Page 27

Twenty-Seven

Eti

Mariit was even larger than Eti had realized.

Parts of the capital she knew as well as the inside of the palace: the goldsmiths’ guildhall, where Eti would sometimes study the young, deft-fingered apprentices for inspiration; the towering stone town houses of the central district, where noble Maynaran families held tiny courts of their own; and the ring of spirit houses encircling the giant balete tree at the heart of the city.

Still, Mariit sprawled across dozens of neighborhoods where the royal family never deigned to venture.

The boardinghouse where Eti and Ariel sought refuge was in one of the dockside districts on the outer fringes of Mariit.

General Ojas’s men would never have allowed Eti to go there, but Ariel reasoned it was their safest bet.

The Royal Maynaran Guard started patrolling the palace and the busy center of Mariit?—the deepest pockets of unrest.

They would be too thinly spread to keep a watchful eye all the way out there.

From what little of the dockside neighborhood Eti had seen, it wasn’t dangerous.

No one bothered them the few times she and Ariel dared go outside in their new unsuspicious clothes.

During normal circumstances, the people there mainly kept to themselves, toiling for hours on the docks beneath the hot Maynaran sun before trudging home to their families at dusk.

But the Kulaws’ coup had shaken the outlying districts.

Fear hung heavy in the air, pungent as the scent of sea salt and fresh-caught fish.

Eti saw it stark on each face she passed.

Since the coup, the bustling docks had ground to a halt.

For two days, ships had waited in the harbor to be unloaded.

No one was working; they were waiting for the fate of Maynara to be decided.

The brothel owner next door, a well-coiffed woman with a daggerlike gaze and painted lips, came over during breakfast to trade gossip with the boardinghouse keeper.

In the middle of the night, a client had shown up to the brothel with a bloodied nose and news that a riot had broken out in front of the palace gates.

Scores of the Gatdulas’ loyal subjects tried to overtake the guards.

They might have succeeded had Imeria Kulaw not felled them with her abilities.

According to the brothel’s client, Imeria merely raised her hand, and the rioters froze, black-eyed, where they stood.

The guardsmen rounded them up and threw them in the prison hold.

The riot died in minutes.

The news made Eti’s stomach churn in apprehension.

“Imeria Kulaw could reach into the minds of that many people?” she asked in quiet terror.

Ariel gave a glum nod, but he said something that made a small bubble of hope rise in Eti’s gut.

“Perhaps she can. But how many people can she stuff inside your family’s prison cells?”

That same morning, Ariel and Eti spoke briefly with the two boarders who were renting the room across the hall.

The boarders were a young married couple, both around Ariel’s age.

The husband was a tall, broad-shouldered man who spent most of his time heaving crates and barrels off cargo ships.

His wife was small in stature, a mere inch taller than Eti, with a round, pregnant belly.

Ariel introduced himself to them as Eti’s brother, a fact neither of the boarders questioned despite the obvious lack of resemblance.

Unlike the nobles prowling about court, the people here respected secrecy.

They rarely questioned anything in these parts, Eti learned.

During their brief conversation, the husband pried once out of concern.

He leaned in and clasped Ariel by the shoulder.

“Listen, brother. Do you have family outside Mariit? I’m only asking because I have a friend who’s sailing out of the city tonight. There’s room on the boat if you wish to join us.” He cast a worried glance at Eti and added, “The tides here will turn fast. And we both have children to think about.”

“You can come stay with us,” his wife said when she saw Ariel hesitate.

“My grandmother lives in the south. She’ll take you in should this matter up in the palace sour. And, knowing the Gatdulas, they will.”

“The Gatdulas?” Eti echoed.

She had never heard her family’s name uttered that way?—like some common, dirty word.

The wife nodded grimly.

“Of course, you’re too young to know about the rebellion, aren’t you? My grandfather fought for the Kulaws before he surrendered. Nevertheless, the Gatdulas killed him. Burned him alive as he begged. Why, they even?—” She broke off with a shudder.

Her round eyes were glassy when she met Eti’s gaze.

“Forgive me, child, you don’t want to hear this. But believe me when I say that if they survive, the Gatdulas will show no mercy. Best go to a place where we know we are safe.”

An unpleasant tingle trickled down Eti’s spine.

She was half listening as Ariel politely declined the boarders’ invitation.

Whatever excuse he gave, they seemed to believe him.

“May the gods look kindly upon you, brother,” the husband said.

“We’re leaving here at dusk, in case you change your mind.” He gave Ariel a last pointed look.

Gently, he slung his arm around his wife’s waist and helped her back upstairs to their room.

For a long moment after they left, Eti didn’t budge.

She didn’t realize she was trembling until Ariel laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Come along,” he whispered.

“Let’s see if we can find more of those sweet rolls.”

She nodded, keeping her mouth shut as Ariel led her outside.

The sun was too bright.

The main street around the corner from the boardinghouse was too chaotic.

People were rushing back and forth, toting carts piled high with jugs of oil and sacks of rice?—reserves should supplies run low.

Fearful chatter from every corner, everyone whispering of the Kulaws, of civil war.

Eti tried to stamp out the noise, but the voices echoed louder in her head.

No matter how much she blinked, she couldn’t force her vision to focus.

Instinctively, she grappled at her wrist for one of her bangles.

Then Eti remembered they’d peddled most of them, which had given them more than enough money to survive over the next couple of weeks.

The rest of her jewelry they’d stashed beneath the floorboards in the boardinghouse alongside Ariel’s precioso.

Her fingers itched for a tiny scrap of gold to wield, but she couldn’t risk it.

The city was on high alert.

The slightest wielding would reveal Eti for the Gatdula she was.

Without her wielding to center her, panic swelled inside Eti’s chest.

Crowds overwhelmed her often?—during her mother’s dinner parties and royal ceremonies and, of course, the feasts.

In the palace, she knew where to hide.

Behind the mahogany bookshelves in her father’s library.

Inside the half-forgotten stairwells where not even scullery maids bothered to go.

Eti couldn’t escape to her favorite shelters.

Not as long as she was stuck here.

She let out a whimper of frustration.

A second later, Ariel thrust something soft and toasty into her hands.

“Eat,” he said.

“It will help you feel better.”

Eti looked down.

Sure enough, Ariel had found her a sweet roll.

Shakily, she took a bite.

The bread was light and airy on her tongue.

She discovered with delight that Ariel had found one with sticky coconut filling.

“You were right, Ariel,” she said, licking the coconut flakes off her fingers.

Food didn’t quite curb the panic cresting up and up inside her, but it helped.

They were standing next to the long, narrow canal that cut through the outlying districts.

Her gaze traced the water down to where the canal began, at the massive stone walls shielding the city.

She often looked down at those walls from the palace terraces.

How mighty they loomed from afar!

But up close, Eti could spy cracks branching up from the walls’ foundations.

They cut so deep into the stone in some parts that it wouldn’t take more than one of Laya’s half-hearted gusts to knock them down.

Doubt swirled in Eti’s stomach.

The palace walls couldn’t keep the Kulaws from invading the palace.

Nor would the city walls keep any foreign invaders at bay.

Her family was their biggest protection, but some Maynarans didn’t see it that way.

Perhaps it was true what so many members of the court assumed of her: Eti was nothing more than a daft, useless child who allowed the world to fill her head with lies.

“You read the books on Maynaran history I gave you,” she said.

“Do you think it’s true? What that woman said at the boardinghouse?”

“You mean about your family?” Ariel asked.

Eti chewed her bottom lip and nodded.

Never had she thought of her forebears as anything more than ancestral spirits.

Born to be respected.

To be revered.

Eti had heard no reverence in the woman’s voice as she told them what the Gatdulas had done to her grandfather.

Even if it wasn’t true, Eti had heard a tremor of fear in the woman’s voice.

A hatred that ran old and deep.

Those convictions did not manifest the moment Imeria Kulaw stormed the palace.

They had been born in a dark place where no Gatdula went.

Ariel gave her a long, weighty look before opening his mouth to reply.

“I am not Maynaran, so I can’t say much about your history,” he said.

“As for legacies, they’re not a footprint you press into the face of the world. Rather, they are layered, like tangled webs?—as complex as the creatures who weave them.”

He clasped her shoulder, a brotherly gesture that chased away Eti’s fears for a fleeting moment.

They followed the canal back to the boardinghouse.

The panic thrumming through the air dulled as midmorning faded to noon.

Not as many people were rushing through the streets, their arms laden with whatever supplies they could scavenge.

Smells wafted down from the rows of open windows overlooking the water: garlic crisping in the pan, meat simmering in thick, salty stew.

People were pausing their frenzied preparations to eat lunch with their families.

The ritual was familiar to Eti, and it made her shoulders relax to see it.

Some things were sacred even on the brink of ruin.

Peace after the quelled riot lasted less than a day.

Eti and Ariel had spent those scarce, fragile hours trying to cobble together a plan.

They were sitting on the floor of their room, their heads pressed close together so they could hear each other’s whispered ideas.

The walls of the boardinghouse were thin, so they had to keep their voices low.

“If we could only get inside the palace, I could free them from the prison hold,” Eti lamented for the hundredth time.

Based on the information they’d overheard in the streets, the royal guard had doubled down on their patrols after the riots.

They intended to hold the palace at all costs, as if it were a prized fortress.

“The Kulaws got into the palace somehow. They took advantage of the feast that night. Now, with violence spreading across the city, their defenses are weakening. If we bide our time, they’ll give us an opening?—a distraction,” Ariel said, his spectacles sliding down his nose.

He wore them only in private these days.

With their western design, they were too distinguishable.

Eti pulled her legs up to her chest.

She rested her chin between her knees as she pondered a reply.

Ariel traced the patterns on the warped floorboards between them, humming to himself as he thought.

They had just fallen into a comfortable silence when three sharp raps at their door jolted them alert.

Ariel jumped up to open it, tearing off his spectacles.

The boardinghouse keeper was standing on the threshold, a basket in her arms piled high with mangoes and leafy vegetables from her trip to the market canal.

Her eyes were wide and fearful as she stepped into their room without invitation.

Swiftly, she shut the door behind her.

“You both need to leave,” she said in an urgent whisper.

“Now.”

Ariel tried to feign confusion.

“I don’t understand. Is there an issue with our rent?”

The old woman shook her head curtly.

Wisps of gray hair tumbled over her face.

“I passed guardsmen, dozens of them, on my way back. They’re coming down the main street, combing through every building. They were looking for a man?—an alchemist, they said, or some kind of foreigner. And a young girl?—small with long, black hair?—just like you, my dear.”

A chill ran down Eti’s spine.

The boardinghouse keeper’s warning spurred her to action.

“We need to go,” she agreed, meeting Ariel’s gaze.

He gave her a terse nod, and they rushed to pack their things.

The boardinghouse keeper didn’t say a word as Ariel lifted the floorboards next to his bed.

He scooped out the precioso and what remained of Eti’s jewelry.

A shadow of recognition flickered in the woman’s expression.

Her eyes shifted back to Eti as if she were seeing her in a new light.

Once Ariel had gathered the few precious belongings they had in a small sack, he slung it over his shoulder.

No time to waste?—they piled out into the hall.

“Keep to the alleys. They’ll find you too easily in these parts. Your best bet is to hide in plain sight,” the boardinghouse keeper said as she rushed them down the stairs.

She took them to the back door near her kitchen, where the guardsmen wouldn’t see them leave.

“Thank you,” Eti said, breathless, her voice ringing out, tinny and insignificant.

Those two words were too small to contain her gratitude.

“It is my duty.” The boardinghouse keeper’s expression changed as she took Eti’s hand.

Instead of shaking it, she bowed low and pressed it to her forehead, a sign of respect for a much older woman.

“I pray for your family, Dayang. May the gods keep you safe,” she said in a hushed voice.

Then she opened the door and hurried them into the alleyway.

“I can hear them coming. You must go.”

They fled from the outlying districts.

The streets in this part of Mariit were no longer strange to her.

The renewed sense of urgency sharpened her senses.

She kept pace with Ariel the best she could, the sandals she’d bought at the market slapping against the uneven cobblestones.

They rushed past shaded alleys and winding canals.

They didn’t let up until they reached the heart of the city.

Eti realized she recognized the quiet street they were walking down.

They were edging dangerously close to the places in Mariit she knew well.

If they crossed the nearest canal and continued a few paces north, they’d find themselves in front of the goldsmiths’ guildhall, where she’d spent many an afternoon.

They ought to take extra heed there.

Eti opened her mouth to whisper a warning to Ariel when he grabbed her arm and whisked her behind an unattended set of crates.

They were stacked up into a teetering pile across the street from what looked like a respectable inn.

It was one of the better-maintained buildings in Mariit, with clean windows and an ornate giltwood door swinging on its hinges.

As they stalled outside, Ariel fumbled in his pockets for matches and a pipe, another trinket the previous boarder had left behind.

He needed an excuse for stopping so suddenly.

Eti understood the moment she heard heavy boots marching down the street.

She kept her head down as Ariel struck a match against the sole of his shoe.

With trembling fingers, he lowered the flame to the cracked pipe bowl.

Eti watched in silence, her blood pounding a desperate rhythm in her ears.

They’d miscalculated the Kulaws’ resources.

Imeria had sent her guardsmen after Eti, and no district was safe; the Kulaws wouldn’t leave a single stone in Mariit unturned.

Eti didn’t budge as the guardsmen swept into the inn.

She barely glimpsed them from where she stood, hunched behind the crates, which concealed her from their view.

Judging by their footsteps, there were no more than three of them.

Eti tried to picture what they looked like, young men as broad as Ojas, with red traitors’ silk draped over the brass clasps of their armor, their blades glinting menacingly beneath the afternoon sun.

At her side, Ariel took a nervous drag from his pipe.

The burning scent of cloves made Eti think with another longing pang of her father.

The memory of the king’s gentle, knowing voice calmed her enough to hold still for several agonizing minutes.

Then the guardsmen emerged from the inn, grumbling over their unending lack of success.

They didn’t stop to question Ariel.

From their vantage point, they couldn’t see Eti.

The gods must have blessed her, because the guards hurried on.

Their footsteps grew quieter as they charged farther down the street, venturing deeper into the merchant district.

When they at last disappeared from view, Eti let out a sigh of relief.

Ariel wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled the pipe stem from his lips.

They debated where to go next.

Eti was half-tempted to go inside the inn the guards had just deserted?—anything to get off the street.

Then she noticed the scrap of scarlet fabric nailed above the entryway like a banner.

Eti swallowed hard when she recognized the inn, a favorite meeting point for southerners who kept to their own even after they moved to Mariit.

Bulan had pointed it out to her months earlier in passing, a place where the fiercest Kulaw warriors exchanged battle tactics and drank themselves stupid.

Whether or not there were Kulaw warriors lurking inside, Eti knew they wouldn’t be safe there.

Somberly, she nodded toward the banner.

Ariel grimaced in response.

In silence, they agreed to move forward.

They kept walking in the guardsmen’s wake until they reached another inn a few streets away.

Above its gilt-edged window, the owner had pinned a long strip of green.

Once Eti started looking for signs of loyalty, she could find them everywhere?—dozens of little green banners waving in silent allegiance to Eti’s family.

In that neighborhood, at least, they outnumbered the few scarlet banners they’d passed.

It was the closest thing to refuge Eti had seen in days.

When they rushed inside the green-bannered building, the innkeeper raised an eyebrow at Ariel’s accent and Eti’s disheveled appearance.

If he guessed their true identities, he said nothing.

Eti prayed the innkeeper’s loyalties were sure, and that he’d keep his silence for one more day.

Ariel warned they shouldn’t stay in one place too long.

They’d be gone the next morning without a trace.

Ariel got them a room for the night; it was twice the size of the room in the boardinghouse and at least three times the price.

Above the bed hung a relief carving of a crocodile, a date etched beneath its curved, spiny tail.

Eti recognized it as the day of her mother’s coronation.

She allowed herself a relaxed sigh.

If such an artwork hung in every room, it meant the innkeeper revered the Gatdulas the same he would any deity.

They’d be safe there for the time being.

It wasn’t home, but the sheets were clean, and the pillows were almost as soft as the ones that lined Eti’s bed at the palace.

If she stretched out across the mattress, she might sleep for a week.

But she knew better than to get comfortable.

“We can’t go on like this much longer,” Ariel said as he sat down at the foot of his bed, sighing.

Eti nodded.

He was right.

Soon, they’d run out of places to hide.

She thought about what the boardinghouse keeper told them.

Her eyes fell on the sack of gold and precioso lying at Ariel’s right.

“Do you have a knife in there? Or anything sharp?” she asked.

Ariel gave her a quizzical look.

“No. Why?”

She chewed her lip as silly tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

She knew it was frivolous and vain, and that the price she was about to pay counted little in terms of personal sacrifice.

“For my hair,” she croaked out and met Ariel’s gaze.

“The Kulaws won’t find us. Not as long as they’re looking for a little girl.”

Recognition dawned on Ariel’s face.

He stood and rummaged about the room for something to cut with.

Chopping off her hair wouldn’t conceal Eti’s identity forever, but it would buy them some time.

The Kulaws were still looking for the youngest Gatdula princess?—a guileless, airheaded girl, unaccustomed to life without luxury.

If she disguised herself as a boy, she could heed the boardinghouse keeper’s advice and hide in plain sight.

A small writing desk stood in the corner by the window.

In the drawer, they found a letter opener with a slender white-shell handle.

The blade was small, but it looked like it had been sharpened recently.

It wouldn’t stab through an enemy warrior’s flesh, but it was sharp enough to slice through Eti’s long, dark strands.

Swallowing hard, Eti took a seat at the writing desk.

She didn’t look at Ariel as she thrust the letter opener into his hands.

For a mournful second, she ran her fingers through her hair.

It would grow back, she reminded herself.

Hair meant nothing to her?—not if Eti evaded the Kulaws long enough to rescue her family.

Roughly, she brushed her hair over her shoulders so it hung straight down her back where she couldn’t see it.

“Cut it,” she told Ariel in the crisp, blunt tone she’d learned from Laya.

“Now, Ariel, before I change my mind.”

To Eti’s surprise, she rather liked how the cool night air felt against her nape when she and Ariel stepped back outside.

The man’s shirt Ariel had found for her fit comfortably over her slight frame, a welcome change to the fine silk dresses she’d worn over the feast days.

Dusk had fallen over the city, and the area around the inn was too quiet.

If they wanted to learn anything about the Kulaws’ plans, they needed to roam the crowded quarters of Mariit.

They ventured deeper into Mariit than Eti would have dared when she looked like a princess.

Garbed as a humble serving boy, she faded into the throng.

No one spared her a second glance.

She and Ariel walked a few blocks north, rounding the corner onto the busy street leading to the heart of the city.

It was easy to follow the noise.

Distant shouts and jeering drew them all the way to the base of the sword-fighting tournament platform.

The feast-day festivities were long over, but a crowd had gathered.

Two people stood at the crowd’s center?—a man and a woman?—arguing at the top of their lungs.

The woman appeared around the queen’s age, with eyes that burned with anger and a simple green sash draped over her right shoulder.

The sash shone in the light of torches above their heads in stark contrast to the stripe of scarlet hanging from the man’s heaving chest.

Eti scanned the crowd, picking out scraps of green and scarlet all around her.

From where she stood, almost a head below everyone else, it was impossible to determine which color outnumbered the other.

“The gods blessed Maynara with the Gatdulas. When the westerners came, they fought and bled and died for us. They’re the one thing standing between us and annihilation,” the woman cried, stabbing a disparaging finger in the man’s direction.

Her voice rang loud and clear over the tournament pit.

“You, sir, forget who really protects this kingdom. You forget where true loyalty lies.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd, quieting a second later when the man roared, “Loyalty? And whom do you think the Gatdulas serve? Not the servants who scrub their tiles, I’d wager. Nor the men who build their ships. No, the Gatdulas care only for those who can fill their strongboxes with gold. Generations of waste and negligence?—and so it will continue, as long as cowards like you beg for scraps at their feet like starving pups.”

Eti stiffened at the man’s harsh words, and Ariel laid a hand on her shoulder.

Tension cut through the pit.

The other half of the crowd yelled in the man’s favor.

But the woman did not back away.

She took a threatening step toward the man.

She was taller than him, and she looked down at him with an unwavering glare.

At Eti’s side, Ariel leaned over her shoulder.

He whispered, “I don’t like the sound of this. We should?—”

The woman let out a sharp laugh, drowning out the rest of Ariel’s warning.

“And what did the Kulaws do to deserve your loyalty? Half their rulers, cruel puppet masters, eager to enslave any subject who dared defy them. The other half, greedy beast-kings, who didn’t hesitate to pick this very island to the bone. If it is their mercy you seek, brother, I pity you. For that is the true mark of cowardice.”

A deafening crack split the air as the man struck her smartly across the face.

At once, the spectators surged forward in outrage.

Several lunged to hold back the man from striking her again.

Others tried to appease the woman to no avail.

She leaped from their arms and clawed at the man’s cheeks.

Dozens of smaller brawls broke out between Kulaw and Gatdula supporters throughout the crowd.

People banged into Eti as they rushed back and forth across the pit.

She let out a cry as someone jammed into her left side.

She might have fallen had Ariel not hoisted her to her feet.

Arm in arm, they fought through the sea of flailing limbs.

Eti struggled to push through, but she was too small.

Cursing in Orfelian under his breath, Ariel half carried, half dragged her to the edge of the crowd.

“We need to leave!” he shouted over the rising noise.

Unsteadily, Eti nodded.

She grabbed his hand and made to follow him.

Then a booming voice echoed across the tournament pit, freezing everyone where they stood.

“Enough!”

An imposing man in heavy armor was standing atop the platform.

Eti recognized him, the warrior Vikal, head of Imeria Kulaw’s private guard.

At his orders, royal guardsmen swarmed into the pit below.

They pried apart the brawlers.

Those who refused to stop fighting, even those with scarlet fabric pinned to their clothing, were taken away in chains.

“Rioting in this city will not be tolerated,” Vikal declared as the guardsmen subdued the crowd in the pit.

“This will be your final warning. Anyone caught fighting will face imprisonment, with bail of up to one hundred gold pieces.”

A chorus of agitated grumbles rippled across the tournament pit.

“Yeah? Under whose orders?” one spectator yelled.

Eti searched the crowd.

It was the woman in the green sash who spoke out, a thin line of blood trailing from her swollen lips.

Her remark sent a defiant spark through the crowd.

Shouts of indignation exploded from the pit.

They cursed Vikal, pointed fingers at him, and called him a traitor.

The guardsmen couldn’t subdue them all.

Another riot would break out any minute.

Ariel tugged at Eti’s hand, desperate to slip away, when another figure joined Vikal on top of the tournament platform.

“Under my orders,” barked a crisp, familiar voice that fused Eti’s feet to the ground.

She stared at the newcomer, half-concealed by the torchlight’s wavering shadow.

Eti’s gut churned in protest.

She didn’t want to admit that she recognized the outline of the woman towering above them on the platform.

But everything, from her brisk gait to her slender stature, was undeniable.

Laya came to stand at the edge of the tournament platform, sending a shocked hush through the throng of rioters.

She already looked like a queen, with blinding rings of gold hanging from her head and neck.

It looked as though she’d descended upon them from the heavens.

A force equal parts divine and terrible.

Hara Duja’s heir wore not Gatdula green, but the scarlet silk of her captors.

Laya held her head high.

But the torchlight caught on the angry tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyelids.

Tight brass shackles encircled her wrists.

Eti’s mouth dropped open at the sight of them.

If she could only get close to Laya?—get one finger against the brass?—then she could snap the shackles in two.

But the crowd separated the Gatdulas like a yawning cavern.

Laya was too far.

Instinct told Eti to lie low.

To reveal herself now would be too risky.

Silent rage built at the base of Eti’s throat.

She started to tremble, helpless and indignant.

Was she truly meant to do nothing while the Kulaws paraded her sister about Mariit as if she were their puppet, chaining her up like a lowly prisoner?

“If you will not listen to my guardsmen, listen to me, your future sovereign. The violence must cease. Remember that it is a crime to lay a hand upon your brother. And we are all brothers and sisters here.” Laya’s voice shook as she addressed the crowd.

Not once did their attention waver.

They stared at her in tense silence.

She went on, more forcefully than before.

“You fight over divided loyalties, when your allegiances are one and the same. When I take my place on the throne, I will not be alone. Luntok Kulaw, heir to the kingdom of Thu-ki, will rule at my side.”

At Laya’s announcement, cries of outrage and confusion rang out across the pit.

She raised her bound hands.

Nothing she said would calm them.

If Eti hadn’t been so transfixed by her sister’s reappearance, she might have missed the rest of Laya’s message.

“Our reign will bring peace and prosperity to the realm,” the future queen declared with crushing finality.

Her words carried over the mounting turmoil.

“It will begin with our marriage in three days’ time.”

Bleak understanding shivered down Eti’s spine.

The Kulaws were forcing Laya to marry Luntok, their family’s sworn enemy.

And they claimed it was in the name of peace.

Wait!

Eti wanted to cry out as Vikal took Laya’s arm and led her down from the platform.

Her sister hadn’t caught sight of her in the crowd.

Even if she had recognized Eti, with her baggy clothes and black hair snipped short, what good would that do?

Laya couldn’t save anyone while they towed her away in shackles.

Already she was on her way back to the palace that had turned into a prison.

Already she was leaving Eti behind.

In Laya’s wake, the brawl threatened to start anew.

If the Kulaws thought sending Laya out would appease the capital dwellers, they were wrong.

Ariel clasped Eti by the shoulder.

“Now we really have to go,” he insisted.

Eti didn’t budge.

She stared at the edge of the tournament platform, where Laya had stood mere seconds before.

She had blown back into Eti’s life so quickly, only for the Kulaws to whisk her once again out of reach.

Anger pulsed around them, threatening to sweep them off like a tidal wave.

The mob had grown in number, their energy rivaling Laya’s fiercest storms.

A small voice chimed in Eti’s head, ringing above the noise.

It dimmed the pandemonium that raged around her.

It whispered an answer that tied her safely to the ground.

Let the tide come for her.

This time, she would not be swept away.

Unknowingly, Laya had given Eti the key to their rescue.

Her announcement left no room for ambiguity; she was marrying Luntok.

In three days’ time.

“Eti,” Ariel whispered, pleadingly.

“We have to go. Please.”

She shook her head as a plan took form in her mind.

She knew how royal wedding ceremonies worked.

Wedding ceremonies were ten times more demanding than the feast days.

Wedding ceremonies required an army of servants and shamans and seamstresses.

Wedding ceremonies spelled a certain amount of chaos, even when the palace had months to plan them.

This was the distraction they needed.

Eti’s revelation hit her with a shock that nearly sent her tumbling down again.

She stared at Ariel with a feverish gaze.

“I know,” she whispered, her thoughts moving too fast to wrangle into words.

“I know how we’re going to save them.”