Page 19

Nineteen

Imeria

Imeria watched as Datu Gulod filled the bowl of his pipe for the fifth time that evening.

Vikal struck a match against the side of the tea table and held it to Gulod’s pipe.

“Where’s your boy, Imeria? Isn’t he the reason you called this meeting?” Gulod asked.

He drew in a deep puff before sighing impatiently, flooding the veranda with the scent of burning cloves.

Through the thick cloud of pipe smoke, Imeria scowled at the two men sitting before her.

She might have found the physical differences between Vikal and Gulod comical in other, less traitorous circumstances.

Vikal was not only taller than most men, but he also had a broad chest and arms strong enough to swing the heaviest sword.

Beside him sat Gulod, who was hardly taller than Imeria, was slight, and had thin swindler’s fingers.

Gulod was a pest, but a useful pest.

Imeria had done well, cementing such alliances.

With their combined strength and the vials of precioso, they might stand a chance to achieve Imeria’s perilous schemes.

They gathered at the Kulaws’ town house late that evening to discuss how they might proceed.

After what had happened at the tournament, Mariit was beginning to grumble, condemning the Gatdulas for their brutality and negligence.

It was not the first time one of Hara Duja’s daughters had nearly brought their family’s regime to its knees.

Three years earlier, Laya had horrified half the kingdom when she’d destroyed the eastern wing.

The previous night, the entire capital had watched Bulan steal Luntok’s victory.

Maynarans, low and highborn alike, squabbled over gold and land and influence, but dishonor was the one thing none of them could stomach.

Imeria wondered to what extent she could spin their outrage in the Kulaws’ favor.

She had invited Vikal and Gulod that evening to hear their thoughts about the matter.

Luntok was supposed to attend the meeting, but she had sent him to the palace first.

Imeria knew he would take his time with Laya, but it was nearing midnight.

He should have returned hours earlier.

The front gate swung open.

Luntok’s long, lonely shadow appeared, splitting the yellow lantern light that illuminated the veranda.

He slammed the gate behind him and trudged inside, his uneven footsteps echoing across the cobbled pathway.

His shoulders were hitched up to his ears, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

He dragged his feet as if he were drunk, but Imeria knew he was not.

She saw from the pain in his eyes and the tight muscles in his jawline that Luntok was tormented.

Imeria waved him over.

“Come, darling. Join us.”

He obeyed, barely acknowledging the other men at the table when he slouched into his seat.

“So, have you decided?” he asked in a flat voice.

She frowned.

“Decided what?”

“How you’re going to destroy them.” Luntok’s gaze snapped to hers.

Beneath his stone-faced calm, he was furious?—but Imeria could not tell at whom the anger was directed.

Luntok had barely spoken to Imeria since his loss during the tournament.

She’d distanced herself to give him the space to lick his wounds, the ones inside, which Imeria couldn’t heal.

The one time they had spoken, he’d asked how she planned to take down the Gatdulas, which surprised Imeria.

Sneaking in and out of the palace was one thing, but Luntok had never played an active role in Imeria’s schemes.

He loved Laya too much, and the rift between their families confused him.

For a long time, Imeria had kept him in the dark, thinking it would spare him the guilt.

But now, Luntok stared at her with an expression of stony resolve.

This was not the same version of her son who’d gaped moon-eyed after Laya, the princess he thought would one day fall within his reach.

“You’re contentious tonight,” Imeria said.

“Is there a reason for this change?”

Luntok exhaled sharply through his nostrils.

“I’ve learned something, Mother. The Gatdulas will grant us neither love nor victory, even when it’s earned. If we want anything in this swamp of a city, we’ll have to steal it on our own.” He met her gaze and, in a low voice, added, “I think this is what you’ve been trying to tell me all along.”

Imeria glanced at Vikal, who was staring at Luntok intently.

After years spent ignoring her warnings, her son finally understood.

“You asked how we will destroy them,” she said.

She held his gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I suppose that depends on what you’ve brought me.”

Luntok reached into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved a letter.

“Here’s the information that serving girl?—Yari or whatever her name is?—promised. She slipped it beneath Laya’s door earlier tonight. Said she found it in Hara Duja’s laundry.”

Imeria snatched up the letter, her eyes widening as she scanned its contents.

To His Royal Highness, Hari Aki .

Her stomach plummeted when she reached the name at the bottom of the letter.

Pangil Gatdula.

Maynara’s exiled prince.

He used to threaten Imeria with fireballs to the face when they were children.

At some point in the twenty-two years since he was banished, he’d found a way to contact the king?—but that was not Imeria’s most shocking realization.

“Well,” Gulod snapped from across the table.

“What does it say?”

A cool wave of dread washed over Imeria.

She set the letter down on the table with shaking hands.

Pangil’s words were bafflingly cryptic.

Alchemist.

Abiding glory.

But Imeria was no half-wit.

Her fingers flew up to the vials of precioso, which she now wore on a chain around her neck.

“It seems the queen has found a way to hold on to her powers. A cure for the passage of time?—or something along those means,” Imeria said.

She reached for her wine and took a sip.

The inside of her throat had gone dry.

Gulod’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What are you insinuating? Do you believe Hara Duja has also gotten her hands on precioso?”

Luntok answered for her.

“I don’t know about the precioso, but Yari heard something about a man living in the eastern wing. Hardly any of the servants have seen him. According to Yari, the guards stocked his chambers with chemicals and potions and a strange number of things.”

“He’s an alchemist, surely,” Imeria said as she pondered Pangil’s letter.

If that man was the alchemist of which Pangil spoke, then he had been brought to the palace for a reason?—to produce precioso, or a similar substance, was the only theory that made sense.

Vikal rubbed his temple and let out a low whistle.

“Forgive me, my lady. I don’t know much about alchemy, but if I understand what you’re saying, the queen will be very hard to defeat.”

“Not if we act quickly,” she said, her thoughts racing.

According to Yari, the alchemist had only arrived in Mariit when the feast days began earlier that week.

Imeria remembered the tremors that overcame Duja the other day in the council room.

Precioso promised more control over her powers, which meant Duja did not yet have access to the drug.

If that was the case, Imeria could still overpower her.

She chewed her lip as she weighed her options?—it was a very big if .

“Imeria, are you truly considering this?” Gulod asked.

Imeria ignored him, staring at the swirling patterns etched across the table’s surface.

When she didn’t answer, he threw up his hands in exasperation.

“For Mulayri’s sake. This is madness.”

“Is it?” she asked.

“With Vikal’s sword-trained servant boys, we have nearly enough men to stage an attack. After all, we brought them to Mariit for this very purpose. And what of those mercenaries you told me about, Namok? Have you contacted them?”

For conducting unsavory business deals such as these, Datu Gulod did not lack contacts.

He knew about a ring of hired swords that operated out of Mariit.

If Imeria could pay for another dozen of them, their odds would improve immensely.

At the mention of the mercenaries, Gulod nodded, but he did not appear convinced.

“They’ve agreed to your conditions. They only ask for an advance on their services,” he said.

She waved her hand, distracted, as a plan began to form inside her head.

“Tell them I will arrange it.”

Vikal turned to Gulod, lowering his voice.

“Money isn’t the issue, my lord. Neither is the number of men. The main problem I see lies in infiltrating the palace, and then holding it.” He glanced at Imeria, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his expression.

Vikal was not Gulod.

He would die for her if she asked.

But for their plan to succeed, she needed to find a way to quash both their doubts.

“We will be able to hold the palace?—and the entire capital, for that matter. The Royal Maynaran Guard will fall to our command. I know it,” Imeria said as she stroked the vials of precioso on her neck.

She had sampled the drug the previous evening.

A small dose was all she’d needed to coax her power into a fire that roared through her veins.

Never had Imeria known power so strong.

At high quantities, she could overcome an entire army with a wave of her hand.

She did not need to wield her power over all of them.

For the guardsmen’s loyalty did not exceed their fear; they would fall to their knees the moment they saw what she was capable of.

As for those who refused to surrender?—Imeria remembered how she felled Pangil in the courtyard the day he burned down the eastern wing.

With precioso’s power in her blood, she would make them bow.

Every last one of them.

“As for getting into the palace...” Vikal paused, stroking his chin.

“We can mount the attack during the feast tomorrow night. You three have been invited to the palace, after all.”

“What of the rest of your men, Vikal?” Gulod demanded.

“I don’t suppose Hara Duja’s sent an invitation to all thirty of them?”

“Datu Kulaw can slip away to the servants’ entrance,” Vikal suggested.

“I can lead them in through there.”

Imeria hesitated.

“I suppose that could work.”

“No. It won’t.” Luntok’s voice rang out with surprising force, reverberating across the hollow walls of the veranda.

“And why not?” Gulod asked, watching Luntok with beady eyes.

He stared at the younger man, for once intrigued by what he had to say.

“The servants’ entrance is too far from the great hall,” Luntok explained, exasperated.

“There will be dozens of people flooding in and out. Unless, of course, we have the numbers to subdue them all?—otherwise, we’ll be caught in seconds.”

After Luntok’s interjection, they sat in silence for a brief moment.

A quiet breeze broke the thick night air, rustling through the canopy of palms that shielded them from view.

Imeria cast him a curious glance.

Something burned behind the dark film over his eyes, a thirst she had never seen in him before.

“What would you suggest, then?” she asked.

“We ought to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible. It is our biggest advantage.” Luntok leaned over the table, the muscles in his cheeks pulled taut.

He knew something?—something they could use to their advantage?—but why wasn’t he sharing it?

“Datu Kulaw could take out the guards posted on the outer wall. Then we could climb the gates,” Vikal said tentatively, even though they all knew it was a terrible idea.

“ No. We absolutely are not doing that.” Roughly, Luntok brushed his hair away from his face.

He reached for Imeria’s wineglass and swallowed its contents in a single gulp.

Then he turned toward his mother, his brow furrowed in turmoil.

Ah.

She understood now; this was about Laya.

Luntok knew that if he betrayed Laya’s family, he risked losing her love forever.

Imeria had made her choice long before.

As for her son?—maybe he’d convinced himself there was a path to Laya that didn’t begin with treachery.

Luntok may have coveted the throne?—and the right to kingship of which the Gatdulas had robbed him?—but Laya was the only prize he’d ever wanted.

Imeria yearned to reach out and calm the warring thoughts in his head.

Instead, she prodded him.

“Tell us, Son. What do you mean?”

“No one is climbing the walls.” Luntok kept his lips tight, as if to seal himself from the storm waging inside him.

Imeria’s heart rate quickened as she watched the thoughts settle in his eyes.

Finally, Luntok understood.

Fate had only ever given him one path.

Now was his chance to carve it straight to the throne, to justice for the south, to the princess who belonged to him.

Laya had been his tipping point, the sole force strong enough to blow him over the razor’s edge.

Having her was the one battle he couldn’t bear to lose.

Luntok centered himself, laying his palms flat against the table.

He sat in jaw-clenching silence as he made peace with his decision.

He did not speak until he let out a last, shaky breath.

“The way is under, not over,” he said, meeting Imeria’s gaze with damning certainty.

“And I can get us in.”