Page 58 of Black Salt Queen

For the first time that night, she shared his confidence. So what if they did catch them?

With the precioso in her veins, Imeria was the master. And she was going to make every last one of them bow.

Twenty-Two

Laya

Laya gazed at the opposite end of the table. The sight of Luntok’s empty seat filled her with the same hollow feeling that struck her that very morning, when she’d seen the faint dent in the pillow where Luntok had rested his head.

The previous night, Laya had told him she loved him. And when she’d woken, he was gone.

Luntok must have slipped out before dawn, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. She ought to have been pleased with his tactfulness. Instead, she felt abandoned, as if a vital part of herself had been ripped away.

She wondered what was keeping him. The midnight feast was the most important ceremony that week. None of the datus, not even Luntok’s dreadful mother, would dare miss it. Not unless?—

“Could you pass me that yam cake over there?” Eti whispered, jolting Laya from her thoughts.

Laya turned to her little sister, who was sitting on her right. Sugar flakes and coconut sauce coated her fingers. A precarious pile of desserts teetered atop the napkin in her lap.

“What in Mulayri’s name are you doing?” Laya asked.

“Ariel. He must want to try some of this,” Eti said. When Laya didn’t budge, she reached across her and snatched a purple yam cake from one of the platters at the center of the table.

“You’re going to take dessert to him? Right now?” she said, incredulous.

Eti nodded. She tossed the yam cake in with the rest of her desserts. Carefully, she folded the napkin around the pile, tucking in the corners so none of the desserts would fall out.

Laya glanced at the back of the hall. Her mother was standing by the throne with her father and Maiza. They were whispering among themselves, likely discussing how to deal with Imeria’s absence, while the rest of the datus started to leave the table and make their way to the throne. In a few minutes, the ceremony was supposed to begin. Laya doubted it would start on time, as Imeria had yet to arrive.

“Fine,” Laya told Eti, nudging her toward the door. “But you have to hurry.”

“I will,” Eti promised. She grabbed the bundle of desserts and scampered out of the great hall. With her light tread and small stature, hardly anyone noticed her leave. The way Eti moved, she would make a formidable assassin, Laya mused, as she watched her disappear into the long shadows striping the room.

Long dinners made Eti restless, yes, but the true reason Laya let her go was because she thought Ariel was in desperate need of company. It pained her to think of all the hours the Orfelian had spent shut away in the sad, dusty eastern wing. She could no longer deny her growing fondness for him.

That afternoon, before getting ready for the midnight feast, Laya had sought him out. The pattern was becoming too comfortable, slipping into the eastern wing, her entire body hollowed out with loneliness. Initially, she went to Ariel to distract herself from Luntok’s abandonment. She should have known the Orfelian would surprise her.

When she showed up in his study, he greeted her with a hesitant smile. She insisted on another writing lesson, to which Ariel agreed. He had little choice in the matter, but Laya had caught a glint of eagerness behind his spectacles when he saw her standing in his doorway. Perhaps he was growing fond of her as well.

The lesson carried on with surprising ease, until Laya spilled ink across the table. They both reached for the same crumpled piece of paper to mop up the mess. Their fingers touched. Foolishly, Laya met his gaze instead of pulling her hand away. She was used to people staring, but Ariel was different. Even behind those stupid spectacles, his eyes sent the familiar spark buzzing beneath her skin.

To stop the spark from spreading, she demanded, “Tell me the truth, Ariel. Why did my father invite you here? Or, better yet, what is your business with the queen?”

If Ariel was taken aback by Laya’s candor, he didn’t show it. He merely shrugged and said, “My business is with you and your sisters, Dayang. If the queen wished for me to serve as anything other than a language tutor, I’m sure she would have told you. You are her heir, after all.”

Laya sputtered out a laugh. “I may be Hara Duja’s heir, but she hasn’t spared me a word. Sometimes, I don’t think she even wants me to be queen.”

“Doyouwant to be queen?” Ariel asked.

She frowned at him. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want to be queen.”

“I suppose ‘What kind of queen do you want to be?’ is the better question.” Ariel leaned back in his seat, rubbing his chin as he pondered the question himself.

“I want to be the best queen Maynara has ever seen,” Laya replied. It was the only honest answer she could give, but not even she could deny how childish it sounded coming out of her own mouth.

“Ah, but what does the best queen look like to you?” Ariel asked, eyeing her with curiosity.

Laya kept her mouth shut. She didn’t know what the best queen looked like or the legacy she wanted to leave. Maybe it was petty and shallow. But Laya wanted it more than anything in the world?—to be a greater queen than her mother. Greater than any Gatdula before her.

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