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One

Laya

Few things displeased Laya more than impromptu appointments.

She was doubly displeased when such appointments were demanded of her before noon.

She drew back the carriage window shade with an impatient sigh.

Bulky blocks of limestone loomed in the corner of her vision?—the city’s ramparts, a relic of past wars, now a modern eyesore.

The royal carriage lumbered through the ramparts’ imposing gates, slowing as it entered the port on the outskirts of the city.

“What took you so long?” Her older sister’s voice, crisp as the ocean breeze, greeted Laya as soon as her carriage rolled to a stop on the warped planks that lined the wharf.

“I had scarcely woken up when you sent for me,” Laya said, shoving open the door.

Bulan jumped out of the way.

The hilt of her sword scraped against the carriage’s lacquered surface?—a piercing sound that made both girls wince.

“Laya,” Bulan hissed as she regained her footing.

“What?” Laya asked, unperturbed.

She gathered her skirt with one hand, the glossy indigo silk creasing in her fingers, and grabbed the doorframe with the other.

“Allow me, Dayang Laya,” one of the guardsmen muttered?—a new recruit, judging by the pristine shine of his armor.

He stole a glance at Laya, his beady eyes shimmering with curiosity, then offered his arm to help her down.

Laya ignored him and stepped out of the carriage on her own.

She cast her gaze beyond the mouth of the harbor, squinting at the pale dawn light that rippled across the Untulu Sea.

If given the choice, she would not have left her bed until midday, but Bulan’s messenger had been persistent.

“You truly have no sense of urgency, do you?” Bulan said, pursing her lips.

With her arms crossed in disapproval, Bulan could not have looked more like their mother.

Laya’s nostrils flared in annoyance.

“I came, didn’t I?” she said, waving Bulan’s attention back to the port.

The port was the gateway to the capital of Maynara.

Over half the goods traveling in and out of the kingdom went through these very docks.

No matter the hour, the murky harbor was teeming with activity.

Dozens of ships with hulls large enough to transport entire villages squeezed into the crowded channels.

Gauging by the flock of sails billowing on the horizon, dozens more were on their way.

But, according to Bulan’s messenger, those ships wouldn’t get anywhere without Laya’s help.

“Now,” Laya said, “tell me about this emergency.”

Bulan’s brow furrowed, and Laya couldn’t help but bite back a smug grin.

Her sister wouldn’t have summoned her here if she’d had any other choice.

Whatever the problem may be, Laya was the sole person who could fix it.

Her talents were as useful as they were rare.

Yet she was seldom given an opportunity to use them.

“Follow me.” Without another word, Bulan turned on her heel and hurried Laya away from the carriage.

Laya struggled to keep up with her sister’s long, steady strides.

Bulan marched them over to the other end of the main pier, her boots striking the planks at an even staccato.

No matter the task, Bulan moved with manic precision.

Much of that stemmed from her sword training.

Bulan awoke before sunrise every morning to perfect her form.

Laya would have gone mad if she’d had to rehearse the same slash sequences and foot patterns for the rest of her life.

For whatever reason, her sister found pleasure in it, in the sweat and drills that were part of her relentless quest for self-mastery.

As Bulan pressed forward, she didn’t notice the number of heads turning in their direction?—but Laya did.

She held her head higher, slowing her pace to an elegant glide, as uniformed guardsmen and wind-battered sailors froze where they stood to stare after the princesses in awe.

Bulan glared at her over her shoulder.

“Laya, keep up, will you?”

Laya scowled and slowed down further just out of spite.

“You’re my sister, not my handler,” she called back.

“According to Mother, I am both,” Bulan said curtly.

“I’m to be your high counselor.”

Laya bit back a retort.

Though Bulan was only fulfilling her duties as counselor to the future queen, Laya wanted nothing more in that moment than to smack her sister across the face.

Thankfully, Bulan didn’t give her another order until they reached the water’s edge.

Laya leaned against the brass railing.

Her nose filled with the scents of rusted metal and crusty salt.

Under the uneven slits between planks, coral-tinged waves splashed up against the wooden beams holding up the pier.

“Do you see the problem now?” Bulan pointed several hundred feet across the water at the entrance to the harbor.

Its opening was flanked on either side by rocks that gnashed at passing ships like sharks’ teeth.

Laya followed Bulan’s finger with her gaze.

Her eyes widened when she saw the source of all the fuss.

“What on earth...?”

Bulan nodded.

“Last night, one of the ships got blown off course. Now it’s blocking half the entrance. Only the smaller boats can get in.”

“How strong were those winds?” Laya asked, incredulous.

The ship in question was one of the largest cargo vessels Laya had ever seen.

Its hull would rival the belly of a whale, and its masts shot straight up to the heavens, disappearing into the clouds overhead.

The bow had gotten lodged between the jagged rocks at the mouth of the harbor.

Laya counted several rowboats tethered to the sides of the hull, sailors straining with their oars as they struggled in vain to free the ship.

“Didn’t you hear the storm last night?” Bulan said.

A shadow of recognition crossed her face.

Her gaze hardened.

“Ah?—the Kulaws must have arrived early for the feast days. I’m guessing that’s what kept you occupied.”

A deep flush crept up Laya’s neck.

Her knuckles whitened against the railing.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating. I haven’t seen Luntok in weeks,” she said testily.

It wasn’t a lie.

Bulan hummed a note of disbelief and turned back to the beached ship.

No matter what excuse Laya gave, her sister would never believe her.

Doubt churned in Laya’s gut.

She can’t prove anything, she thought savagely.

Rather than press Bulan on the subject, Laya swallowed her worries and focused on the task at hand.

Her eyes fell once more on the men in the rowboats?—their meager oars could do little to free a vessel of that size.

A powerful gust had entrapped the ship between the rocks, and only a powerful gust could blow it out.

“Stand back,” she told Bulan as she raised her palms to the sky.

The air rushed down to meet them in winding currents.

Laya grinned as the invisible threads of energy wrapped themselves around her fingertips.

She balled her hands into fists, cementing her grasp.

With a deep breath, she gave the threads a harsh tug.

The air above their heads split with a mighty blast that almost knocked her and Bulan off their feet.

Laya steeled her jaw, firming her stance on the pier.

At her summons, dark, gray storm clouds barreled in from across the Untulu Sea.

She whisked the wind to a violent speed, relishing the way it whipped her hair back and rushed past her fingers.

Its energy coursed through her veins, at once exhilarating and familiar.

She closed her eyes, wishing for the wind to lift her along with it.

Laya had tasted power like that once, years earlier.

Power so strong, it shot her skyward and gave her wings.

How long before she would taste that kind of power again?

“Laya, be careful!” Bulan’s fearful scream pierced through the roaring in her ears.

Bulan had seen what Laya became when she got swept up in the throes of Mulayri’s power.

She, too, remembered.

Her sister’s voice brought her back to the earth.

Laya blinked, the wind stinging her eyes.

She trained her gaze once more on the ship.

Another breath, and she shifted the angle of her wrist.

One mighty gale would do the trick.

With a grunt, Laya hurled it straight at the sails.

At the mouth of the harbor, the ship lurched.

The bottom of its hull scraped against the rocks with a metallic groan.

Powerful waves rippled out from the ship, threatening to overturn the surrounding rowboats.

Agitated shouts echoed from the water below as the men scrambled to steer themselves out of harm’s way.

“Yes! Hold out a bit longer, Laya. It’s starting to move,” Bulan cried.

For once, Laya was happy to obey.

She tautened her hold, her arms shaking as she tugged harder on the threads.

When she opened her fists, the air burst from her palms in relentless gusts.

The sails ballooned as they filled, propelling the ship forward.

She had never sustained a hold on the wind for longer than a few seconds before.

The power tore at her aching muscles.

The threads pulled through her fingers, fighting their way free.

Laya willed herself not to panic.

She sagged against the railing, battling the urge to collapse.

The clouds continued to buck against her hold, like horses jerking at their bridles, when one of the rocks beneath the hull gave at last.

A final jet of air, and the bow of the ship slid back into the water with a resounding splash.

Laya’s arms dropped to her sides, limp as noodles.

She crumpled as the threads of energy ripped free from her grip.

Across the harbor, sailors broke out into triumphant cheers.

Laya did not pay them any heed.

Her storm clouds dispersed as quickly as they had appeared.

The sun emerged, higher above the horizon than when Laya and Bulan had arrived, beating down on the wharf once more.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, teeth chattering despite the renewed heat.

Power liked to make its absence known; deprived of its embrace, Laya felt cold.

Bulan knelt beside her, brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked, resting a tentative hand on her sister’s shoulder.

An old memory flickered in Laya’s mind.

Another sunny morning, over a decade earlier, they had been racing in the palace courtyard.

Their youngest sister hadn’t been born yet, and it was just the two of them.

Laya, desperate to keep up with Bulan’s longer legs, had tripped on a loose tile and skinned her knees.

Bulan forgot about winning.

She rushed to Laya’s side and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Don’t cry, Bulan had told her.

I’m right here.

They were children then.

They hadn’t known that their fates had already been decided.

Had been before their mother, Hara Duja, named her heir.

Before Laya discovered she could summon the wrath of the skies at her fingertips.

“I’m fine,” Laya said, her throat tight.

She stood, brushing Bulan’s hand and the memory aside.

They walked back to the carriage in silence.

This time, Laya accepted the guardsman’s arm as she climbed inside.

She collapsed against the cushioned bench, feeling like her muscles had dissolved into gelatin.

Bulan slid into the seat across from her.

At the front of the carriage, the driver gave the command.

The wheels shuddered into motion, rolling over the creaking planks as they pulled away from the harbor.

Laya gazed sleepily out the window as the towering walls of Mariit came into view.

Members of the Royal Maynaran Guard stood in straight, unbroken lines before the great wooden doors that led to the heart of the capital.

Laya recognized a few of their faces, and if she cared enough, she could ask Bulan about the name of their regiment.

With their chain-linked armor and menacing lances, they looked ready for war.

Much of their presence was ceremonial, as no one had dared attack Mariit in decades.

These days, the guardsmen mainly served to stamp travel papers and keep all suspicious elements at bay.

Laya Gatdula had brought no travel papers with her.

She needed only show her face at the checkpoint?—Maynara’s highest-ranked princess required no further explanation.

At the sight of her, the guard at the front of the line snapped to attention.

He barked an order up the ramparts, and the gates groaned as they opened.

The carriage rolled through the rusting gates, continuing alongside the long, narrow canal that flowed from the harbor all the way to the bustling center of Mariit.

It wasn’t long before the royal banners, strips of Gatdula green fluttering from the roof of the carriage, caught the city’s full attention.

The glittering Maynaran capital, Mariit, was home to half the kingdom’s population.

The streets were busy enough on a normal morning, packed with fishmongers and rice brokers and orphans with featherlight fingers and mud-streaked knees.

With one week until the start of the feast days, the capital was bursting at the seams.

Chaos swept through the cobblestone alleyways snaking between buildings, spilling onto the arched footbridges that soared over Mariit’s shimmering canals.

Noise rang out from every street corner?—southern villagers, far from home, pestering innkeepers for room and board; weavers from the northern Skylands, hawking their hand-spun baskets and textile bolts.

The clamor grew as Laya and her sister approached.

In the poorer, outlying districts, the royal carriage stuck out like a gold-encrusted thumb.

Hara Duja’s subjects flocked to them from all sides.

Before long, the crowd swelled across the entire street, blocking the carriage’s path.

People stumbled over one another, most of them shouting in the heavily accented Maynaran of the provinces.

They stared, wide-eyed, through the open windows of the carriage, hungry for a glimpse.

“Your Highness!” they called, their hands slapping at the carriage’s gilded doors.

“This way, Your Highness!”

At the front of the carriage, the driver grew incensed.

He roared at the passersby to move out of the way, pushing them back with his buffalo whip.

“Awfully excited to see us, aren’t they?” Laya said dryly.

Bulan snorted, pulling the hemp shade down over her window.

“Awfully excited to see you .”

As always, Bulan spoke from the glaring chip on her shoulder.

Laya was in no mood to reason with it.

“They say jealousy is unbecoming,” she said.

“And frankly, Bulan, now is not the time to argue?—”

“I imagine Luntok is excited to see you too.” Bulan’s gaze snapped to hers, sharp as the laminated steel of her blade?—she hadn’t forgotten.

Laya tensed.

She lifted her chin in defiance.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“I think you do, Laya,” she said, her frown deepening.

“And if Mother finds out?—”

Laya’s hands balled into fists, and the air outside her window crackled.

“But Mother won’t find out, will she?”

“If she does, I will not have been the one to tell her.” Bulan didn’t stir at Laya’s thinly veiled threat.

Quietly, she added, “I’m your sister. Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Laya said in a flat voice.

“I don’t.”

Bulan stared back, unable to conceal the hurt that stretched across her face.

Laya tore her gaze away, but not fast enough.

She couldn’t look at Bulan for long before the guilt unfurled, swift as a lizard’s tongue.

Laya loved her sister, but how could she trust her?

Bulan had always resented her for her lot in life: Laya was a true Gatdula and held the power of Mulayri at her fingertips.

One day, Laya was going to be queen .

And Bulan, who was born in the wrong year under a godless moon; Bulan, who wielded nothing but a broadsword and an empty title; Bulan, who was Hara Duja’s eldest but not her heir?—where did that leave her?

Laya knew her sister, knew that her bitterness burned stronger than any power she herself might have possessed.

Bulan might not steal the throne, but she would find a way to take Luntok away from her, celestial alignment be damned.

When Bulan didn’t answer, Laya turned back to the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass.

Freeing the ship had exhausted every ounce of strength she possessed.

She closed her eyes, succumbing to the fatigue washing over her like a tidal wave.

Sisters or not, Laya could not bridge the divide that grew wider between them with each passing year.

No promise she made could change that.

Silence was a far greater comfort than any words she could share.

She pretended to sleep, and Bulan didn’t talk to her for the rest of the ride through the city.

Laya kept her eyes shut until they rolled to a stop in front of the palace gates.

By the time she opened them, the carriage door was swinging on its hinges, and the seat across from her was empty.

It was better this way, she reminded herself, as she made her way up the marble staircase and into the palace.

She crossed the central courtyard, weaving through the throng of servants furiously scrubbing the tiles before the opening feast.

From the courtyard, she retreated to the privacy of her chambers.

No one was waiting for her when she arrived.

She kicked off her shoes and sat down hard on the edge of the bed.

A maid had left the balcony doors open to let in fresh air.

Laya stared past the fluttering curtains at the blue sky beyond the palace, half expecting a man’s head to appear over the balustrade.

But no one was coming.

She had ordered Luntok to wait until nighttime.

A weight dropped on her shoulders when she realized he had heeded her request.

Doubt leaped from her gut to her throat.

She ought to have sent a kinder letter.

What if she had angered him, and he’d never come again?

An absurd idea.

Luntok could not keep away from her for long.

He’d come to her, just as he promised.

Laya glanced up at the round giltwood clock that hung above her wardrobe.

Hours to go before Luntok’s next visit.

Her heart sank when she wondered how she might fill them.