Page 82 of Black Salt Queen

Duja’s expression hardened. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

Imeria must have thought she could wrest control of Maynara without waging a bloody war. A ruthless takeover thinly disguised as a blessed union. Duja could concede that it was a cunning strategy. Maynaran law was uncompromising when it came to marriage pacts. Once Laya and Luntok exchanged their vows on the Black Salt Cliffs, they could never take them back. And without the Gatdulas’ aid, the datus were too weak?—too terrified of Imeria?—to stop the marriage from happening.

All of them assumed the Gatdulas were already defeated. That was their mistake.

Duja thought back to the cold smile she’d seen on Imeria’s face when her people had stormed the throne room.Foolish queen. Now do you see what I am capable of?her eyes seemed to say.

It was true. Duja had underestimated Imeria for twenty-two years.Very well, my heart,she thought, her jaw squaring in determination.Let us see what happens when you underestimate me.

“Come, Duja. We must leave at once,” Aki said.

We?Duja turned to her husband. “You will stay here,” she told him. “I will not have you fight the Kulaws.”

“Stay safe behind the palace walls while my family heads straight into battle? I think not.”

Rarely did Aki defy her orders. She wanted to shake the sense back into him. “I bid you stay. You are not a fighter,” she cried.

“But I am a father.”The king raised his voice. His words echoed off the cool walls of the cell, alarming everyone inside. Softening, he took Duja’s hand. “Have you forgotten the vows I made to you? I am your husband. Through triumph and adversity, my place is by your side.”

Duja’s heart swelled, and she swallowed her objections. She pressed her lips to his?—a hard, fleeting kiss. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him. There was so much more she wished to say, but now was not the moment.

The king held out his arm to help her to her feet. But Duja stood too quickly. She stumbled, and Aki caught her before she fell. He eased her back onto the cot.

“They must have put something in the wine with my meals,” she muttered, grabbing his arm to steady herself. “Something to sedate me. It’s muddled up my head?—and now my hands... I cannot fight, Aki. Not like this.”

“But we don’t have time to wait for the drugs to wear off. If we want to make it to the cliffs, we need to leave now,” Bulan said, her eyes darting between her parents.

Bulan was right. The Black Salt Cliffs were far outside the city, and judging by the long shadows that slanted across the floor of the cell, Laya would have just left.

Duja wanted to scream in frustration. “By the gods,” she cried, wringing her wrists, “how can I hope to stop Imeria now? My daughter needs me, and I do not have the strength.”

“Um, Your Majesty?” Duja looked up to find Ariel Sauros standing before her in the prison cell. His lanky stature and wire-framed spectacles were unmistakable.

She stared at him. “How did you?—”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we don’t have time for explanations,” Ariel said. He reached into the pockets of his trousers, digging out a handful of crystal bars and a rusty pipe. Cautiously, he knelt before her and laid the objects in her lap.

Duja’s heart raced as she stared down at them. “I don’t believe it. It’s?—”

“Precioso,” Ariel said, nodding. “I believe it’s exactly what you need.”

Thirty

Laya

Laya’s neck ached as she leaned out the window of her carriage. It was the damned headdress with wide gold plates that weighed a pound each?—the same one her mother had worn during the closing ceremony. Behind her stretched a string of royal attendants and the spineless nobles who had already capitulated to Imeria, eager to win the new sovereign’s favor or to spare their families from her wrath. She glanced at the lone girl sitting across from her and would have allowed herself a dark, humorless chuckle at the laughable size of her retinue for such a momentous occasion, if she weren’t leading her country to its doom.

They passed through the heart of Mariit on their way to the ramparts that protected the city. The entire population had gathered around the canals?—ruddy fishermen, finely dressed merchants, mothers with crying babies swaddled against their chests. If this were like royal weddings past, there would have been baskets of coconut-flaked sweets passed around and paper lanterns launched into the air and rice wine flowing into the streets. From every footbridge, minstrels would have serenaded them with warbling love songs. Children would have chased behind her carriage, waving banners, cheering.

Instead, the people watched in silence as the procession cut through the throngs. Their faces were somber, resigned, as if they were bearing witness to a funerary march.

Save me,Laya thought as she met their gazes through the carriage window.Save your future queen.

In spite of her gods-given power, Laya could not save herself. Before she left the palace, the brass shackles had been fastened to her wrists anew. The marriage ceremony was too important, Imeria had told her, for things to go amiss. Laya cast a bitter glance over her shoulder. The Kulaws rode in the carriage directly behind her. If she were to try to escape, they would be the first to see.

“You look lovely, Dayang. Your betrothed will be more than pleased.”

Laya flinched. It was that dreadful, simpering serving girl Yari, whom Imeria had assigned to her carriage. That morning, she had clothed Laya in her wedding gown, a gorgeous dress of bloodred silk. It was sleeveless, pinned together above her right shoulder with a filigree brooch in the shape of a dragonfly, its wings carved from vitreous jade. A thick belt strung together out of golden disks cinched her waist. Her hair, which Yari had rubbed with jasmine oil until it shined, was twisted into a knot at the top of her skull. Laya looked lovely, but not at all like herself; she looked like Imeria’s puppet.

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