Page 49 of Black Salt Queen

As much as Duja feared Imeria, she couldn’t let that happen.

After twenty-two years, she hadn’t told a single soul about Imeria’s infernal abilities. Not the rest of the council. Not Maiza. Not even her husband, with whom she kept no secrets. None, except this.

“I’ll speak to Laya again in the morning. You mustn’t worry so.” Aki kissed her on the forehead. Her devoted husband. When it came to Duja’s true history with Imeria, he had his guesses. Even after all their years of marriage, she had yet to muster the courage to tell him.

Duja chewed the inside of her lip. “I suppose you’re right.”

She changed into her night things and crawled under the sheets. They turned the lights down and rolled back the window screens. Silvery light streamed through the capiz-shell panels. A light breeze rolled in from the Untulu Sea, and the panels quivered in their rosewood frames. Aki drifted to sleep minutes later. Duja listened to his soft, steady breathing as she stared into the darkness.

Despite Aki’s words, she could not calm the thoughts warring in her mind. After the tournament fiasco, Duja’s worries grew to terrifying heights.

Twenty-two years earlier, Imeria had accepted Duja’s rejection. She left the palace and married her husband on Duja’s orders, albeit with spite and bitterness. Given the love they once had for each other, Imeria obeyed. That love was gone now, burned to a crisp. Duja could count on Imeria’s devotion no longer.

What good was love in the face of power? Would she steal Duja’s will from her if she had the chance?

No. Duja couldn’t trust love, couldn’t trust any Kulaw with a scrap of strength. Imeria had no place in the capital?—much less in the queen’s bedchamber. Duja had no choice but to cast her aside.

As for their children?—she thought back to the tournament with a sinking feeling. If Luntok was anything like his mother, he would not live down this heartbreak easily. How would Luntok react when Laya, at last, turned him away?

The king was right. She needed to conserve her strength for the rest of the feast days, until the end of the week. This was a worry for another evening.

With a last sigh, Duja pushed the question from her mind. The wind outside the window quieted to a distant murmur. Her thoughts stilled as fatigue beat down her worries. Finally, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the haunting shadows and smoke-filled dreams.

Eighteen

Laya

The muted rapping on Laya’s door announced that a new day had once again broken over Mariit.

Laya rolled onto her side with a groan. The other half of the mattress was cold. She dreamed Luntok had come to see her, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone.

A maid’s voice chimed from the other side. “Dayang, could I help you?—”

“Go away,” Laya snapped, and spent the rest of the morning watching patches of sunlight creep sluggishly up the whorled wall panels across from her bed.

No one was waiting for her on the terrace when, after several hours of deliberation, she summoned the strength to leave her chambers. A wave of sadness washed over her as her gaze fell on the empty breakfast table. It was foolish to think she would find anyone there. With the feast days ending the next evening, the king and queen had an endless list of engagements. The king, she knew, had gone to Mariit’s lower wards to hear the commoners’ grievances, while Hara Duja was trapped inside one of the palace’s receiving rooms with members of minor nobility. It was just as well, for Laya did not wish to speak with her mother after their conversation the previous evening.

Let Luntok go,she’d said. Maybe Laya did have to let him go. It was better to forget him now. If he returned her letter with hateful words, Laya did not know if her heart could bear it.

For company, Laya had no one else to turn to but her sisters. Eti, as was typical, was nowhere to be found. And Bulan?—Laya seethed at the thought of running into her that morning. After the tournament, they’d exchanged violent words. Laya had been furious enough to summon a monsoon, but she’d kept her head on her shoulders. She didn’t want to give Bulan the benefit of confirming that she was the more levelheaded, more rational one. Laya, despite her frustration, refused to prove her sister right.

Laya knew life hadn’t been kind to Bulan, whom the gods cursed at birth. Compared to Laya, she had so little. Without the power of Mulayri, what gifts could Bulan claim? Sword fighting was the sole domain in which she excelled. The day before in the gardens, the boys had wounded her pride when they implied her claim to excellence was empty, like most things about her. Laya might have pitied her had Bulan chosen to inflict her vengeance on anyone else but Luntok.

Later that night, in the heat of anger, Bulan screamed at her, tears streaming down her face, “You would choose Luntok, the traitor’s heir, over your own blood.” The words continued to rattle in Laya’s mind, denying her peace. Bulan was wrong. Laya loved Luntok, but she was a Gatdula above all else. Yet she knew Luntok’s heart as if it were her own?—a Kulaw he may be, but he was no traitor.

But Laya did not want to agonize over Luntok any more than she wished to think about her sister. He had not answered her letter the previous evening, which worried Laya more than she cared to admit. Did he truly hate her, or had Bulan wounded him so badly he could not hold a pen?

Laya didn’t know what she was thinking when she left the terrace and made her way downstairs to the central courtyard. She marched up to the guard stationed before the eastern wing and demanded entrance.

“If you please, Dayang,” the guard said, opening the door to let her in.

Muffled voices carried down to the shadowed entrance hall. Laya’s ears perked up. She looked at the staircase leading to the upper floor, confused. Ariel wasn’t alone.

Laya crept upstairs. She kicked up small clouds of dust as her sandals padded across the tiled corridor. A faint vinegary scent hung in the air, mingling with the dust. She wrinkled her nose. The Orfelian was a commoner, but he was still a guest. Surely, her mother would have sent someone to clean his living quarters.

At the end of the corridor, the door to the Orfelian’s study hung open. She peered inside. Ariel was once again hunched over his writing desk. Laya blinked, shocked to find Eti sitting across from him. Their heads were bent over a book. Eti jabbed her finger at one of the pages, chatting animatedly. Ariel nodded, his spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose as he followed her finger. Unlike so many members of the court, who merely humored Eti when she spoke, Ariel seemed genuinely interested in what the younger girl had to say.

The corners of Laya’s lips quirked up in a tiny smile. She stepped into the room, clearing her throat. Both of them looked up from the book.

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