Page 14 of Black Salt Queen

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.

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