Page 36 of Black Salt Queen

“Maynara boasts no shortage of pretty girls, but only one will be my queen,” he said, choosing his words with care. It was a half promise, half joke. Around him, the warriors broke out into triumphant roars. Although the inn was far from the Gatdulas’ lackeys, and they were safe there among kin, none dared utter the truth. Luntok was born to take the Maynaran throne and honor his family’s legacy. To become the king the southerners hungered for?—that became his fate the moment Imeria Kulaw granted him his great-great-grandfather’s name.

But to utter the truth was to commit the highest treason, and the feast days had scarcely begun. The warriors toasted to their future king in silence. He was Luntok the Second, a young man swept up on the wings of his own destiny.

The sole Kulaw a Gatdula could trust and love.

When Luntok returned home that night, his mother was not sipping wine on the veranda as he’d expected. He slid open the capiz-shell screen. A second later, their maid, Huna, swept past, bearing a tray stacked with dirty dinner plates. On a table in the entryway stood a fresh bouquet of scarlet lilies. Their petals spilled over the edge of the vase, which had been empty when Luntok left for the tournament earlier that afternoon. The signs were telling. Imeria had just received a visitor.

“I wasn’t aware we were entertaining guests this evening,” he remarked.

Huna froze in her tracks when he addressed her. She’d started working for the Kulaws the previous season. Luntok forgot how skittish she was. Her previous employer had been a vicious old nobleman from the north. He was notoriously cruel to all his servants, but he reserved his most creative abuses for those of southern origin. On countless occasions, the nobleman ridiculed the maid’s accent and subjected her to the most demeaning tasks?—from plucking a sackful of rice off the kitchen floor grain by grain, to polishing the banisters wearing nothing but her underthings. Desperate, the young girl had pleaded her case to Datu Kulaw, begging for a position in her household. And, just this once, Imeria gave in.

Offer favors sparingly,she’d warned Luntok once.Your benevolence won’t always be rewarded.

Huna had gotten lucky?—to work in the Kulaw household was no small favor. Unfortunately, Imeria couldn’t extend the same favor to every southerner struggling to find dignified work in the capital. There were hundreds of Hunas in Mariit, not all of them equipped with the discretion required for the post. The Kulaws thus selected their servants with painstaking care. The same held true for each guest they invited into their home.

“Datu Kulaw received Datu Gulod this evening, my lord,” the maid informed him. “He couldn’t stay long, but he sends his regards.”

“Datu Gulod? Very well.” Luntok struggled to contain his surprise as he dismissed Huna with a flick of his hand. Datu Gulod was known across Maynara to be a smart, crafty fellow, but he was not Imeria Kulaw’s typical houseguest. Luntok wondered what he had done to earn an invitation.

At the top of the stairs, his mother’s door stood ajar. Dark shadows flitted in and out of the narrow opening. Imeria was pacing, as she often did when sleep evaded her. Usually, Luntok left her to her warring thoughts. But this night, curiosity caught the better of him. He raised his hand to the doorframe and gave it a gentle knock.

“Enter.” Imeria’s voice cut through the stillness, sharper than the edge of his blade. When he stepped into the room, she looked up from the stacks of paper strewn across her bed. Luntok recognized the brushstrokes, cross-sections, and carefully stenciled lines. These were the maps of the palace they’d collected over the years?—some stolen by hired thieves from the royal architect’s private chambers, others drawn by Imeria’s own hand.

“I hope you weren’t waiting up for me,” Luntok said as he shut the door behind him.

His mother’s expression softened. “My darling, clever boy. Come?—I’ve yet to congratulate you on your victory.” She opened her arms. Part of Luntok was ashamed of how eager he was to fall into them.

“Did the fight please you?” he asked, his voice cracking involuntarily.

“I’ve never been prouder to call you my son,” she said warmly.

Luntok closed his eyes, his nose filling with the scent of her jasmine perfume. A smell he still associated with safety, even after all these years. Now that he was home, the weight of the day’s trials?—from the aching muscles in his sword arm to the goblets of wine he’d consumed back at the inn?—dropped on top of him like a heavy stone.

“Could we speak more in the morning?” he asked, stifling a yawn. “I really ought to turn in.”

Imeria drew back, an unfamiliar spark in her gaze. “Of course, you must be exhausted. Let me show you something first.” From the pocket of her skirt, she withdrew a thin glass vial. Its contents gleamed in the moonlight filtering in through the open window. In her palm, the crystal substance looked like crushed starlight. Knowing his mother, it was anything but.

An uneasy feeling slithered down Luntok’s spine. “What in Mulayri’s name isthat?”

His mother explained what he had already guessed. The finely ground substance was no ordinary crystal. It was a drug called precioso. Dread built deep inside Luntok’s gut as she told him how it could enhance her dangerous abilities?—and how the drug had landed in her possession.

“Datu Gulod,” Luntok echoed, incredulous. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“Even before rising in the ranks, Namok Gulod has been straining at the Gatdulas’ lead. His loyalties have long been up for question. However, I needed him to approach me.” Imeria cut him a sharp look. “Do you understand now, Luntok? Our efforts may have just begun to bear fruit, but I’ve spent my entire life planting the seeds.”

At her small rebuke, he tried not to grimace. He may have learned swordsmanship from Vikal, but his mother had taught him how to navigate the battlefield that was the Maynaran court. She showed him how to sniff out dissatisfaction in a room full of sycophants. To keep his lips tight and his eyes peeled. To till the ground in preparation of a future of which no one dared speak. Imeria Kulaw had learned this from her father, whose failed rebellion nonetheless rattled the Gatdulas to the core. And she was passing her knowledge down to him.

“With thisprecioso,” Luntok began, the foreign word rolling awkwardly off the tip of his tongue. “Could you overpower?—anyone?” He didn’t dare say Hara Duja’s name.

“An ordinary guard? Easily. As for a Gatdula...” Imeria cast her gaze toward the window, a somber line creasing her brow. “My father used to tell me stories passed down from his own father?—and his father before that. Few could resist the Kulaw’s power to wield mind and flesh. Not the fiercest warrior. Not even the mightiest datu.”

“None but the Gatdulas,” Luntok said as the dread formed a pit beneath his ribs.

“None but the Gatdulas.” His mother turned back to him, a cryptic smile creeping across her face. “The blood of Mulayri runs strong, shielding them generation after generation. From afar, I cannot overpower them. However, no Gatdula is impenetrable. If I could only close the distance?—” She broke off, her hand rising to hover over Luntok’s cheek.

Imeria was his mother. She would never hurt him. And yet, he forced himself not to flinch.

“A simple touch,” she whispered, “and the queen would bow to my will.”

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