Page 40 of Black Salt Queen

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Laya said, but she gave a subtle nod to the flock of overly attentive suitors surrounding them.We’ll speak of it more later.

Bulan nodded in understanding and made to turn away, but Bato called her back with polite conversation. “We were just discussing the tournament, Dayang,” he said. “Will you be attending the final round tonight?”

“I should think so,” Bulan said, her shoulders relaxing. This was her uncontested domain. Laya did not take any particular joy from sword fighting and weaponry, but Bulan could discuss it for hours on end. She glanced between Luntok and Bato. “I caught a glimpse of your fight the other day,” she told them. “I didn’t make it up to the stands, so you might not have seen me.”

Luntok looked up in surprise, his attention momentarily pulled away from Laya. “What did you think of it?”

She stared at him. “You fought marvelously for a beginner. I was impressed,” she said, and Luntok’s smirk grew wider. When she turned to Bato, however, she frowned. “You surprised me, Bato. In previous years, you were more consistent.”

Red splotches spread over his wounded cheeks. He was embarrassed. “I suppose I wasn’t destined to win this year,” he said flatly.

Anyone with sense would have let the subject drop, but not Bulan. “I don’t know if destiny has anything to do with it,” she remarked, oblivious, and went on to describe every mistake he made in frightful detail. “Toward the end, you had the upper strike of an untrained infant. And you have to admit, when you’re tired, your footwork gets sloppy. Not to mention your stamina?—”

Laya was cruel, but she knew not to be insulting. “Bulan,” she said tentatively.

“What is it?”

“To fight in the tournament at all is an achievement, is it not?” she asked, hoping Bulan would catch the warning in her tone.

“Yes,” Bato agreed, a bit too enthusiastically for Laya’s liking. “With all due respect, Dayang Bulan, you have never competed in the tournament yourself.”

“Oh.” Bulan’s expression hardened. “I suppose that means I know nothing, then.”

Bato hesitated then, sensing he had edged into hazardous territory. “I only mean to say, Dayang, that it’s not the same when you’re up there on that platform. It’s nothing like training. You fight differently. Every reaction is heightened somehow. I don’t know how else to explain.”

Laya knew nothing about fighting, but she knew when her sister was being talked down to. “I’m sure you don’t have to tell Bulan that,” she said harshly. “She’s the finest swordsman in all of Maynara.”

Bulan’s eyes snapped to hers, shocked at the ferocity with which Laya defended her.

“Of course. I never meant to imply she wasn’t.” Bato’s skepticism might not have been intentional, but it seeped out anyway.

Laya frowned. She might have cut him down where he stood had Luntok not butted in.

“Bato’s right,” he said abruptly. “I didn’t realize it until yesterday. When you’re up there and the crowd is jeering... It’s nothing Vikal could have ever prepared me for.”

Laya rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, Vikal is no Ojas.”

“No, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?” Luntok shot back sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laya tensed. The gentle breeze ground to a halt around them. Beyond the palm leaves, the sun ducked behind a passing cloud, casting shadows across the white-jade basin. Any shred of lightheartedness between the lovers faded.

“Laya,” he groaned, reaching for her arm with brazen intimacy. This time, she recoiled from his touch with a terse shake of her head?—another warning.

It was Bulan who spoke first, breaking the tension between them. “You don’t believe I can win, do you?”

Bato’s eyes widened. “No, Dayang, that’s not at all?—”

“It’s OK, I know what you meant... Anyway, like Luntok said, it wouldn’t be fair,” Bulan said in a tight voice, more to herself than to anyone else. Distracted, she turned away, her fists caught in her skirts.

Laya frowned. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

But Bulan barreled through the gardens as if she hadn’t heard her, leaving Laya to ward off her suitors alone.

Her sister was still missing long after the royal gardens’ visiting hours ended. The sun began to set on the horizon, and the nobles departed through the palace gates in a steady stream. Laya joined them. Feeling guilty from missing the beginning of the tournament, she agreed to watch Luntok’s final fight. She tried her best not to worry about him as she made her way to the tournament platform, oddly with Eti in tow. Laya tried to tell Eti that fighting was ugly and dull, but Eti had insisted on coming. Why, Laya knew better than to guess, but she was grateful not to have to watch Luntok’s fight alone.

The entire capital had gathered around the platform to watch the tournament conclude. Laya could hear the crowd all the way from the palace gates. Drums echoed over the shouts, their harsh, hollow beats rolling off the goatskin membranes like thunder. The pounding built, growing louder and louder as she and Eti hurried along the edge of the canal.

Long bamboo torches stood at each corner of the tournament platform, basking it in an orange glow. Luntok Kulaw and Utu Luma had already climbed up to the top and were standing on opposite sides of the ring. Laya stopped at the edge of the platform to admire Luntok. He was not as brawny as Utu Luma, but his sturdy silhouette stretched just as tall across the platform. The hazy light emphasized the toned muscles of his abdomen. And the glow of the flames danced across his smooth, handsome face.

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