Page 32

Thirty-Two

Imeria

No.

Imeria watched, open-mouthed in horror, as her son flew over the edge of the cliffs.

She had watched Luntok fall countless times before: sparring with Vikal at sunrise, barreling down the streets of Mariit to answer Laya’s beckoning.

He stumbled often, but never without grace, and always?— always ?—within Imeria’s reach.

Her breath caught in her throat.

I can reach him.

I can save him.

In the split second before he fell, she lunged for him.

But Imeria was too slow, too feeble.

By the time she blinked, Luntok was already an ocean away.

“My lady.” She heard it as a low, distant whisper.

“My lady, please!”

Dimly, she became aware of a pair of strong arms holding her up.

Holding her together.

Vikal pressed her face to his chest, shocked tears spilling down his blood-splattered armor.

He held Imeria no longer than a heartbeat before he took her hand and started pulling her away.

“We must leave now,” he said, choking back a sob.

“And Luntok?—gods help us. If we wait any longer, they won’t let us get away.”

Panic gripped the base of her throat.

She jerked her arm back.

“No,” she said.

“We’re not going anywhere.” Her stomach twisted in grief.

Not without him.

Datu Gulod darted toward them from the other side of the cliffs.

He was ashen-faced, his waxy features stretched wide in terror.

“Are you insane?” he hissed at Imeria.

“What are you waiting for? Run. ”

She cast her gaze at the flattened grass where her son had been lying mere moments earlier.

Laya was kneeling at the cliff’s edge.

The last orange tones of twilight glinted dimly off the golden plates radiating from her temples, her head bowed as if in prayer.

Her right arm hovered above her head, cupping the air she’d used to strike Luntok.

Her fingers trembled.

The rest of her remained hauntingly still.

Monster, Imeria thought, clenching her hands into fists.

“No,” she said again, as white-hot rage flooded her veins.

Not before I kill this bitch.

She thought only of Luntok’s face as she barreled toward the edge of the cliffs.

“My lady!” Vikal yelled, his desperate cry piercing the shocked silence.

Metal flashed at the corners of Imeria’s vision.

She glimpsed green sashes, stained scarlet at the hems?—the threat of Gatdula warriors closing in.

She paid them no heed.

She charged forward, thrusting her hand out in Laya’s direction.

I will make her hurt.

I will make her pay?—

“No!” A broken voice rang out.

A muddy chunk of earth jutted out of the ground.

Her foot caught on its ragged edge.

She slammed into the grass with a scream.

When she looked up, the queen was hovering over her.

Bright-red blood coated Duja’s fingers, her arms, the torn silk of her dress.

Salty tears dripped down her jaw, squared in sorrow, in rage.

She stared down at Imeria, her tight lips trembling.

“Duja?—” Imeria gasped.

Duja’s fists closed around the collar of Imeria’s dress.

She had become monstrous in grief.

Her hands did not shake when she wrenched Imeria to her feet.

“Touch my daughter and I’ll kill you,” she said, her voice lowering to a growl.

“I’ll kill you like your people killed him.”

Imeria glanced over Duja’s shoulder, where the king lay in a patch of bloodied grass, lifeless.

Her vision clouded with shame and anger and pain.

He was gone.

They were both gone.

An excruciating pang wound through her when she thought of her son?—her beautiful, broken boy?—waiting for her at the base of the Black Salt Cliffs.

My son, my son ?—she couldn’t bear it.

One strike by Duja’s hand would end it.

And for the first time in her life, Imeria craved Gatdula clemency more than anything.

“Go on,” she said, staring Duja in the eye.

“Kill me, then.”

Doubt flickered in the queen’s gaze.

For a moment, Imeria saw the young girl she’d once been?—afraid of her brother’s shadow and paralyzed by second guesses.

The mirage faded as quickly as it appeared.

Duja’s face hardened into a mask of steel.

“No,” she said again, and pointed to her fallen husband.

“Not before you heal him.”

Imeria froze.

She looked beyond Duja’s shoulder at the crowd of people clustered around Hari Aki’s body, their heads bowed, their clothes soiled by royal blood.

The old hag Maiza had already stepped away, muttering ancient prayers under her breath.

Bulan was kneeling beside the king’s chest, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs.

General Ojas stood straight-backed at her shoulder.

He was watching Imeria with cold eyes, his weapon drawn.

The king was dead.

Imeria could do nothing to change that.

She looked back at the queen.

In spite of Imeria’s bitterness, in spite of the pain that threatened to cleave her in half, she ached for Duja.

Look at what we’ve lost.

“I-I can’t, Duja.” Imeria’s voice cracked.

“I can’t bring back the dead.”

“You don’t know that.” This time, it was Laya who spoke.

She came to stand at her mother’s side, her bright eyes oddly blank, as if she were caught in a trance.

Laya.

Imeria’s fingers twitched.

If she tried, she could sink her claws into Laya’s mind and make her throw herself off the cliffs.

Duja must have seen the vengeful gleam in Imeria’s eye, because she stepped protectively in front of her daughter, her hands clenched into fists.

All three women stumbled as the cliff face gave a menacing lurch.

But Imeria didn’t strike Laya.

The princess was heartless and vile, but her words made her take pause.

Laya was right; Imeria didn’t know if she could bring back the dead because she had never tried.

At this realization, a faint glimmer of hope burst in her chest.

“Luntok,” Imeria said, her voice hoarse.

Duja frowned.

“Luntok is?—”

“Dead.” She nodded, her mind spinning, and met Duja’s gaze once more.

“ Please. Let me save him. Give me this, Duja, and I’ll save your king.”

For all anyone knew, it was a hollow promise, but Duja hesitated.

“If I allow this, you will begin by saving Aki,” she said, choosing her words with care.

“And if this works, you will not linger. You will take your men and get out of Maynara. I never want to see you here again.”

“And if I fail?”

Duja cut her a sharp look.

“You will pay for your treason. With your lives.”

In her grief, Imeria still found it in her to let out a dry laugh.

“This is the choice you give me?—execution or exile?”

“Only if you save my husband’s life.”

Imeria fell silent as she weighed her bargain.

These were the words of a desperate queen, but Imeria’s situation was no different.

“Very well, then,” she said, and lifted her chin.

“I accept your terms. But you will let me save my son first.”

Disgruntled murmurs rang out from the watching crowd.

Duja shook her head in disbelief.

“Now, Imeria, you overstep.”

“Is that what you think?” Imeria snarled.

She took three swift strides to the edge of the cliff, stopping in the same spot where her son had been kneeling moments earlier.

“I will save Luntok first or no one at all. If you refuse me now, I will not simply overstep. I will jump straight to the rocks below. So if that’s your decision, make it fast. But think twice before denying me,” she declared, followed by an eruption of horrified gasps.

The queen didn’t lunge for her.

At Imeria’s threat, she stood still as a statue.

“You wouldn’t,” she answered in a deep, throaty voice.

Imeria stared at Duja, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

“I will be reunited with my son. One way or another.”

The queen didn’t dare tear her gaze away.

She knew Imeria?—knew that it wasn’t a bluff.

Bitterly, she conceded.

“You shall get your wish, Imeria. We will begin with Luntok?—but you must remember my terms. If you fail, or if you betray me again?—”

“I know.” Imeria stared back as the ache in her chest grew impossible to ignore.

“First Luntok, then the king. Afterward, our attack will cease. We will withdraw from Maynara. You have my word.”

Once again, the queen could not know if it was a hollow promise, but what choice did she have?

Duja set her jaw.

She looked like she wanted to say more.

But then she turned to the guards still clustered on the cliff, unsure of their next move.

“Everyone, stand down,” she said.

“And General Ojas.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Ojas rushed to Duja’s side, still tracking Imeria out of the corner of his eye.

“Go with Imeria’s men to the rocks at the base of the cliff. Take your strongest divers.”

The general’s mouth twisted into a frown of uncertainty, but he kept his doubts to himself.

“Right away, Your Majesty,” he said.

Then he turned around, limping, and started barking orders.

The eerie quiet on the cliffs broke as the onlookers sprang into action.

Imeria watched, filled with a different kind of grief, as Vikal accompanied Ojas down the steep path that led to the base of the Black Salt Cliffs.

The two men took a handful of Kulaw and Gatdula warriors with them, their imposing figures disappearing over the cliffside in a flutter of scarlet and green.

She glanced at Duja, who had returned to Hari Aki’s side.

Eti and Bulan flocked to her.

Laya held back.

Seeing her father’s body up close had shaken her.

Laya stared at the king in wide-eyed horror, her hands balling into fists.

The air above their heads began to thicken once more into storm clouds.

Then Bulan held her hand out to her sister.

With a gasping sob, Laya took it.

Grief made allies of them.

The clouds cleared, and together, they held their mother tight.

The ache swelled in Imeria’s heart at the sight of it.

She steeled herself and turned her gaze toward the horizon, swallowing the pit that had formed in the back of her throat.

This was supposed to be her son’s wedding, gods help them.

She wanted to scream.

She couldn’t shake the sense that she had been robbed of something glorious.

What could have been.

The moment she turned around, Gulod appeared at her shoulder.

“Do you... Do you truly think you can...,” he asked before trailing off.

His shoulders were tense, and his eyes were darting toward the carriage path.

But the window to escape had long closed; not even Gulod could smuggle his way out.

“I have no idea if it will work,” she admitted, her fingers tracing the thin glass vial hanging from her neck.

His gaze trailed down to her necklace?—to the precious remains of their precioso.

“I’m sorry about your boy, Imeria, but this”?—he shook his head, his mouth hardening into a line?—“this is a risky gamble. I hope you know what’s at stake.”

He didn’t need to tell her.

Imeria knew what she was risking?—her life, and perhaps the lives of those who had followed her into battle.

She didn’t care.

She would risk everything?—her title, her wealth, even her grip on the throne.

She would surrender it all to save her son’s life.

“None of that matters now. I have to try ,” she said in a quiet voice.

Gulod let out a desperate sigh, but he didn’t try to convince her otherwise.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before the divers returned.

By the time their heads emerged over the side of the cliff, the sky had lost all warmth and was painted in purple and blue, like a bruise above the Untulu Sea.

Vikal approached her first, his wet hair plastered against the side of his face.

“We have found him, my lady,” he said, the muscles in his jaw stretched taut.

Imeria didn’t understand the tremor in his voice until Ojas and the other men sidled up behind him.

They were carrying what looked like a bundle of bones wrapped up in a bloodied fisherman’s tarp.

“Oh.”

They were gone for so long, she thought she would be prepared for this moment.

But Imeria was too weak to withstand the wave of pain that coursed through her at the sight of Luntok’s body.

A fractured wail escaped from her mouth.

She fell to her knees.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder?—Vikal.

“If this is too much, my lady?—” he said softly.

“It’s not.” Imeria shook his hand away and squared her back.

She looked up to find that Duja was on her feet, watching her, a shadow of pity on her haggard face.

The tight coil of pain in her heart unfurled once again?— oh, what we’ve lost, what we both have lost ?—before Imeria shoved it back down.

She thought once more of Luntok’s young, handsome face and braced herself before she reached for the edge of the tarp.

With a sharp breath, she peeled it back.

Her stomach turned.

Behind her, she heard the nobles on the Black Salt Cliffs gasp.

A rumble of dread tore through the crowd.

The grisly assemblage of muscle and flesh was unrecognizable.

This is my son, she reminded herself.

Imeria shook her head and squared her shoulders.

She thought of Laya and the ruthlessness with which she threw him into the water.

The anger focused her.

I won’t let you kill him.

Imeria reached for the glass vial around her neck with one hand and for the pipe in the pocket of her skirt with the other.

She filled the bowl with precioso, nearly using up the entire vial.

It was a precious resource, but she would waste all of it if it brought her son back.

“A match,” she said in a harsh whisper.

Gulod retrieved one for her, holding it to the pipe.

Imeria inhaled deeply and let the poison flood her system.

Several times, she repeated the motion until she felt the power swell within her like a seismic wave.

It surged through her blood, stronger than it had been during their attack on the palace.

It morphed into a creature of its own volition, too great for her mortal body to contain.

She held her hands to Luntok’s battered corpse.

She closed her eyes and dug deep, past his exposed muscles and broken bones, and found the sliver of life buried there.

Her body convulsed as the power ripped through her, coursing through her fingers and pouring into her son’s remains.

Deftly, the threads of energy wove through the bloodless veins and torn flesh.

A cacophony of gasps rose from the crowd.

Imeria looked back down.

Luntok’s body glowed, white as a comet, as she stitched him back together.

Tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes.

With a strangled moan, she pressed harder, dug deeper.

Live, she screamed in her head.

Live, live, live.

Behind the glow, shadows shifted.

Imeria watched, wide-eyed, as Luntok became whole again.

His ribs, which had protruded from his chest, disappeared beneath a layer of unmarred skin.

His left femur fused together with a sickening crack.

On the ground, Luntok’s eyes shot open.

The white glow dimmed.

Below the roar of precioso in her ears, she could have sworn she heard him gasp for breath.

“By the gods,” Vikal cried out beside her.

“Luntok. He’s?—”

Alive.

A spark of triumph burst in Imeria’s breast.

She let out a sob of relief.

She had done it.

She had saved him.

She tried to lift her hands to stroke his cheeks but found them mired to his chest.

She looked down in alarm as her hands glowed anew.

The power shot through them once again, this time beyond Imeria’s control.

She cried out in shock.

“Imeria!” Duja shrieked.

But Imeria could barely hear her.

A strange, foreign voice filled her head.

I’ve been waiting for you, Imeria Kulaw, wielder of mind and flesh, it whispered.

It was the voice of power, older than Maynara, maybe older than time itself.

No.

Imeria straightened in panic.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice to quiet.

But the moment she resisted, it grew louder, impatient.

Fight me not, Imeria Kulaw, the voice told her.

Mother of Luntok.

Maker of gods.

Images flooded her mind.

She saw her son tearing through Laya’s letters.

She saw him falling from the palace walls.

One blink, and she saw the shadow of a raptor gliding across the open sea.

Sunlight rippled across its glossy plume.

It dived low, dipping a sharp talon into the water.

When it craned its neck, Imeria caught a glimpse of the raptor’s face.

Deep in the amber pools of its eyes, she could make out the silhouette of a young man.

She recognized the broad shoulders, the sharp edge of his jawline.

“Luntok?” she gasped.

“My lady!” Vikal’s deep voice pulled her back to earth.

Imeria’s eyes flew open.

She was kneeling on the Black Salt Cliffs.

Dozens of eyes were on her, but only one pair mattered.

“Duja,” she whispered, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

The queen pressed her lips together.

“It didn’t work,” she said flatly.

She tried to appear strong, but Imeria knew Duja’s stony resolve was about to crack.

“Impossible.” Imeria looked down, dumbstruck.

She had healed Luntok’s body.

He was lying beside her, young and handsome and whole.

But when she laid her hand once more on his chest, her fingers free of the power’s glow, she could detect no heartbeat within.

“Luntok,” she whispered, resisting the urge to shake him awake.

But his eyes were sealed shut.

He wasn’t breathing.

“Imeria.” It was Gulod.

He knelt beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

“He’s dead,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“It can’t be.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“You saw him. He was awake. He was looking at me. He?—”

She hadn’t imagined it.

Luntok was not merely alive.

Luntok was flying .

Gulod frowned.

Imeria looked around and saw the same confusion stark on everyone else’s faces.

A pit of dread formed in her stomach.

They had not seen what she had seen.

“It didn’t work,” Duja said again, jolting Imeria from her haze.

The ground shook as the queen took a step toward her.

Imeria hadn’t forgotten?—execution or exile.

Those were the queen’s terms.

Gulod groaned.

“I told you,” he hissed.

“We should have run when we had the?—”

If I had more time.

If I could try again?—

Imeria shoved Gulod to the side and scrambled to her feet.

She ran for the queen.

“Wait?—”

Duja raised her hand to the sky, erecting a stone pillar from the ground.

Panic gripped Imeria’s throat.

“Duja!” she screamed.

But Duja didn’t relent.

With a great cry, she lifted the pillar from the ground and hurled it straight at Imeria.