Page 30 of Black Salt Queen

“There’s something odd about that Orfelian, don’t you agree?” she said.

“Oh, drop it, won’t you?” Bulan snapped from behind her.

Laya sniffed and folded over the balustrade. Sunlight slid like butter down the sides of the twisting spires dotting the skyline. Mariit melted beneath the midday heat, which had climbed to unbearable heights rarely seen in the city during the dry season. Laya thought about summoning a few clouds for shade, but she settled on a gentle breeze instead. She held her hand out above the latticed railing. The air rushed to meet her fingers in swirling currents that tickled her skin.

She sighed in relief and squinted up at her sister. Bulan crouched barefoot on the palace roof, balancing in the break between the two highest tiers. Her profile was silhouetted against the sun, its rays glaring off the laminated steel of her blade.

“I’ll drop it when you get down from there,” Laya said. She had witnessed Bulan dart across the roofs with impressive speed over a dozen times before. Her sister took too much care to fall, but the sight of her standing so high above made Laya jitter.

“It helps to practice balance,” Bulan explained. She tucked her sword back into its sheath and slid down the slope on the lower tier. Laya watched as her sister swung over the side and landed on the terrace with a graceful thump.

After breakfast, Laya had tried to discuss her theories regarding Ariel Sauros’s sudden appearance at the palace, but Bulan refused to entertain any of them.

Have you considered that maybe Father truly invited him to be our language tutor?Bulan had said in the same exasperated tone she used when playing the role of Laya’s handler.

At this, Laya seethed. She knew she was right to suspect the Orfelian. One doesn’t sneak off to meet a language tutor in the midst of an opening feast. One doesn’t hide a language tutor in a dusty corner of the palace where he wouldn’t be seen.

Her sister had witnessed the same thing Laya had, but she could not be convinced. Bulan turned from the balustrade and made her way back inside the palace. “If you want to make it to the tournament, we need to leave soon.”

“The tournament?” Laya scoffed. “Why on earth would I attend that?”

Bulan stared at her, half in shock, half in wonder. The corners of her lips turned up in a faint smile. “You truly didn’t lie. He means nothing to you,” she said with a chuckle.

Laya frowned. “What do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you would want to watch the tournament, because Luntok will be competing for the first time this year. He’s in love with you, after all. I thought he would have invited you.”

“Oh. I?—well.” Laya stuck out her chin before Bulan could see her falter. “The tournament’s a bore. Luntok may have invited me, but he knows I’d never agree to watch something like that.”

Bulan shrugged and continued on her way. “Suit yourself.”

A deep flush spread across Laya’s cheeks as she watched Bulan’s retreating back. Luntokhadtold her about the tournament?—several times, in fact. Guilt churned in her stomach when she imagined how his eyes would have lit up at the sight of Laya in the stands. She told herself she was the one making a sacrifice by not attending. It was better this way?—for Bulan to think Laya did not care for Luntok. But shedidcare for him. She loved Luntok from the deepest pits of her soul, and yet she’d completely forgotten his invitation to watch him compete.

Laya banished all questions of love from her mind as she swept across the terrace. She skipped down the stairs two steps at a time?—Eti, thankfully, was not there to trip over?—then barreled toward the eastern wing. For a long time, she had avoided looking in that direction, given the shame it brought her. Laya hadn’t meant to destroy it, and she promised her mother she would do better. Still, the queen would never let her forget that accursed day. It was shortly after Laya had shown Luntok the entrance to the tunnel. Bulan had confronted her, swearing she caught a glimpse of Luntok lurking about the gardens. Their argument exploded into a whirlwind of insults and accusations. The blood of Mulayri surged in Laya’s veins, clouding every last scrap of sense. In the throes of anger, the threads spun from Laya’s grip, and the wind roared in her ears like a wrathful god. It was her power, not Laya, who’d won that battle. Her fingers still itched from the desperate desire to wrangle back control.

The accident had been years earlier. Since then, the eastern wing had stood empty?—until now. Curiosity prompted her to march up to the doors of the eastern wing, where one of Ojas’s men stood guard. “I request an audience with our guest,” she said curtly.

Surprise flickered on the guard’s face, but he did not deny her. “Shall I bring him to the main building, Dayang?” he asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “If you let me in, I shall call upon him myself.”

Wordlessly, the guard moved. Laya was pleased, for it meant the guard hadn’t received orders to forbid them from visiting the Orfelian. She swept past him and mounted the steps to the sparse apartments on the upper floor, taking note as she did so of the dusty shadows striping the floors. The eastern wing was darker inside than a tomb. Someone should have thought to open a few of the windows, given the sweltering heat. But the window screens lining the entry hall stayed stubbornly shut, as if the eastern wing were devoid of occupants. Laya’s face brightened with the spark of triumph. She was right; the king and queen did not want to call attention to their Orfelian guest.

She made her way to the study at the far end of the hall. To her delight, the Orfelian was nowhere to be seen.Perfect.Laya’s gaze fell on the writing desk at the center of the study. Its surface was littered with empty inkwells and handwritten notes. She leaned over the desk to read them, when footsteps echoed from one of the adjoining rooms. No time?—Laya snatched the first sheet from the pile that looked like correspondence rather than formulae and stuffed it into the pocket of her skirt. The door beside the writing desk opened a second later.

“Oh!” Ariel’s lanky form burst from the adjoining bedroom. He blinked in surprise when his gaze landed on her. “Laya. What are you doing here? I mean?—to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I came to see if you were being treated well,” Laya lied. How strange to hear her name uttered in that awful accent. It rang out through the airless study like some discordant note?—but that wasn’t the only thing Ariel had said wrong. She gazed at him sharply and added,“Dayang.”

“I’m sorry?”

“If you wish to speak to a princess, you will address her asdayang.” She could have sworn she heard Ariel suck in a breath as she inched closer. Her eyes narrowed. “To be frank, Orfelian, your familiarity offends me. You’ve never been in the company of royalty, have you?”

Ariel stiffened. “No, Dayang,” he admitted.

Laya smirked to herself in triumph. It was hard to believe her father would have invited to the palace a common tutor who didn’t have the slightest clue how to comport himself around royalty. She continued in the same lofty tone, “To tutor a daughter of Mulayri is one of the highest honors a sovereign can bestow. I wonder what compelled my father to bestow such an honor upon you.”

In his fright, his curious spectacles slid down the abnormally high bridge of his nose. He pushed them back up, his eyes darting around the room. Was he looking for a treat to offer her, or a means of escape?

---