Page 26 of Black Salt Queen

His grin widened. “I’d risk anything to remain in the presence of such an enchanting woman.”

She rolled her eyes. The entire court knew that Gulod had no interest in women, enchanting or otherwise. He was several years her junior and much younger than the other datus. Court gossip informed her that he doted on the page boy who warmed his bed at night. For his bloodline to continue, however, he would need to take a wife. Imeria doubted Gulod had ever considered her for this role. The lesser nobility boasted no shortage of beautiful, unmarried women, fertile of womb and free of baggage, all of whom were eager to marry up the ranks.

“Find another woman to shower with your affection,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I’m here to watch my son.”

They were seated in the stands high above the tournament platform. Several levels below, crowds gathered, eager to watch Maynara’s highborn sons battle each other for a sliver of glory. She spied Luntok on the left side of the platform. He was warming up with Vikal. Imeria smiled as she watched Vikal correct Luntok’s posture, nodding in encouragement each time Luntok followed his instructions. Vikal had long before proved that he was not the Kulaws’ groveling lackey, and Imeria owed him a great deal.

He had done more than train Luntok over the years. He had cared for him, raised him. He’d taught him strength when Imeria, weak as she’d been after her husband died, was unable. Imeria yearned to make up for those sad, painful years, during which Vikal proved himself a better parent than she could ever hope to be.

This was the first year Vikal deemed Luntok ready to compete in the tournament.The best I’ve ever trained,Vikal assured her before they left the capital.I think you’ll be pleased, my lady.

I am already pleased, Vikal,she’d said. And as Imeria watched how Luntok moved in the pit below?—his sword arm strong, his hands and feet gliding in perfect symmetry?—a savage pride burst inside her chest.My son.Luntok was a man, and a worthy heir of the Kulaw legacy.

Gulod followed Imeria’s gaze. “Ah, yes, Luntok. I’ve hardly seen him since the start of the feast days. Where have you been keeping him?”

“Where do you think?” she said testily. Gulod knew about Luntok’s infatuation with Dayang Laya, same as the rest of the court, much to the queen’s chagrin.

He chuckled, twirling the stack of rings on his pointer finger. “I mean no offense to your son, but that girl could eat a grown man alive. Shall I warn him for you?”

“Worry about yourself, my lord.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Imeria was more than some lovesick girl, and she’d been playing these games far longer than Datu Gulod realized. Whatever he came here for, if he gave her one reason not to trust him, she’d eat him alive too.

He leaned back, hearing the warning in her tone, and cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you soon to enjoy the tournament. But first, I’d be honored if you could open my gift.” From the inner pocket of his vest, Datu Gulod retrieved a small box of smooth, unfinished mahogany. He pressed it into her hands.

Curious, Imeria lifted the lid. Inside, on a thin bed of velvet, lay a golden hair comb inlaid with drops of pearl and jade. “How beautiful,” she said, almost in the form of a question. The combwasbeautiful. Why he had given it to her, Imeria couldn’t begin to guess.

Gulod stared at her. She caught a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Go on then,” he said in a slow, careful whisper. “Take a closer look.”

She reached into the box to pick up the comb. When she touched it, the velvet underneath shifted to reveal something hard and thin. Imeria glanced up at Gulod, who nodded almost imperceptibly. With featherlight fingers, she lifted the velvet and found a tiny trio of vials, each containing white crystals as fine as sand. Imeria’s heartbeat quickened, and she pulled the velvet back up before anyone could see.

Gulod lifted the comb from the box. “May I?”

Wordlessly, Imeria nodded and turned to the side. He ran his fingers through her hair, pushing it back?—far too intimate a gesture for a place like this. Heads turned toward them as the nobles, seated in the stands to their right, took notice. Imeria willed herself not to scowl at the rising chorus of titters.

Gulod leaned forward, easing the comb through her silky strands, his breath hot against her ear. “Precioso from the west. A pain in the ass to procure, but I thought a lot about what you said,” he whispered.

Ah.A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She’d mentioned precioso when Gulod had visited her in the south last season. From what she understood, it was a fickle substance; few souls on earth knew how to produce a mediocre sample, much less at the quality she desired. Precioso was illegal in Maynara, but that was just as well. Gulod was a clever man, and smuggling was his singular talent. He was known to accept delicate requests, and he didn’t even ask what she needed it for. The promise of payment was good enough for him.

Imeria snapped the box shut and slid it into the pocket of her skirt for safe keeping. “Come dine with me later tonight, perhaps after the tournament,” she said. “I must thank you properly for your generous gift.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Datu Kulaw.” He stood and took her hand, brushing it against his lips.

She watched him return to his own seat as the whispers in the stands grew louder. Let them talk. Imeria cared little for their idle gossip. Her fingers curled against the thin fabric of her skirt, itching for the vials nestled beneath it. Knowing they were within reach rendered her breathless, giddy.

Later.From the platform below, drums sounded. Imeria sat up straight as a hush washed over the crowd. She found Luntok in the pit once again. He was waiting beneath the platform with Vikal and the rest of the warriors. Her chest filled with a premature spark of triumph. She would have the rest of the night to deal with the precioso. The tournament was about to begin.

This was the one feast-day event Imeria enjoyed, perhaps because the royal family rarely attended. With the exception of Bulan, sword fighting did not interest the Gatdulas. What use did they have for weapons when the power of Mulayri shot through their fingertips? But for ordinary Maynarans, this was their prized sport. Imeria used to sneak past her maids to watch the Kulaw warriors train on the grounds below their estate. Her father had been the strongest of them all. He’d stood tall as a pillar amidst the browning haycock hills, his rousing orders carrying in the salt-sprayed wind. That was one of Imeria’s few memories of him.

Before her father went to war, he represented the Kulaws in the tournament alongside the fiercest warriors in the kingdom. The tournament was ceremonial, intended to unite the ruling families around their shared sword-fighting tradition. Over the centuries, it grew into Maynara’s fiercest competition. It was a frequent source of shame for the losers?—like the Gulods, who cared more about their ledger books than they did for the martial arts. But for the families with war in their veins?—notably the Kulaws, Lumas, and Tanglaws?—the tournament was their one chance at glory. Vikal had represented the Kulaws since Luntok was a child. Now it was Luntok’s turn.

Below the stands, crowds swarmed the tournament platform, held up on rickety stilts. Imeria counted hundreds of spectators, stuffing their mouths with fried fish balls, chanting battle songs, and drinking. Judging by the rumble, the crowd was growing rowdier by the minute. The beating drums announced the first fight of the tournament, the beast-like Utu Luma versus a scrawnier Sandata upstart who was in over his head. The crowd cheered as Utu Luma charged across the platform. The air filled with the sounds of clashing metal as the Sandata boy matched him blow for blow.

Imeria did not pay their fight any heed. She stared at her son as the noise swelled to a ferocious pitch. This was a far cry from the Kulaws’ secluded training grounds. Luntok had never battled in such conditions before. She worried he would lose his head amidst the surrounding chaos.

But rather than decenter him, Luntok seemed to draw energy from the crowd. Imeria recognized his stance?—the squaring of his shoulders, the firm tilt of his head?—Luntok was deep in concentration by the time the tournament judges announced his name.

She held her breath as he mounted the platform, the wooden boards already smeared with the rust-brown traces of bloodstains. People rarely died in the tournament. After all, it was a friendly affair. Victory came in two ways, by knocking one’s opponent off the platform or by pushing them to surrender. Participants might not fight to the death, but they could still draw blood. It was a well-known fact that the tournament judges were biased worms who turned a blind eye when their favorites played dirty.

The Tanglaws, expectedly, were among the judges’ favorites. Across the platform waited Datu Tanglaw’s son, Bato. Imeria frowned. She had heard after the dawn feast of their plot to secure Bato’s betrothal to Laya by the end of the week. No doubt Luntok was aware of this. He unsheathed his sword and stalked toward Bato with a face of pure venom.

---