Page 12

Twelve

Laya

Once the others had eaten breakfast and gone off on their own agendas, Laya followed Bulan to the upper terrace, where she stood looking over the palace gates and the long, narrow canal that flowed down to the giant balete tree at the heart of the city.

She was fuming in silence, her shoulders hiked up to her ears.

“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.

Luntok had told 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 she did care 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 as dayang .” 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?

“I...” Ariel faltered, struggling to find the words.

“I shall strive to make myself worthy of this post, Dayang.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“Is that your best attempt at groveling, Orfelian?”

Ariel stared back at her.

“Do you wish me to grovel, Dayang?” he asked, a discernible bite in his tone.

Laya glanced at him, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“I know you’ve been told to lie to me, and I would hate for you to fall back on your word,” she said mildly.

“But I will find out your true business here. Try to stay out of trouble until I do.”

“But?—”

“In the meantime,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard him, “you can keep me company this afternoon.”

Ariel blinked in surprise.

“Yes, of course, Dayang. Um, would you like to sit down?” He gestured to the divan near the study window, the paneled shades rolled back since no one else was around.

Laya ignored him and leaned back over the writing desk.

Openly this time, she scanned the papers littered across its surface.

Plucking one sheet from the pile, she held it to the light.

At closer glance, she saw that every inch was filled with the same spiky western script she had never learned to read.

She thought back to the history texts she’d once memorized in the course of her studies.

The same story echoed across time in other corners of the world.

Centuries before, the islands in the Untulu Sea fell to a set of vile conquerors, all of whom were eager to carve a bounty for themselves in the east.

Orfelia fell to a western power by the name of Salmantica.

They stole the Orfelian natives’ wealth and imposed their ugly language and even uglier script.

“Is this what Salmantican is supposed to look like?” she asked with a grimace.

“Yes,” he said, approaching her with caution, as if she might attack him.

“I often write in Salmantican.”

“Not Orfelian?”

Ariel shook his head.

“Sometimes it’s more natural for me to write in Salmantican. It was the language of my studies.”

“You feel more at ease in the language of your masters?” Laya sneered as she handed the paper back to him.

“Forgive me if I find that rich.”

“Salmantican has its uses, you know,” he said.

“For me, it opened the door to some of the best universities in the world. Some of the greatest literature, as well.”

“Does Orfelia have no great literature of its own?”

“I’m afraid much of our literature was lost centuries ago in the conquest, Dayang.” Bitterness crossed his eyes, and she took note of it.

Idly, she made her way to the open window.

In the courtyard below, servants were sweeping dried leaves and withered petals from the ground ahead of the guests’ arrival.

“I bet you haven’t seen much of the palace, let alone the rest of Maynara,” she remarked.

“Although I expect my father will lengthen your leash after the feast days, once all the visitors leave.”

His cheeks reddened as he shuffled his feet.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Liar,” she said, keeping her voice light.

“As I said, Ariel, I will pretend that you are my Salmantican tutor for now. But one day, I’ll find out why you’re truly here.”

“I am your Salmantican tutor, Dayang,” he said, stone-faced.

Good.

That was the sort of challenge Laya liked.

“Suit yourself, then.” She drew a second chair to the desk and had a seat.

“If you have nothing better to do, I’d like to request an advance lesson.”

Ariel raised an eyebrow at her.

“I would be delighted to teach you. But?—really?”

“Really.” Laya nodded and reached for the pen.

The paper she’d stolen rustled faintly in her pocket.

It would be written in the same script as the rest of Ariel’s damn notes?—how else would she learn to read it?

They began with the alphabet, which she hated.

She found it lifeless and ugly, and at first, she didn’t understand how it worked.

Ariel was so patient in his explanations Laya began to question whether he was brought there to be her tutor after all.

“You mustn’t think of it in terms of the Maynaran script, where each symbol represents a syllable. Because in the Salmantican alphabet, each letter represents a distinct sound. See, this is your name here.” He etched out her name on the paper.

In Maynaran, she could spell Laya with two symbols, but the Salmantican alphabet required four arrow-like shapes that didn’t appear to represent her name at all.

Ariel wrote out all the letters for her on a fresh sheet, leaving space for her to copy them beneath.

Laya felt like a child again as she clumsily retraced his scrawl.

It was a humiliating exercise, and she wanted to give up after less than an hour.

“How tiresome,” she said, throwing down the pen.

“Perhaps I ought to teach you the Maynaran alphabet instead.”

Laya had intended it as a joke, but Ariel nodded.

“I would like to learn. I can only recognize a few symbols.”

“You come to Maynara, and you cannot even read the language?” she asked, shocked.

“I never had to learn, as spoken Orfelian shares many similarities with Maynaran. It’s the writing system that’s different.”

“Uncultivated fiend,” Laya chided him.

She reached for another sheet of paper.

“Here, I will teach you, lest you wander my country looking like a fool.”

They spent the next hour going through the Maynaran syllabary.

Ariel, admittedly, was a better student than Laya could ever hope to be.

He mimicked the swoop of her script with surprising precision and laughed in delight upon writing his name in Maynaran for the first time.

To her shock, Laya found herself warming to him, which didn’t sit well with her.

She tossed him a thinly veiled insult to make things right.

“For an ignoramus,” she said, “you certainly are a fast learner.”

Ariel chuckled.

He didn’t appear to take offense.

“You chide me, Dayang, for knowing so little about your country, but how much do you know about the rest of the world?”

Her smile faltered.

He was right.

She had never left Maynaran soil and never cared to.

This was her home, her kingdom?—the only country that had ever mattered to her.

But she wouldn’t let the Orfelian make her feel like an ignoramus herself.

She turned up her nose and said, “I’ve heard how people like us are treated in other parts of the world, Ariel. Those places do not interest me.”

“If I grew up in a place as magnificent as this, perhaps I would think the same way you do. Unfortunately, I did not have that luxury.” His expression sobered, and he caught himself.

“I apologize, Dayang. Perhaps I have been too forthright with you.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’d rather you be forthright. I prefer when people are honest with me,” she said, looking at him intently.

The pen fell from Ariel’s fingers with a clatter.

Around them, the air in the study stilled.

“Dayang...,” Ariel began, his voice strained.

“Yes?” She leaned forward, wondering if, for once, he decided he liked her enough to tell her the truth.

His eyes snapped to hers.

He didn’t say anything, merely stared at her as if she were a puzzle to be solved.

A spark wound through her body then, something wild and stinging that had nothing to do with curiosity.

Under the scalding heat of his gaze, a flush crept up the sides of her neck.

She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor.

Through the window, the light outside had begun to dim.

Was it dusk already?

Laya realized with a start that she had spent half the afternoon with the foreigner.

“It’s getting late. There’s somewhere I have to be,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“And I ought to disappear.”

Laya strode to the exit, pausing for a moment as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Thank you, by the way, for the lesson,” she said without turning around.

“I should be thanking you as well,” he called from behind her, softly, as if not to frighten her.

But he had frightened her, and Laya did not understand how that could be.

Her exchange with Ariel still haunted her an hour later as she stood with her sisters on the deck of a riverboat.

The motor chugged beneath the water, an incessant warbling that did nothing to alleviate her headache.

Her thoughts were swimming and her stomach was in knots, yet her skin tingled with the euphoria of connection?—as if Ariel had seen her in ways others could not.

“What’s the matter with you?” Eti piped up beside her.

“Nothing,” Laya said, shaking her head.

She had enough to worry about without losing her head over a common Orfelian.

Bulan gave her an inquisitive look but said nothing.

Laya leaned against the metal railing at the bow as the riverboat chugged along the main canal.

Months had passed since their last trip to the spirit houses, and with half of Maynara in the city for the feast days, they needed to put on their best face.

In past years, the king and queen would have gone with them.

Hara Duja always said they didn’t visit enough.

Their father, frankly, couldn’t be bothered.

He often liked to say that Mother, Bulan, Laya, and Eti were the only goddesses he would ever need.

Then he would add in a theatrical whisper, I joke more than I should, but this one, I truly mean.

He told them before they left on the riverboat, I believe you’re all old enough to handle this engagement on your own.

But Laya wondered if Hara Duja’s furtive behavior at the dawn feast had anything to do with her absence.

There had once been a time when Laya had delighted in their rituals.

They made her feel connected to something ancient and unspeakable.

These days, however, they felt like showmanship?—a hollow display more than anything else.

As her power grew, the less pious she became.

That was because she knew if the gods ever deigned to punish them, she could return their wrath tenfold.

Laya was as much at the gods’ mercy as they were at hers.

In spite of this, she humbled as the balete tree came into view.

It was centuries older than Maynara and nearly half the size of the palace.

During one of Laya’s lessons, High Shaman Maiza had sworn the tree was as old as the island itself.

People claimed that the first humans emerged from its twisting, snakelike branches.

They said the fools who dared climb it got swept inside, doomed to wander the realm of the spirits forever.

For all of Laya’s blaspheming, even she could sense that the gods had touched the tree.

Its branches whispered in a chorus of a thousand hushed voices; whether they bore blessings or warnings, she could never be sure.

Beyond the platform at the end of the canal, dozens of spirit houses circled the balete tree.

They weren’t uniform and were built of different types of wood.

Some were smaller than birdhouses, others large enough to hold three men Ojas’s size.

When the boat steered to a stop, Laya followed her sisters onto the platform facing the balete tree.

They climbed up to the spirit house reserved for the royal family?—the one with the smooth, sloping roof with finials in the shape of crocodile jaws and the highest dais.

One of Ojas’s men stood guard outside while Laya, Bulan, and Eti knelt on the floorboards.

The past few times they’d come, Laya had remained silent while her sisters prayed.

The gods couldn’t grant her what she wanted.

That evening, however, she found herself speaking to them.

She didn’t beg for her mother’s favor or Luntok’s love.

Instead, she prayed for answers.

They sat there in silence for a long moment.

She scoffed when the gods didn’t whisper their reply.

Eti was the first to rise and climb out of the spirit house.

“I think the gods listened to me this time, don’t you?” she asked as Laya and Bulan followed her.

Laya didn’t think the gods cared for humans a single mite.

She opened her mouth to tell Eti this, when the distant sound of drumming caught her attention.

The beating grew closer, shaking the stilts upon which the spirit houses stood, and rattling Laya’s bones.

Eti’s face brightened.

“That must be the parade. Oh, we have to go and see.”

The guard looked uneasily between them.

He looked to be around Bulan’s age?—young and, until then, untested by the Gatdula sisters.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he said.

“Why not?” Laya asked, crossing her arms.

She had always wanted to watch the parade, but rarely did the royal family take part.

Yesterday’s dawn ceremony was for the nobles, but this celebration was for the rest.

Laya loved how the city transformed in a matter of hours.

During the parade, joyful shouting and colorful masks flooded the streets.

Warriors showed off for the swooning crowd in the central square, and every merchant decorated their storefront with towering chandeliers made of crispy cassava wafers.

At sundown, star-shaped lanterns lined the canals and Mariit burst into song, with music and dancing everywhere.

“Spirits will be high tonight,” the guard warned.

“It could get dangerous.”

It was not Laya who spoke this time, but Bulan.

She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword.

“With all due respect, I think we’re more than capable of protecting ourselves.”

“I don’t doubt that, Dayang.” Still, he spared a wary glance at Eti, the smallest and gentlest out of all of them.

Laya stifled a laugh.

She forgot how Ojas’s men admired her.

They saw Eti as an ethereal, absent-minded goddess.

Mostly, they feared the other Gatdula sisters.

“I suppose there’s no harm in a bit of extra protection,” Laya said, to put his mind at ease.

Eti let out a squeal of excitement and dragged her sisters along.

They followed the swell of laughter and music.

A crowd had already formed in one of the nearby squares.

They bore baskets of fruit and bamboo torches.

Their bodies were covered with feathers and beads and vivid paint.

Laya and her sisters were among the few who weren’t in costume.

The crowd cried out in joy at the sight of them and swooped over and around them to the beat of the drums.

The Gatdulas became an island, them and their guard, surrounded by a sea of birds.

“We should leave,” the guard shouted over the noise.

Eti gave him a serene smile and grabbed his hand.

“Dance with me,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him.

To their surprise, the guard complied.

He looked mesmerized by the princess’s close proximity.

Laya rolled her eyes?—and people called her the wily one.

She turned to Bulan, only to find that her elder sister had been swept into the arms of one of the women in the crowd.

To Laya’s shock, Bulan didn’t look like she was about to murder her.

For once, she was beaming.

Laya’s mind swam in the swirl of color and voices.

She stumbled back, searching for a partner, when a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

“You’re out late,” the man said, face hidden by a warrior mask.

The painted eyes bulged, and the carved mouth opened to reveal fangs long enough to frighten any predator.

His vest was unfastened at the collar, revealing the web of tattoos on his chest.

She recognized him instantly.

Laya gasped.

“Luntok! How did you find me?”

He ran his finger over one of her necklaces.

“With all that gold, you’re hard to miss.”

Her heart rate quickened.

She pulled him closer, unable to deny the glee that burst in her chest at the sight of him.

“How was the tournament?” she asked.

“Oh.” Luntok drew back in surprise.

“I thought you had forgotten.”

Laya bit back the guilt.

She had forgotten, but Luntok didn’t have to know that.

“Something came up at the palace. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she said sincerely.

“How did you do?”

“I beat Bato, and it wasn’t even close. You should have seen him, Laya. He was pathetic.” He chuckled nastily.

Laya found herself laughing too?—she didn’t care for Bato Tanglaw and would have enjoyed watching Luntok destroy him.

“I really am sorry,” she said quietly in his ear.

“I know you wanted me to be there.”

“You must come to the next fight, then,” he said.

“I’m meant to fight Utu Luma.”

“Utu Luma?” she echoed, incredulous.

Laya was no fighter, but she knew Utu Luma was a brutish warrior nearly twice Luntok’s size, as well as the winner of several past tournaments.

“You look worried.”

“I’m not worried,” she lied.

Laya remembered how Utu Luma would grunt through dinners at the palace, scoffing whenever the king made any mention of music or poetry.

Manhood, in Utu’s mind, was a singular endeavor in which Hari Aki fell short.

As far as Laya was concerned, Luntok could gut him.

He cocked his head to the side, the mask concealing his expression.

“You are... a bit.”

“Not at all,” she said, more lightly this time.

“But after the fight, you must tell me how you defeated him.”

Luntok chuckled against her cheek.

“Minx. You know I would never betray the warriors’ secrets.”

Laya couldn’t help herself.

She leaned even closer, making her voice deep and husky.

“Warrior, I will break your iron will yet. I know just the thing to entice you.”

His grip tightened around her waist.

They grew reckless, dancing closer than any strangers should.

His hands wandered, and his need fed hers.

During a pause in the music, she grabbed his hand.

They broke away from the crowd.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the guard shouted after them.

“Oh, let her go,” she heard Eti say.

“Laya knows what she’s doing.”

From the balete tree, they ran, pulling each other through the narrow streets until the cacophony of the parade faded into a distant echo.

Then they collapsed, laughing, over a faraway canal on an empty footbridge.

The tournament, the bespectacled Orfelian, and all the troubles of the day disappeared.

Outside the palace, Laya allowed herself to be freer with Luntok than she had ever been.

They laughed for what felt like hours before falling into silence, as their breathing steadied.

“If you won’t share the warriors’ secrets, tell me a story,” she finally said.

“What story?” he asked, reaching over.

His fingers tickled her spine through her blouse, making her shiver.

She looked around for inspiration.

Someone had strung up lanterns along the bridge just across from them.

The candles inside glowed purple and red from the translucent, colored paper.

Below the bridge, moonlight skated across the black water.

“Tell me about the serpent who swallowed the moon.”

“You already know that story.”

“Tell me another story, then. Any. I’m not particular.”

“Come on, Laya. We all know that’s not true.”

He leaned against the railing with his hands on either side of her ribs.

Laya turned to face him, trapped between his arms.

They were both sweating from the excitement of the parade, the run through the city, and their shared body heat.

She reached up and removed his mask to find that Luntok was smiling.

“At least I know what I want,” she said.

His smile broadened.

“Tell me what you want, then.”

She brushed her thumb across Luntok’s cheek, smooth as glass.

The truth would shatter him.

If she could lie to him, she would.

She could lie so easily to anyone?—anyone else.

Instead, she told him, “I want us to stay as we are.”

“Like this?” he breathed, cupping her face in his hands.

Yes.

She willed herself not to melt.

“Exactly like this.”

Laya’s eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into their kiss.

She never wanted to stop kissing him.

She would flood the entire land if it meant they were the only humans left.

When she was with him, there was no need for solid ground.

Oh, Luntok.

She sighed against his lips.

Loving him was like flying.

When she was with him, she soared.