Page 6

Six

Laya

At the first glimmer of light, the royal guard drew open the palace gates to make way for the procession.

Laya stood wedged between her sisters on top of the great marble steps and watched their subjects flood in.

The procession stretched through the pebbled ground of the forecourt and along the full length of the main canal, its water glittering a preternatural shade of turquoise thanks to the cone-hatted workers who’d spent the past week fishing out debris.

At least a hundred Maynaran nobles had already professed their devotion to Hara Duja and presented the Gatdula family with lavish gifts.

Laya lost count of the imported porcelain, rare stone vases, and pongee-wrapped parcels they received.

The best tributes came from the Council of Datus, who arrived at the end of the procession.

Second in rank only to the Gatdulas, these were the highest-born members of the royal court.

Their gifts, intended as small tokens of their loyalty to the queen, were but an excuse for the datus to flaunt their wealth before the rest of the court.

Often, they reflected the datus’ personal tastes.

Datu Luma, as was custom, mounted the great steps first.

The oldest datu, with stern eyes, wisps of white hair, and a kadatuan that encompassed the lush forests of the northern highlands, he liked to shower them with extravagant furniture carved from native Maynaran timber.

“A gift to adorn your private chambers, Hara Duja,” Datu Luma murmured, bowing low at their feet.

It was a towering commode of lacquered mahogany with mythical scenes engraved in the facade.

Laya made out Mulayri’s raptor as he swooped between the swirling vines chiseled into the wood.

She watched enviously as servants hauled Datu Luma’s tribute up the steep palace steps.

Her mother received the finest gifts.

But, like the mantle, everything would pass to Laya soon.

Next in line stood Datu Gulod, who had a flair for pageantry and never failed to delight.

He waved his hand and called up his servants to present his tribute?—a trio of emerald-green peacocks that blinked up at them with beady eyes, the delicate bars of their cages too sparse to contain their many-eyed plumes.

“Oh!” To Laya’s right, Eti let out a gasp of wonder, which told Datu Gulod he’d chosen well.

“Please accept my tribute, Hara Duja.” Datu Gulod bowed theatrically, his greasy nose brushing against the freshly polished tiles, a smug smile on his waxy, youngish face.

He nodded in Eti’s direction?—the most precious of the Gatdula sisters, she had always been the datus’ favorite.

“I’m glad the birds please you, Dayang,” Gulod told her, then took his place along the marble railing.

The Kulaws were next.

Once, they, too, had boasted gods-given powers, but their infernal abilities were lost to history, stamped out by the Gatdulas themselves.

And while they were no longer the mightiest foes in the land, the sight of the family still rendered Maynara speechless.

An expectant hush swept over the waiting crowd as Luntok and Imeria mounted the steps.

He kept to his mother’s side, a triumphant warrior in full ceremonial dress.

His vest, woven from fine, scarlet silk, revealed the web of tattoos etched across the broad planes of his chest.

A few highborn women, clustered at the base of the stairs, tittered behind their hands, no doubt noticing how much Luntok had grown since the previous year.

“No longer a boy, is he?” Laya thought she heard one of them whisper.

Annoyance flared beneath her ribs.

Let them stare, she thought to herself savagely.

Luntok had belonged to her since he’d been nothing but a reed.

They were reeds together, she and him.

The rest would have to fight for their piece.

“Your Majesty,” Imeria Kulaw said as she got to her knees, golden bangles clanking on her slender wrists, her face absent of its customary sneer.

Sunlight glinted off her headpiece, which was shaped like a bird midflight, its brassy wings fanning out above Imeria’s temples like a pair of flames.

Luntok bowed beside her, raising his head slightly to give Laya a smirk.

Their tribute was far more lavish than Laya had expected: a dozen cases overflowing with jade pots from Xitai, king quail eggs, and a number of other exotic delicacies?—all this, perhaps, to make up for Imeria’s many insults toward the queen.

The Kulaws’ generosity did not end there.

“In addition to our tribute to you, Hara Duja, we are honored to present the princesses with a token,” Imeria said, “each carefully selected to reflect her unique gifts.” She nodded to Luntok, who got to his feet.

First, he presented Bulan with the most impractical sword Laya had ever seen?—the blade a rich cobalt blue inlaid with gold-foil motifs.

The hilt had been carved into the snapping jaws of a crocodile, the Gatdula family’s symbol.

“Thank you,” Bulan said when she accepted the sword, mesmerized as she ran her finger over the tinted metal.

For Eti, Luntok handed over a sculpted figurine of the Weeping Goddess.

The gold of her hair had been melded by a delicate hand into the tiniest tendrils, an expression of both agony and cunning etched onto her face.

Beauty moved Eti more than anyone Laya knew.

When she took the figurine from Luntok, she appeared too stricken by the craftsmanship to express any words of gratitude.

She simply stared open-mouthed at the treasure in her hands.

Luntok approached Laya last.

“For you, Dayang,” he said in a low voice.

Luntok was her lover, but she was still a princess; he addressed her by her proper title when they were in public.

But called her Laya when they were alone.

A faint blush spread over her cheeks when she remembered how he whispered her name like a prayer, like a curse, whenever they were together.

He reached out with her gift?—a handwoven fan of soft ivory and pineapple silk, the featherlight fabric embroidered with the tiniest jasmine flowers far more delicate than any breeze she could summon.

The carrier chain pooled in Laya’s hands, made of seven coins linked together to depict Maynara’s primordial moons.

“It’s lovely,” she said, folding the fan shut as gently as she could.

Her gift didn’t glitter as much as Eti’s and Bulan’s presents.

It kept half of its beauty a secret, but that was what made it grander.

Luntok inclined his head once more, waiting to be dismissed, but Laya couldn’t let him leave yet.

She knew what she was doing when she held out her hand to him.

Luntok grinned as he bowed to brush his lips over her knuckles.

“Not half as lovely as its owner,” he murmured when he met her gaze.

He tightened his grip on her hand before he released it, letting his fingers linger.

Laya bit back a telling grin.

She didn’t notice how her heart was thumping until she heard her father’s knowing chuckle behind her.

“I’d be careful with that one,” he joked to the queen, softly so Luntok couldn’t hear.

Hara Duja stiffened in her seat.

“That will be all, Datu Kulaw. Thank you,” she said, dismissing them more coldly than the others.

Laya frowned, watching Luntok’s back?—his strong, lovely back?—as he retreated down the palace steps.

She understood her mother’s coldness with Imeria, a selfish, horrid woman, but she couldn’t forgive Hara Duja for sending Luntok away so brusquely.

To her right, Bulan scoffed.

“Not a word from you,” Laya hissed.

“I wasn’t going to say a thing.”

“Please,” Eti pleaded under her breath.

The most sensitive of the three, she cried pitifully when they fought.

For her sake, Laya and Bulan ignored each other.

Laya turned back to the procession.

It was nearly over, with only three families left in line to present their tributes.

Her stomach rumbled.

She thought greedily about the platters of food waiting for them in the palace.

And, if they could sneak away, the prospect of Luntok waiting for her in her bed.

As Datu Tanglaw and his son mounted the steps, their servants lugging what looked like a chest of antique Maynaran instruments behind them, General Ojas swept over to the queen.

He wore ceremonial armor, a silk sash of Gatdula green, and an even stonier expression than usual.

Curious.

Laya craned her neck to listen.

“Your Majesty, a man just arrived at the palace,” Ojas whispered.

“My men tried to send him away, but he insisted.”

“What kind of man, General?” the queen asked in a hushed voice.

“Not our kind, Your Majesty. I would have sent him on the first ship out of Maynara, but he...” For the first time, Laya heard Ojas hesitate.

“He bears an invitation from the king.”

Laya’s ears perked up in interest.

Her father often received a wide range of eccentric guests at the palace?—thinkers and artists and exotic beast tamers.

Something in Ojas’s tone told her this guest was unlike any of them.

“Did he... come alone?” the queen asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ojas said.

For one sharp moment, Hara Duja remained silent.

Her sleeves rustled as she reached for the king’s hand.

“Aki...”

The quaver in her voice caught Laya’s attention.

She had never heard her mother sound so anxious before.

She looked over her shoulder, no longer pretending she wasn’t listening.

Her father leaned in toward the queen, uncharacteristically tight-lipped.

“When this is over, you must speak with him. Take Ojas with you so you’re not alone,” he whispered.

He cast a wary glance at the procession, at the hundreds of Maynarans gathered beyond the palace gates, and added, “Be careful, Duja. Go as quietly as you can.”

Speak with whom?

And why the secrecy?

Laya’s skin tingled with anticipation.

She fidgeted, impatient, as the remaining families took their time climbing the great steps.

Would the procession ever end?

She stifled a groan.

When Laya was queen, she would order the datus to deliver their tributes to the palace several weeks ahead of the feast days and be done with it.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Bulan demanded under her breath.

Laya ignored her.

She stared hard at Datu Patid, flanked on either side by his daughters, young girls around Eti’s age with forgettable names and sallow cheeks, until he at last rose from his knees.

Hara Duja gave him a regal nod, accepting the last of her tributes.

She stood and gestured at General Ojas.

Together, they disappeared through the enormous doors atop the great stairs.

Moments later, the forecourt erupted into a flurry of movement as the nobles streamed into the palace for the opening feast.

On either side, Laya’s sisters gathered their skirts.

They, too, made their way inside.

Laya glanced between them.

She didn’t want to spy on their mother alone, but who should she take with her?

Eti couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.

But Bulan, with her sharp mind and soldier’s tread?—

“Hari Aki, if I might have a word.” One of the nobles, Datu Tanglaw, caught up with the king.

Laya had scarcely exchanged words with the man over the years, but she remembered his thick black eyebrows and obsequious tone.

Laya’s father turned to the other man, a winning smile on his face, ready to fend off whatever request Datu Tanglaw planned to make of him.

Perfect.

They could slip away while the king was distracted.

Laya grabbed Bulan’s wrist.

“Follow me,” she whispered.

Bulan stared at her, incredulous.

“What are you?—”

She whisked her from the throng of nobles before Bulan could finish her sentence.

They darted down the long corridor leading to the great hall.

Laya refused to stop until they reached the passageway that linked the great hall to the palace kitchens.

“Now will you explain where you’re taking me?” Bulan asked.

Laya silenced her with a look.

Servants passed them with trays of food in their hands, not bothering to conceal their curious gazes.

Laya glared at them until they diverted their eyes.

To Bulan, she leaned forward and whispered, “It’s about Mother. Weren’t you listening earlier? She’s meeting someone in secret.”

Bulan raised her eyebrows.

“She’s meeting someone? Now? ”

Laya nodded and lowered her voice even further.

“If I wanted to speak with someone out of sight of the prying eyes of Mariit, where would I take them?”

Recognition flashed in Bulan’s eyes.

She pulled Laya to the end of the servants’ passageway, where stood a narrow window overlooking the central courtyard.

“Look,” Bulan said, pointing.

Laya scanned the grounds.

She spied a handful of guards on patrol, gardeners tending to the flower arrangements the king planned to unveil later in the week, and?— there .

Marching along the arcaded walkway was their mother.

Laya recognized her straight back and brisk pace.

When the queen wasn’t suffering from her tremors, she moved like death itself was chasing her, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“She’s heading to the eastern wing,” Bulan murmured.

“The eastern wing?” Laya echoed.

Guilt boiled in her stomach when she thought about her accident.

She had apologized over a hundred times.

But it hadn’t been the first time a Gatdula had destroyed the eastern wing.

The building was cursed.

After watching its gilded facade crumble beneath her gusts of wind, Laya knew that better than anyone.

Who on earth could Hara Duja be hiding there?

Bulan cast a wary glance over her shoulder.

Wave after wave of servants poured out from the kitchens.

Spirited music reverberated through the walls.

Back in the great hall, the feast had already begun.

“We should get back,” Bulan whispered.

Laya scowled.

“But?—”

“Drop it, Laya,” she said with a terse shake of her head.

“We’ll only draw attention to Mother if we try to slip away now. Obviously, she wants to keep this meeting a secret. I say we keep it that way.”

Laya glanced back at the window and saw no trace of the queen.

Their mother must have disappeared into the eastern wing.

“Stay behind if you want,” she told Bulan.

“I will see for myself.”

Bulan grabbed her arm.

“And how do you suppose Mother will react when she finds out you’re spying on her? You never think things through.”

“I do,” Laya said with a huff.

“Then, by all means, fly to the eastern wing,” Bulan retorted.

“I’m sure the queen will be more than pleased.”

Laya scowled.

Bulan was right, of course, but that did not deaden Laya’s interest.

Grudgingly, she followed her older sister into the great hall.

Dozens of heads turned toward her as they entered.

Beside her, Bulan shrank back at the onslaught of attention.

Laya gave her a small, triumphant smile.

Bulan shied away at the slightest beam of scrutiny.

Imagine the horror if, in a different life, Hara Duja had chosen her for her heir.

Laya, on the other hand, was no wilting flower.

Standing in the great hall, under the heat of the scrutiny of a pit of snakes and admirers, Laya bloomed.

“Happy feast days,” Laya said languidly to her sister as she strode into the room.

She plucked a wineglass from a passing tray and wove through the throng.

If anything, she was doing the queen a favor.

No one would notice Hara Duja’s absence as long as her dazzling daughter held their attention.

Laya smirked at the nobles as she breezed by, inviting them to stare.

One by one, they flocked to her side.

“Dayang,” they called, each in that same kowtowing tone.

They bowed low at the waist, offering to fetch her food and drink, showering her with silk-spun compliments.

Laya thanked them demurely.

She was only half listening as she looked past their heads.

Most of her admirers were young noblemen, who no doubt had traveled to Mariit from across the island to fawn over Laya and her loveliness.

But Laya kept her ear trained on court gossip.

Half of those men thought her snotty and vile; the other half did not know her well enough to care.

A pit formed in her stomach when she thought back to Luntok’s words before he’d jumped from the balcony a week earlier.

Each of the men there expected her to select a husband soon.

Laya didn’t want to think about that.

She continued to nod and smile as she sipped her drink.

Over a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and not one of them mattered.

It was foolish, she knew, but she could not help herself.

Laya glanced over her shoulder every few moments, hoping to pick out Luntok’s gaze in the crowd.