Page 22

Twenty-Two

Laya

Laya gazed at the opposite end of the table.

The sight of Luntok’s empty seat filled her with the same hollow feeling that struck her that very morning, when she’d seen the faint dent in the pillow where Luntok had rested his head.

The previous night, Laya had told him she loved him.

And when she’d woken, he was gone.

Luntok must have slipped out before dawn, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her.

She ought to have been pleased with his tactfulness.

Instead, she felt abandoned, as if a vital part of herself had been ripped away.

She wondered what was keeping him.

The midnight feast was the most important ceremony that week.

None of the datus, not even Luntok’s dreadful mother, would dare miss it.

Not unless?—

“Could you pass me that yam cake over there?” Eti whispered, jolting Laya from her thoughts.

Laya turned to her little sister, who was sitting on her right.

Sugar flakes and coconut sauce coated her fingers.

A precarious pile of desserts teetered atop the napkin in her lap.

“What in Mulayri’s name are you doing?” Laya asked.

“Ariel. He must want to try some of this,” Eti said.

When Laya didn’t budge, she reached across her and snatched a purple yam cake from one of the platters at the center of the table.

“You’re going to take dessert to him? Right now?” she said, incredulous.

Eti nodded.

She tossed the yam cake in with the rest of her desserts.

Carefully, she folded the napkin around the pile, tucking in the corners so none of the desserts would fall out.

Laya glanced at the back of the hall.

Her mother was standing by the throne with her father and Maiza.

They were whispering among themselves, likely discussing how to deal with Imeria’s absence, while the rest of the datus started to leave the table and make their way to the throne.

In a few minutes, the ceremony was supposed to begin.

Laya doubted it would start on time, as Imeria had yet to arrive.

“Fine,” Laya told Eti, nudging her toward the door.

“But you have to hurry.”

“I will,” Eti promised.

She grabbed the bundle of desserts and scampered out of the great hall.

With her light tread and small stature, hardly anyone noticed her leave.

The way Eti moved, she would make a formidable assassin, Laya mused, as she watched her disappear into the long shadows striping the room.

Long dinners made Eti restless, yes, but the true reason Laya let her go was because she thought Ariel was in desperate need of company.

It pained her to think of all the hours the Orfelian had spent shut away in the sad, dusty eastern wing.

She could no longer deny her growing fondness for him.

That afternoon, before getting ready for the midnight feast, Laya had sought him out.

The pattern was becoming too comfortable, slipping into the eastern wing, her entire body hollowed out with loneliness.

Initially, she went to Ariel to distract herself from Luntok’s abandonment.

She should have known the Orfelian would surprise her.

When she showed up in his study, he greeted her with a hesitant smile.

She insisted on another writing lesson, to which Ariel agreed.

He had little choice in the matter, but Laya had caught a glint of eagerness behind his spectacles when he saw her standing in his doorway.

Perhaps he was growing fond of her as well.

The lesson carried on with surprising ease, until Laya spilled ink across the table.

They both reached for the same crumpled piece of paper to mop up the mess.

Their fingers touched.

Foolishly, Laya met his gaze instead of pulling her hand away.

She was used to people staring, but Ariel was different.

Even behind those stupid spectacles, his eyes sent the familiar spark buzzing beneath her skin.

To stop the spark from spreading, she demanded, “Tell me the truth, Ariel. Why did my father invite you here? Or, better yet, what is your business with the queen?”

If Ariel was taken aback by Laya’s candor, he didn’t show it.

He merely shrugged and said, “My business is with you and your sisters, Dayang. If the queen wished for me to serve as anything other than a language tutor, I’m sure she would have told you. You are her heir, after all.”

Laya sputtered out a laugh.

“I may be Hara Duja’s heir, but she hasn’t spared me a word. Sometimes, I don’t think she even wants me to be queen.”

“Do you want to be queen?” Ariel asked.

She frowned at him.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I want to be queen.”

“I suppose ‘What kind of queen do you want to be?’ is the better question.” Ariel leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin as he pondered the question himself.

“I want to be the best queen Maynara has ever seen,” Laya replied.

It was the only honest answer she could give, but not even she could deny how childish it sounded coming out of her own mouth.

“Ah, but what does the best queen look like to you?” Ariel asked, eyeing her with curiosity.

Laya kept her mouth shut.

She didn’t know what the best queen looked like or the legacy she wanted to leave.

Maybe it was petty and shallow.

But Laya wanted it more than anything in the world?—to be a greater queen than her mother.

Greater than any Gatdula before her.

When she didn’t answer right away, Ariel went on.

“Perhaps Hara Duja sees this as a lack of intention, and that is why she might be so reticent,” he said, shocking Laya once again with his perceptiveness.

“But I imagine you’ll figure that out with time, Dayang. You are so young.”

He stared deeply at Laya’s face.

What he saw there seemed to distract him, because he kept staring, as if any rational counsel he wished to give her had disappeared from his head.

Laya stared back.

She couldn’t help herself.

The Orfelian brought up a good point.

Hours later, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

No one had ever challenged her like that before, questioning the kind of queen she wanted to be instead of telling her how to be one.

Ariel was the first to ask and the first to listen.

Not once did he presume to know her answers before she uttered them.

He showed her ways of contemplating Maynara?—and the rest of the world?—that Laya had never considered before.

Their conversations enthralled her.

Just thinking about their last writing lesson rattled her more than she wanted to admit.

For the first time, she didn’t care what had brought Ariel Sauros to Maynara.

Whatever his business, she hoped it would keep him in the palace a while longer.

Friendship was not the right word to describe the bond she sensed budding between them.

All she knew was that she liked him.

After the feast days ended and the capital quieted once more, she looked forward to having him around.

In the middle of the great hall, Laya continued to mull over Ariel’s question as she poured herself another glass of wine.

The alcohol would do little to cool the heat rising in her cheeks, but she needed something to do with her hands.

As she took a sip, her older sister leaned over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Bulan asked.

“We should join Mother. The ceremony is about to begin.”

She glared at her.

“I doubt that. We’re one datu short, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Bulan let out a sharp sigh.

They had yet to make amends after the tournament.

Although Laya was not yet ready to forgive her for what she’d done to Luntok, a day of distance had allowed her anger to ebb into dull annoyance.

“That woman truly has no shame,” Bulan said.

“I don’t suppose Luntok mentioned anything to you about being late.”

Laya scowled.

“I haven’t seen Luntok since you slashed open his back,” she lied.

Images flashed of the previous night.

His lips on her collarbone, her neck.

She had run her fingers over his skin, which was warm against hers and smooth as glass?—

Smooth.

His back had been smooth, no broken skin or scar tissue, as if Bulan’s blade hadn’t touched him at all.

She had been too swept away by his romantic pleas to notice.

Healers attended to his wounds after the tournament, but Laya had seen how much of his blood had splattered the platform.

Their ointments and enchantments would not have been potent enough to stitch him up overnight.

Bulan noticed the shift in her expression.

“Are you all right, Laya?” she asked.

“You look ill.”

Laya faltered.

“I’ve just remembered something,” she said.

The doors of the great hall swung open.

All heads turned to watch Imeria stride through the entrance in a billow of scarlet silk.

Luntok was close behind her.

He met Laya’s gaze for a brief second.

Her heart leaped, singing louder than the whisper of suspicion.

Someone very powerful had healed him after the tournament, but who?

“You’re late, Datu Kulaw,” Hara Duja called from the opposite end of the room.

She did not sound pleased.

“Apologies for missing the feast, Your Majesty.” She glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the arched doorframe.

With a faint click, the hands struck midnight.

“As you can see, I’ve arrived in time for the ceremony.”

The queen pursed her lips.

She didn’t seem to have the energy to berate Imeria any further.

“Very well,” she said and raised her arms, inviting the datus to join her around the throne.

Laya took that as her cue to stand beside her father on the dais.

Bulan followed her.

Their mother remained with Maiza in front of the throne.

A small table lay before them, atop which rested a golden wine goblet and a ceremonial dagger, its hilt made of an enameled buffalo horn.

The blade glinted dully in the faint sconce light of the throne room.

Some believed the blood of generations of datus past to be absorbed into the steel.

Laya didn’t place much stock in blood magic, but she appreciated the symbolism of the closing ceremony same as anyone else.

“Where’s your sister?” the king whispered as she climbed the dais to stand at his side.

“She must have been overwhelmed,” Laya said.

It was odd?—Eti should have been back by now.

But everyone knew she hated feasts, always calling them stuffy and pretentious .

Most likely she was hiding in some staircase after bringing the desserts to Ariel, tinkering with her precious metals.

The king frowned, which was rare of him.

“Look for her when this is over” was all he said.

The receiving room quieted as Maiza began to chant in Old Maynaran.

It was a haunting language, the whisper of gods.

As she chanted, the lights dimmed, bending themselves to her magic.

Only Hara Duja stood fully illuminated.

The rest of the room was basked in darkness.

The six datus formed a semicircle around her.

Like them, Laya watched in awe as her mother transformed.

Hara Duja cast an imperious gaze down at her subjects from where she perched on her obsidian throne.

She raised her chin, and shadows danced across the hollows of her cheeks.

Her eyes hardened to steel.

When her mother carried herself like this, she became the most magnificent creature Laya had ever seen.

And when she spoke, Hara Duja’s voice resounded over Maiza’s chants.

Laya had committed her speech to memory long before, because she knew she would give it one day as well: “My friends, I address you, not as your sovereign but as Duja Gatdula, daughter of Mulayri and defender of the Maynaran throne. Like the thousands of ancestors who sat on the throne before me, I have been granted the sacred role of steward. With my power and might, I have sworn to protect Maynara against those who might harm Her.

“As Maynara’s most loyal servants, you have pledged to act on my behalf and protect our people in the farthest reaches of the realm.

To mark the closing of this year’s feast days, I have summoned you before me to renew your vows.

All who accept my protection may humbly serve.

And all who serve must kneel.

”

Maiza stopped chanting to gather the goblet and dagger in her leathery hands.

Head bowed, she offered them to Hara Duja.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured.

The queen accepted the objects in preparation for the final act of the ceremony.

Her voice dropped to a bone-chilling whisper.

“Who among you is loyal? Who among you will serve?”

Datu Luma, the oldest and most faithful of the datus, stepped forward without hesitation.

“I will serve.” He took the dagger from Hara Duja and drew a thin, horizontal line across his wrist.

The blood beaded at the surface of his skin, and he let it drip into the empty goblet.

Datu Tanglaw stepped forward.

“I will serve,” he proclaimed, a touch too eagerly for Laya’s liking.

She had heard about his conspiracy to match her with Bato.

If he thought groveling would be enough to convince Hara Duja to agree to that marriage, he had a lot to learn.

With an added flourish, he whipped the knife over his wrist before spilling his blood into the goblet with Datu Luma’s.

Datu Gulod followed, his waxy face uncharacteristically sober as he made his own offering.

Then came Sandata.

And after Patid.

The only datu left was Kulaw.

Imeria didn’t waver when the goblet and dagger passed to her.

She stared at the objects for a long moment before casting her gaze at Hara Duja.

There was something different about her eyes?—a savage resolve that warned of danger.

Imeria did not bow her head in deference.

She did not pull back her pagoda sleeve to drag the dagger across the delicate skin of her wrist.

She merely stared, motionless, as the throne room fell into agitated silence.

“I said,” Hara Duja repeated, her voice cold and unbending, “who will serve?”

Imeria looked down at the goblet in her hands, then back at the queen.

Slowly, the corners of her lips twisted into a cruel grin.

“I’m sorry for this, Duja,” she said, and let the goblet slip from her hands.

It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

The rest of the guests gasped and scuttled back as noble blood spread across the pale tiles.

The ground began to shake.

The rivulets of blood trembled as they branched out across the tiles in spidery veins.

Hara Duja was livid.

“Imeria,” she barked, and took a threatening step toward her.

Imeria didn’t flinch.

Before anyone could move, the doors burst open.

Footsteps thundered over the tiles as over two dozen warriors stormed into the great hall.

They did not wear the golden armor of the royal guard.

Over their breastplate, they wore sashes of scarlet silk.

Kulaw warriors.

Laya’s mouth fell open.

It can’t be.

“No.” Next to the throne, Hara Duja gasped.

The ground beneath them lurched as she flung out her hands.

Laya stumbled, grasping Bulan’s arm for balance.

The tremors halted as quickly as they began.

When she looked up, Imeria had her hands pressed to the queen’s face.

Hara Duja stood frozen, her mouth open in a silent scream.

“Duja!” the king yelled.

He ran for her, halting midlunge.

An invisible force froze him in his tracks.

Panic jolted through Laya’s body.

She threw out her hand.

The air above the throne split into a powerful blast that threw Imeria from the queen.

“Mother!” Laya cried.

But Hara Duja didn’t budge.

She remained rooted where she stood, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Laya’s gut lurched when she noticed the whites of her eyes had disappeared, replaced by twin pools of black.

“She’s cursed,” she whispered in disbelief.

“Guards! Attack Imeria’s men!” Bulan bellowed over Laya’s shoulder.

Laya whipped around.

General Ojas had yet to return to the great hall.

A handful of his men were posted along the sides of the room.

They gazed blankly as the scene unfolded, unable to move.

They, too, were cursed.

She watched their still bodies, fear rising at the back of her throat.

No one was coming to rescue them.

Laya would have to fend off the intruders alone.

Her heart raced when she glanced back at the horde of warriors advancing into the hall, their scarlet sashes glittering like rubies in the sconce light.

The noble guests cried out in indignation, in horror, as they shrank away from the warriors’ menacing blades.

“Shame on you. Shame on all of you,” Datu Luma roared over the chaos.

Laya caught sight of his white hair in the throng.

He, along with several of the other noblemen, snatched the swords from the hands of the cursed guards.

They pushed their way in front of the panicked guests to meet the Kulaw forces.

The steel in their borrowed weapons gleamed orange beneath the great hall’s muted light.

Their ragged breaths broke the tense silence that swept across the room.

None of the cursed guardsmen ran to the nobles’ aid.

The Kulaw men outnumbered them, and they were closing in fast.

A towering figure emerged before the scarlet-sashed warriors.

Laya recognized his broad shoulders and boxy face from the tournament ring.

It was Vikal.

“I beg you, Datu Luma, not to act in haste,” he said, his deep voice reverberating across the room.

He slid his sword back into its sheath and held out his hand, as if calming a skittish buffalo.

“You need only listen. If everyone cooperates, there will be no bloodshed today.”

Laya’s blood ran cold.

She understood with a sickening pang what Imeria had brought these men there to do.

The rage surged through her veins, sharpening her focus.

Whatever power Imeria and her warriors wielded, Laya refused to hand the throne over to her.

“Get back,” she hissed at Bulan.

Bulan blinked, her cheeks gray in shock.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

Laya didn’t wait for her sister to regain her bearings.

She grabbed Bulan’s wrist and shoved her behind herself.

Without warning, she thrust her palms to the sky.

The air in the great hall grew frigid, freezing in Laya’s hold.

The threads of energy wound between her fingers.

With a desperate cry, she drew her hand downward in a clean slice.

The blast ripped from her grip, whistling over the terrified crowd and crashing through the windowpanes.

Screams echoed under the great hall’s soaring ceiling as glass shards rained on their heads.

Laya’s blast had knocked down most of the Kulaw warriors, as well as the midnight-feast guests.

They tumbled to the glass-strewn tiles, groaning.

Laya’s gaze shifted to the exit.

Her blast had cleared a path straight through the Kulaw warriors.

If they hurried, they could flee the palace.

To stay was suicide; they couldn’t fend off Imeria alone.

Out there, they’d find Ojas, or maybe rally their allies in the city.

She reached back and shook Bulan.

“Grab Mother and Father. We need to run.”

“No, Laya. You’re not going anywhere,” a cold voice cried.

Imeria planted herself in their path.

She stared at Laya, her jaw clenched in determination.

Laya’s previous blast had knocked her raptor headpiece askew.

A thin line of blood streamed down her cheek from where a glass shard had nicked her.

“You,” Laya hissed.

Her heart hammered in her chest when she met Imeria’s gaze.

She didn’t hesitate.

She raised her arm once more above her head, where the threads of energy swirled in wild, raging currents.

They shot down to her hands, wrapping around her fingers like knotted rope.

If she concentrated, she could summon a tornado that would fling Imeria Kulaw to some faraway ditch, where she and her infernal powers belonged.

Laya sucked in a breath, hatred sharpening her vision.

But as she started tugging at the threads, someone yanked her arm back.

Her concentration broke, along with her grasp on the air above.

“Get off!” she screamed, then fell silent when she saw who had grabbed her.

Pain contorted Luntok’s face, his smooth, handsome face, which, less than a day before, had shone with nothing but love for her.

The Luntok that stood before her was a stranger.

She felt no tenderness in his embrace.

The hands restraining her were rough.

His eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

A sour chill oozed down her spine when she realized what those tears meant.

That Laya had been a fool.

She’d believed him.

She’d given her heart to him.

And now?—

Luntok had betrayed her.

“It’s over,” he said, his voice hard.

“Let me go.” She thrashed in his grip, but he held fast.

“Laya, it’s over.” He was stronger than she knew him to be?—inhumanly strong.

Even with the blood of Mulayri that ran through her veins, she could not fight him.

“No.” Furious tears ran down her cheeks.

Pangs of pain and helplessness wracked her body.

She raged and spat, tried to claw at his cheeks.

“How could you,” she sobbed.

“I hate you. I hate you. I?—”

“Luntok, let me,” Imeria said.

Laya jerked back, but she was too slow.

Imeria flattened her hand against Laya’s forehead.

Laya met Luntok’s gaze a final time.

He was crying.

He was remorseful.

She didn’t care.

I’ll kill you, she thought.

I’ll blast you over the edge of the terrace.

I’ll?—

She blinked.

Someone had cast a veil over her eyes.

The chaos of the throne room disappeared in an instant.

Ahead, she saw a black, starless sky that stretched for an eternity.

The shouting in the background dimmed.

She could hear nothing but her own ragged breathing before that, too, faded to silence.

Calm, said a gentle, honey-coated voice that did not belong to her.

Laya refused to be calm.

But the blackness in front of her eyes called to her, as tiredness settled into her bones.

She did not want to be calm, but she did not want to fight either.

Come, cooed the voice, as the blackness opened its arms.

The velvety fibers of a worn blanket.

The warm embrace of an old friend.

Yes, Laya thought.

She wanted to sleep.

To rest.

I will come.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her knees buckled.

Her muscles sighed in relief.

At last, Laya pitched herself forward into the void.

Deep, deep into the night she sank.

Her fall was welcome and sweet, and the void lovingly claimed her.