Page 17

Seventeen

Duja

Duja’s hands trembled as she steadied herself on the mahogany railing that wound around the main staircase.

Her body shook from more than the tremors.

Imeria’s shadow followed her from the main halls.

Haunting her, after all these years.

She continued, one careful step at a time, until she reached the upper floor.

Night had fallen over Mariit.

Moonlight slanted over the gleaming floorboards in riverlike streams.

Most of the staff had retired for the evening.

To Duja’s relief, a stillness had settled over the palace.

The upstairs corridor leading to the royal family’s private chambers was empty, save for a serving girl, who bowed as Duja passed.

“Your Majesty,” she said.

In her arms, she bore a gown of delicate indigo silk.

Laya had been wearing it in the gardens earlier that day.

“How is Dayang Laya?” Duja asked.

After the tournament, Laya and Bulan had had a devastating fight.

Their hateful words echoed across the courtyard.

Everyone in the entire palace complex heard them.

Duja had tried to calm Laya down earlier that evening, but her daughter was beyond consoling.

“One of the lady’s maids saw to Dayang Laya’s bath. I assisted her,” the serving girl said.

She was a scrawny thing with wan cheeks and a slight provincial accent.

She must have been a recent recruit, because Duja had never seen her around the palace before.

“And?”

“The princess has been in there for hours, and she refuses to open the door.” The girl diverted her eyes to the ground, hesitating.

“Pardon my frankness, Your Majesty, but we fear she might be trying to drown herself.”

Duja sighed and waved the girl off.

“Go on. I’ll see to her myself.”

“As you please, Your Majesty.” She bowed again, then scurried off to the laundress.

Duja continued to the end of the corridor.

Dim, yellow light shone through the slit beneath Laya’s door.

Duja pressed her ear to the thick mahogany panels.

On the other side, she could hear the faint sound of sniffling.

She knocked softly.

“Laya, it’s Mother.”

The sniffling silenced.

Then a pattern of angry footsteps echoed across the floorboards as Laya approached the door.

“What do you want?” Laya snapped, her voice muffled through the layers of wood.

“I want to speak to you,” she said.

“Please let me in.”

A reluctant sigh, then Laya relented.

The door creaked open.

She leaned against the frame, her arms crossed.

“You have my attention,” she said in the lofty tone Duja hated.

Laya could be as awful to her as she liked, but no haughty expression could hide the red splotches around her irises or the puffy bags under her eyes.

The poor girl had been crying for hours.

Her hair, damp from her bath, hung limply around her shoulders.

She looked less like the steel-faced tyrant she pretended to be and more like a drowned rat.

“I was worried about you,” Duja said.

Laya stared back.

Her bottom lip trembled.

The haughty mask fell from her face like cracked stone.

“Oh, Mother,” she said, crumpling as she barreled into Duja’s arms.

Duja froze, surprised.

She had not seen Laya cry since she was a child.

Back then, she would always run to her father for comfort?—never Duja.

She still needs me, Duja realized.

She softened as Laya sobbed into her chest, her tears seeping through the fine silk of her blouse.

“Hush, darling.” Duja wrapped her arms around Laya and led her into the bedroom.

They sat together on the edge of the bed, and Laya sobbed in earnest.

“Mother, I don’t know what to do. I cannot bear it.” She leaned against Duja as if she no longer had the strength to hold herself up.

Her body shook so violently, Duja stared at her in alarm.

“Come now. Everything will be all right.” Duja brushed the tangled waves from Laya’s face.

As much as she hated to see her daughter in pain, she could not deny the warmth that spread through her chest as she held her.

How long had it been since they’d embraced each other like this?

“Everything is ruined,” Laya said between ragged sobs.

“Everything is ruined, and I can do nothing about it.”

Duja pursed her lips.

“Is this about Luntok?”

At the sound of his name, Laya let out a pitiful wail.

“He refused to speak to me after the tournament. I know I shouldn’t, but I sent for him. And because of what Bulan did, he hates me. He will never come again.”

The tension in Duja’s shoulders receded.

She was relieved to hear that Luntok was keeping his distance, but she didn’t dare tell Laya so.

“He could never hate you,” she said, which was the truth.

Imeria hadn’t lied earlier in the throne room.

Luntok was obsessed with Laya, and Laya returned his infatuation.

But Duja ought to have warned her that to tangle oneself with a Kulaw was dangerous.

Laya drew back and gazed at Duja, her eyes wide in watery hope.

“If there was a way for us to be together?—truly together this time...”

Duja’s heart lurched.

“Oh, Laya.”

She couldn’t indulge her.

She couldn’t go down this road again.

Laya heard the resignation in her tone and grasped her hands, begging, “Please, Mother. I know you hate Imeria, but Luntok is different. He would never harm me... or anyone else. If you would allow him?—”

“No, Laya, I cannot allow that,” Duja said, more harshly than she intended.

“Mother, please.” Fresh tears spilled out of the corners of Laya’s eyes.

Duja knew her daughter and her wily tricks.

Knew how skillfully she could feign heartbreak, just to cajole others into doing her bidding.

But these were true tears.

And this was raw pain?—Duja knew because she had felt it once herself.

She wanted to comfort Laya the way she’d wished to be comforted.

Instead, she gave her shoulders a firm shake.

“You have no idea the danger these people pose to our family.”

Laya’s brow furrowed.

“What sort of danger?” she asked.

“I can marry Luntok without reviving any sort of ancestral blood-right. Don’t tell me you actually believe in those stupid myths.”

Except they weren’t mere myths.

Magic did lie dormant in the noble bloodlines.

And the Gatdulas were no longer the only ones with divine powers.

Fear pierced her body at the reminder.

Imeria Kulaw, wielder of mind and flesh.

The memories flooded Duja’s mind with a vengeance.

Her brother’s laughter.

Imeria’s screams.

Her nose stinging with the caustic scent of ash.

Angry, black clouds billowing above the eastern wing, where Pangil’s fires continued to rage.

Ear-piercing screams ringing out from inside the building, but all Duja could focus on was Pangil’s face.

His head lolled back into Imeria’s soot-streaked hands.

He stared up at the smoke-filled sky, unseeing.

Inky pools seeped out from his irises, blotting out the whites of his eyes.

Duja could barely bring herself to speak.

“Imeria?— by the gods ,” she had whispered.

“Duja. I can explain,” Imeria said, releasing Pangil as if his skin burned.

She reached for her, but Duja recoiled from her touch.

“It can’t be,” she said in a strangled voice as she stared back at Imeria.

Her gut knotted in dread.

She squeezed her eyes shut, blinding herself to the horror.

She wanted to scream.

Not you, my heart.

My dearest heart.

Duja blinked away the memories of ash and smoke.

Imeria’s shadow disappeared.

Laya was still sitting beside her on the bed.

She clutched Duja’s hand, impatient for her reply.

“You wish to know what danger?” Duja’s voice cracked.

The inside of her throat had gone dry.

She shook her head once more as she pulled away from her daughter.

“Let Luntok go. If you don’t, I fear you may not survive the consequences,” she said.

The words came out harsher than she intended.

Laya’s eyes widened.

“I don’t understand.”

“Let him go, Laya,” Duja repeated.

“I don’t want to hear of this again.”

“No,” she said, her voice rising with the threat of oncoming sobs.

“Mother, please?—”

“Enough of this.” With a heavy heart, Duja swept away from the bed.

Laya’s sniffling followed her on her way out.

Duja hadn’t told her what she wanted to hear.

She could not bear to reveal the truth about Imeria’s powers, but how else could she make Laya understand?

She paused, leaning against the doorway.

“I promise you, Laya. You will find a better man?—a man worthy of your affection. Luntok is not him,” she added without turning around.

This time, Laya did not answer, but Duja could sense the storm inside her.

Duja could say nothing to console her.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she eased the door shut behind her.

It was too late to summon Maiza, even though every inch of Duja’s body protested at the slightest movement.

Each step she took away from Laya was harder than the last.

Her joints groaned as she made her way to her own chambers, where Hari Aki was in bed, reading.

He set his book aside and looked at her with a somber expression.

“Well?” he asked.

“Laya is distraught.” Duja kicked off her sandals and stretched out beside him on the bed.

Her fingers shook as she reached up to trace the fine black stubble on his chin.

He took her trembling hand and planted a gentle kiss atop her knuckles.

“Give her a few days to mend her heart. She will understand in time.”

“I don’t know about that,” Duja said with a weary sigh.

She knew that this kind of pain had a way of braiding itself into the fleshy tendons of your soul.

Time did not heal this kind of heartbreak; rather, it allowed it to fester.

Duja had not realized the extent to which such pain could endure until she spoke with Imeria in the throne room.

Earlier that evening, Imeria had wept just as she had the first time Duja sent her away.

Imeria saw it as a punishment, but Duja truly had wanted to protect her.

Marrying Imeria was out of the question?—and not simply because they were both women.

If they had been born into different families, Duja might have continued to love Imeria all her life, taking a husband for the sole purpose of producing Gatdula heirs.

The royal court was no stranger to such arrangements.

But in their eyes, loving a Kulaw was not only dangerous.

It was unforgivable.

In the years after the Kulaw rebellion, the scars remained fresh.

Few of the datus loyal to the Gatdulas would have taken news of their power’s resurgence lightly if they had known.

They might have demanded Imeria’s removal, or worse?—her death.

And if Duja had allied with Imeria against their wishes, the other royal families might have banded together against them.

The ensuing war would have brought an end to Maynara as they knew it.

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.