, he appeared to understand more than Duja gave him credit for.

Duja stared as he leaned closer. Judging by the nervous glint in his eyes, she half expected him to start babbling in Orfelian again. Instead, the alchemist took a tentative step toward her. In a hushed voice, he asked, “What do you know about precioso, Your Majesty?”

Eight

Imeria

The rice wine soured on Imeria’s lips as she gazed up at the soaring ceilings of the great hall. Resplendent patterns of orchids and kingfishers swirled along the arched doorways, gilded walls, and marble pillars. Fragrant bowls of rose mallow lay at the center of each table lining the hall. Servants wove in between them, offering the noble guests platters topped with food and drink.

At the end of the hall loomed Hara Duja’s throne. It sat upon the back of a crocodile, which served as a dais and was carved from black volcanic stone. The crocodile’s neck curved toward the supplicants below, its jaws frozen midsnap. Imeria remembered counting its teeth while she knelt at the base of the throne as a young girl. She and her mother had been summoned before the old queen to plead for their lives. The old queen was kinder than the Gatdulas before her, and she harbored inside her enormous bosom a soft heart and strong ideals.

I see a great deal of my daughter in yours,the queen had said to the late Lady Kulaw. She thought Imeria an immaculate, harmless thing whose father had been at war for most of her life. The rebellion kept him far from home, unable to taint her with his treasonous misdeeds.

Ironic that Imeria’s guilelessness had saved them.

She must have played her role well, because the old queen invited her to live at the palace not as a prisoner, but as a promise of peace.Let us put these years of bloodshed behind us,she’d said,and live as one people, as we were always meant to be.

Imeria didn’t like to be reminded of the years she had spent there, of the happiness they’d brought her and the grief. Standing in the great hall, the memories came flooding back. Music chimed from the back of the room. In the ring of gongs and bamboo zithers, she heard the soft, shy laughter of the former princess, calling her to hide with her behind the billowing batik curtains. She saw, creeping across the tiled floor, the dark, slender shadow of the former crown prince.

A lifetime before, Dayang Duja once pulled her into this very room, pressed her forehead to hers, and whispered,You are my heart, as I am yours. Promise you will never forget.

---