Page 2

Two

Laya

Laya was prone to moments of melancholy, but she was not one to wallow in darkness for long.

She allowed a full hour to feel sorry for herself before deserting her room in search of someone to bother.

By the time she emerged, a rare stillness had settled over the palace grounds.

Most of the servants had broken for an early lunch; some, she suspected, were already taking advantage of the festive atmosphere.

Next week, the faint buzz of excitement would build to a lusty uproar.

Laya tried to relish the quiet as she made her way to the main stairwell.

Peace was a privilege, and she wouldn’t see it again until the end of the feast days.

It was important for sovereigns to have these moments of solitude, she’d been told.

Laya didn’t know about that.

In solitude, her mind filled with the stormy thoughts she tried ardently to ignore.

The silence consumed her.

She didn’t see Eti until she almost tripped over her younger sister’s outstretched feet.

Laya gasped, saving herself on the banister.

“Watch where you’re going!” Eti cried, indignant, as if it were acceptable behavior for young princesses to lie sprawled across the palace stairs.

“Haven’t you got another place to practice your wielding? Your private chambers, perhaps?” Laya drawled as she stepped over Eti’s legs.

The tiny golden pellet Eti had been tampering with fell into her palm.

Where Laya wielded the wind and the rain, Eti’s affinity was for metal.

And while Mulayri’s power burst from Laya in raging torrents, it trickled from the younger girl in a gentle stream, which suited Eti just fine.

“I was going to turn this into a bracelet and give it to you for your coronation, but I think I’ll keep it for myself,” Eti said loftily, in near-perfect imitation of Laya’s tone.

Laya chuckled?—for a child, Eti was a talented mimic.

“Do whatever you wish with that bracelet. I don’t care.”

Eti stuck her tongue out at her.

Unlike with Bulan, there was no malice between Laya and her younger sister.

Laya stuck out her tongue back, tousling Eti’s hair as she continued up the steps.

She paused when she reached the landing.

On the flight below, Eti had stretched out to occupy the full width of the stairwell.

The younger girl kept her gaze trained on the golden pellet, which now floated a few inches above her nose.

Her brown cheeks were still as round as steam buns.

Between them, Laya could make out the beginnings of a woman’s chin.

A bittersweet warmth burst in Laya’s chest when she realized how much Eti had grown.

Laya knew this time with Eti was fleeting, like everything else in her life.

At the moment, all Eti wanted was to get lost in her world of pretty shapes and shining things.

She didn’t care for fancy titles or Maynaran politics.

Eti was content with what she had.

It had not yet occurred to her to want more.

In a few years, that would change.

Eti would either grow up to fear Laya, like their mother did, or resent her, like Bulan.

Laya couldn’t decide which prospect she hated more.

She tore her gaze away from Eti as she made her way to the upper floor.

The passageway leading to the queen’s chambers was long and narrow, with a high, coved ceiling.

Deep-mahogany panels lined the walls, interspersed with latticed window screens that overlooked the palace courtyard.

A few feet from the landing, a pair of servants were hunched over an ancient Xitai vase.

Both were busy replacing the wilted flowers inside with a gigantic white-orchid arrangement as high as Laya’s waist.

They bowed to Laya as she walked by.

She gave them a cursory nod, then breezed past them to the end of the hall, where Hara Duja was waiting.

When Laya opened the door, her nostrils flooded with the thick, heady smells of honeysuckle and burnt wood.

Laya wrinkled her nose and stepped inside.

“Mother?”

She found her mother lying in the dark.

The window screens had been drawn tight.

The only light that penetrated the white-shell panels pooled across the floor in wavering strips.

The queen was still in bed, her eyes closed and her black hair unkempt.

Shadows danced across the dusky hollows of her cheeks.

She barely stirred when Laya settled on the chair beside her.

Slowly, her mother opened her eyes.

“Laya, is that you?”

“Yes,” Laya said.

“It’s only me.”

On shaking arms, the queen pushed herself up to a seated position.

Her tremors had gotten worse over the past year.

Mornings, she said, were the toughest.

Her muscles were the last to wake up.

For now, the queen managed to run the palace and corral the court into submission.

But Laya could see better than anyone that Hara Duja was fading, far more quickly than she said she would.

A lump formed in Laya’s throat as she watched her mother struggle to prop herself up against the pillows.

The same fate befell each human; only it befell descendants of the Gatdula bloodline faster than most.

It was no secret that the Gatdulas’ ability to wield the elements was equal parts blessing and curse.

Their bodies hosted celestial gifts, but their human muscles were not built to withstand powers of divine magnitude.

Gatdulas burned brighter than any other being on earth?—and they burned out twice as quickly.

This was the price of being a god.

“Strange to see you up and about this early,” Hara Duja said, voice scratchy from sleep.

“There was an emergency down at the port.”

Hara Duja quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Oh? What sort of emergency?” she asked, suspicion edging her tone.

Laya tensed.

She could see the thoughts swirling in her mother’s mind?—the beginnings of a lecture.

“A ship got stranded on the rocks. It was blocking the entrance to the harbor. No one else could move it. And I?—”

“You what?” Terror flashed in the queen’s eyes.

“You moved an entire ship?” she demanded.

Frustration flared at the base of Laya’s throat.

“I’ve moved bigger things before. I’m strong enough, you know.”

Stronger than you.

Laya stared back at her mother, her hands balling into fists.

Sometimes she wondered if the queen had any intention of stepping down from the throne.

Even though Hara Duja’s days in power were numbered, she was more determined than ever to keep any true responsibilities out of Laya’s reach.

Her mother’s mouth flattened into a tight line.

She gazed at Laya as though she were a batch of kindling that was ready to explode.

“I’ve seen you exercise the full extent of your strength, Laya. That is what worries me.”

A stone dropped in Laya’s stomach.

Bitter tears threatened to spill out of the corners of her eyes.

“Why are you blaming me?” she cried.

“I freed that ship. I helped those people. You speak as if that was a bad thing.”

“Nonsense, Laya. What you did with the ship?—it isn’t a bad thing. What you might have done, however...” The queen fell back against the pillows, pinching the bridge of her nose.

In the shadows of her bedroom, she looked wearier than Laya had ever seen her.

“We have a long week ahead of us,” she said, in a voice like broken porcelain.

“Please, darling. Let me rest.”

Laya swallowed hard.

Hara Duja wished to hold her at arm’s length, and she had no choice but to let her.

Dejected, she rose and made her way out.

She paused when she reached the doorframe, unable to bite back a retort.

“If you want to blame anyone, blame Bulan,” she said.

“Because of you, she thinks she’s in charge of me.”

“Laya?—” the queen said sharply before Laya slammed the door behind her.

The rage surged inside her chest, rising, up and up, like a cresting wave.

She barreled through the corridor and down the stairs, stomping on her sister’s feet on the way.

“Hey!” Eti whimpered.

This time, Laya ignored her sister.

She rushed through the palace’s cavernous halls, her sandals slipping across the freshly waxed floorboards.

She did not stop until she was back in her chambers, where she let out a desperate scream.

Her cry, harsh as the monsoon winds, echoed across the vaulted ceiling of her bedchamber.

What had possessed her to tell her mother about the ship?

Laya should have known she would react that way.

In the queen’s mind, Laya could do nothing right.

For all her strength, Laya could not ignore the pain blossoming in the nethermost corner of her soul?—the part of her that still craved her mother’s warmth.

It stretched miles deeper than her peaks of rage, this raw and tender ache.

The tears Laya had been fighting since she’d spoken to her mother splashed over the front of her dress.

She leaned her forehead against the cool wooden panel that spanned the door.

She sucked in a breath, ready to sob in earnest, when a muted thump behind her drew her attention.

An intruder.

Laya whirled around, palms outstretched.

The man on her balcony held up his hands in surrender.

His dark hair was pulled away from his smooth, handsome face.

He wore a scarlet vest that exposed the mesmerizing swirls of tattoos on his chest.

A sword twice the length of Laya’s arm hung at his hip, its curved brass hilt melded into the beak of a hornbill.

“Luntok?” She lowered her arms.

An incriminating smile spread across her face.

“I believe you summoned me,” he said, grinning.

Laya remembered herself, drying her tears on her sleeve.

She didn’t allow anyone to catch her in a moment of weakness?—Luntok Kulaw was no exception.

A defiant spark wound through her as she slinked across the room and draped her arms around his neck.

The queen would give Laya far more than a lecture if she learned the true nature of this dalliance.

With every visit, she and Luntok danced closer and closer to the razor’s edge.

The guardsmen had nearly discovered them over a dozen times in the past, and the head of the royal guard, General Ojas, had doubled the patrol in light of the upcoming feast days.

Luntok knew to take better care.

“Dolt.” She pretended to chide him.

“You weren’t supposed to come until later tonight. I ought to throw you in the prison hold for this.”

By now, Luntok was accustomed to her empty threats.

“If I begged, would you look past my impertinence?” he asked, reeling her in by the waist.

Laya’s breath caught in her throat.

The fatigue from her excursion at the port faded as giddy longing flooded her veins.

She resisted the urge to melt into his arms.

Instead, she squared her jaw and leaned closer.

“Dolt,” she said again.

“You don’t deserve clemency.”

Luntok chuckled and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

“I came as soon as I heard of your heroics with the ship. Submit me to your ire if you wish. That is how badly I missed you,” he said.

The deep rumble of his voice sent a cool shiver down the column of Laya’s spine.

Oh, but Laya knew far too well what he meant.

Her heart sang whenever Luntok showed up at her balcony, and a small piece of it died each time he left.

“Lovesick fool. Have you not an ounce of sense?” Laya said crisply, more to herself than to him.

There are worse mistakes I can make, she thought as she appraised Luntok.

He had grown into a beautiful man over the many years she had known him.

What his family lacked in repute, he countervailed in passion.

He could have his pick of the loveliest brides in the kingdom, but he burned for the one woman to whom he’d been forever barred.

The truth had never mattered to Luntok Kulaw.

When he fell, he fell deeply.

And Luntok loved Laya more than air?—everyone knew this.

The court liked to whisper about the pair of them.

Not even joyless Bulan could deny Luntok’s devotion.

Laya could not help but love him back.

Unlike the rest of Maynara, Luntok didn’t stare at her in envy or horror or cowlike worship.

When Laya met his eyes, she saw nothing but desire there.

He adored both the woman and the god in her.

He treasured even the ugliest parts?—the parts her own mother refused to love.

Luntok was the sole person who would accept whatever storm she sent his way and love her more for it.

Although Laya would never admit it, her heart belonged to no one else but him.

“Sense,” Luntok echoed, his breath tickling her ear.

“What good ever came from that?”

Laya’s eyes darkened at the hint of a challenge.

She kissed him in response, losing her breath against his lips.

They were fools, the pair of them.

Laya and Luntok, a Gatdula and a Kulaw.

History ordained that they hate each other forever, yet their jagged edges fit together so easily.

But Luntok was different.

Luntok was nothing like his ancestors.

He belonged to her , not to history.

The court could chatter as much as they liked.

Whenever she was with him, her heartbeat drowned out whatever warnings she’d been told.

Sex was a song they learned from each other?—how wrong it felt to sing it with anyone else.

They first succumbed to the music three years before, when they were old enough to know better.

Each time, they made love to the same harried rhythm, as if the sky would suddenly crack open above their heads and the earth were about to swallow them whole.

If Laya had been half the fool her mother thought she was, she might have allowed herself to get swept away in the swells and the motions and the beats she knew by heart.

But she kept one hand tangled in Luntok’s hair, the other firmly pressed against his collarbone.

Laya was ready to push him back at any moment?—despite the queen’s disparaging remarks, Hara Duja had taught her well.

“You ought to go now,” she said afterward, when they were lying together in bed, their limbs entwined beneath the sheets.

Luntok bristled at her sudden coldness.

He reached for her, annoyance rising in his tone.

“Laya?—”

“Luntok, I’m serious.” Laya withdrew from his side and reached for her dressing robe.

She yanked it on over her shoulders, almost tearing the fabric.

It was hand-stitched from imported lilac pongee, more delicate than any other garment she owned.

He didn’t budge from the bed.

Pain flickered in his eyes.

His gaze burned.

She felt it on the side of her neck even as she turned away.

This wouldn’t last either.

The reminder left an acrid taste in Laya’s throat.

None of this was Luntok’s fault, but she wanted to punish him anyway.

The mattress creaked when Luntok at last got up to dress.

Regret sank in as she watched him slide his vest over his broad, muscled shoulders.

He thought her haughty and cruel.

It wasn’t fair.

She didn’t want this any more than he did.

She resisted the urge to reach across the bed and shake him.

Can’t you see how I ache?

“All of Mariit is talking. They suspect you’ll choose a husband soon,” he said as he laced up his shoes.

“Let them speculate,” she said coolly.

Marriage was a dangerous subject.

She knew better than to provoke Luntok’s jealousy.

With a weary sigh, he headed back to the balcony.

Laya followed him, impatient to see him out.

He paused, bracing his weight against the balustrade.

Laya’s eyes darted to the palace grounds.

A passing guard could spy him in an instant and toss him into the hold.

“What are you waiting for?” she hissed.

“For you to make up your mind,” Luntok said, tilting his gaze to the cloudless sky above.

Much to Laya’s chagrin, he appeared blissfully unbothered by the threat of imprisonment.

“Make up my mind about what?” she demanded.

“About running away with me.” He turned to her with a cheeky grin.

Laya scowled and waved him off.

“Go on, then. Don’t you have swords to sharpen? Fish to catch?”

Luntok’s mouth twisted in annoyance.

He was among Maynara’s highest-born sons, and he hated nothing more than her gibes likening him to a common fisherman.

But as she pulled away, he grabbed her hand and held it to his lips.

“I’ll catch you a whale shark, Laya. How about that? Then I’ll string you a necklace out of its teeth, and we’ll carve our wedding bed from its bones.”

“Sharks don’t have bones,” Laya said.

Her fingers twitched in his hand, but she didn’t jerk them back.

He needed to leave now, before his promises left her breathless.

“An elephant, then. Or a wild boar.” Luntok looked up from her knuckles, hope glistening in his eyes.

Her heart broke then.

She couldn’t give him what he wanted.

She couldn’t ask him to stay.

“You really should leave. Someone will catch you,” she said, this time a touch less cruelly.

Luntok sighed once more.

He planted a last rueful kiss on the back of her hand before releasing her.

Wistfully, she stared as he swung one leg over the balustrade.

“I’ll come back,” he vowed, “whether or not you send for me.”

Too cheeky.

Laya frowned.

“You’ll come back when I send for you, and not a moment sooner,” she told him.

The fatigue swept through her once again, and his promises became too heavy.

Luntok chuckled in return as he heaved himself atop the balustrade.

In a flutter of scarlet, he disappeared over the side of the balcony.

Halfway down the wall, he fell, landing with a groan in the bushes beneath Laya’s window.

She bit back a laugh as he dusted himself off.

Luntok stopped once more to salute her, flashing her a final disarming grin.

Laya gazed at his back as he retreated into the gardens, through patterns of blossoms and fruit sprawling northward behind the palace.

From the gardens, he would head for the thick stone ramparts encircling the complex.

Then he’d slip beneath them through a long-forgotten drainage tunnel, which emptied into a narrow alleyway that oft evaded the Royal Maynaran Guard’s view.

No soul apart from the two of them knew of this tunnel.

Laya was the one who’d shown Luntok its entrance, a rusted grate scarcely visible beneath a thicket of tangled vines.

He must have taken it over a hundred times by now.

This was the only path to her he was allowed.

When I am queen, Laya thought sadly, all this will change.

The false hopes she fed Luntok were trite compared to the lies she told herself.

She remained on the balcony long after he left.

She stayed there until the sun disappeared and fat droplets splattered against her brow.

She looked up in alarm.

Rain clouds swirled above her head, casting shadows on the gardens below.

They descended upon the palace’s tiered roofs, thicker than mountain mist.

Laya had summoned them unintentionally.

She closed her eyes, then exhaled slowly through her nose.

The tension ebbed from her shoulders.

The clouds dispersed as the threads of power slithered from her grip.

A light breeze whooshed past her ear, tender as Luntok’s lips along the side of her neck.

When she opened her eyes, Luntok was still gone.

Sunlight shone brightly overhead, glaring off the golden finials lining the rooftops, blinding her.

Laya shouldn’t have fallen in love with Luntok Kulaw.

She had always known better.

“Fool,” she murmured, even though there was no one around to hear.