Page 62 of Black Salt Queen

She glanced at Luntok, who stood beside her on the terrace. He no longer had to crawl beneath the gap in the garden wall. If he desired, he could come and go through the great gates at will. He could stroll through the arcaded walkways in broad daylight. He could visit Laya in her chambers without repercussions, except she was in no state to speak to him. When they saw her last, she was still submerged in Imeria’s enchantments, her murky eyes black and unseeing.

But the precioso’s potency was waning fast. Of the wildfire that had surged through Imeria’s veins at midnight, a mere ember remained. Imeria could feel its absence like a nagging itch. She’d been warned that precioso cravings often crept in slowly, only to later spiral out of control. To avoid falling prey to addiction, she resolved to consume it as seldom as she could manage. Thankfully, she had not needed the precioso’s aid since she had gotten Laya under control. But as the drug wore off, Imeria’s powers were also weakening. Her hold on the Gatdulas wouldn’t last much longer. Thankfully, Imeria had come prepared with a solution.

“My lady. Luntok.” Datu Gulod approached them on the terrace. He had gotten caught in the scuffle in the great hall, and his fine clothes were worse for wear. Blood mottled the pale-green silk of his trousers, and the embroidered hem of his right sleeve was badly torn.

“How are the prisoners?” Imeria asked. At the mention of the word, Luntok flinched.

“The prisoners are appeased,” Gulod said, his waxy features fixed in a somber expression. Imeria knew that meant her men had forced sleeping drafts down their throats. None of them posed a threat any longer?—not the other ruling families, not even the mighty Gatdulas. All of Maynara was at their mercy.

Triumph flared beneath Imeria’s ribs. She had won the palace for Luntok. After years of scheming, the throne was finally his.

“What about Vikal?” she asked.

“He and the men have finished securing the rest of the palace. After General Ojas surrendered, his men turned to Vikal’s command?—just as you said they would, my lady,” Gulod said with a wry grin.

“Loyalty is a fickle thing,” Imeria remarked, leaning against the railing. A cramp shot up her legs. She had been standing on her feet for so long. As the precioso seeped from her blood, the battle’s exhaustion had begun to wear on her.

Gulod joined her at the balustrade. The fog had cleared, and they gazed down at the streets below. They were empty. It was early, and the city had barely begun to stir. “Mariit sleeps for now, but it seems many of the servants have fled. They’ll talk, Imeria. There may be anger in the streets, but we are prepared.”

She nodded. Soon, word would spread across Maynara that the Kulaws had taken the capital. Vikal had warned Imeria of riots and complots. Her son was a Kulaw, not a Gatdula. Not all Maynarans would bow to him of their own accord?—but Luntok wouldn’t ascend to the throne alone.

“What about Laya?” Luntok asked hoarsely. He hadn’t said a word to Imeria since they’d left the throne room. That was the first question he had asked in hours.

Dropping the deferent tone, Gulod chuckled. “You’re awfully devoted for a conspirator, aren’t you?” he asked. When Luntok scowled, Gulod waved his hand dismissively. “Rest assured, she’s sleeping. We’ve placed her in her own room, as you asked. It’s heavily guarded.”

“Good,” Luntok said, his shoulders relaxing. Imeria sighed. She would have thrown Laya into the prison hold along with the others, but Luntok would hear none of it.

“If you wish to see her, I would go now while she’s placated,” Gulod said blandly. “I daresay she will be less pleased to see you the longer you wait?—my lord.”

Luntok bristled. “If you don’t hold your tongue, Datu Gulod, I’ll cut it off myself,” he growled, taking a threatening step toward him.

Imeria laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Namok meant no harm, darling,” she said. “Allow us to finish here. You ought to rest.”

In truth, Luntok was beginning to worry her. Since they’d stormed the great hall, he appeared to relish the Kulaws’ victory, running wild through the palace’s gilded rooms, chanting southern battle cries along with their men. But Imeria watched him when he thought no one was looking. During rare moments of quiet, he wandered the palace with a dazed expression. His triumph dulled in those moments, and he looked just as forlorn as the Gatdula prisoners down in the hold.

Luntok tensed beneath her hand. “I knew going into this, Mother. I knew the cost we would have to pay. I wasready. Then we got to the throne room, and the way Laya looked at me...” He faltered for a lingering second, then squared his shoulders. “There was no other way. One day, she’ll understand. Don’t you think so, Mother?” he asked in a level tone. Imeria could still sense his distress. With uncertainty still creasing his brow, he looked exactly as he had as a little boy, tiptoeing into Imeria’s bedroom after a nightmare.

Gulod barked out a laugh. “Great Mulayri. The throne is in your hands now, andthatis what you’re worried about?”

This time, Luntok ignored him. He shook his head to himself as he stared at the sleeping city below. His expression hardened into one of grim acceptance.

Imeria knew his heartbreak intimately. She wished to comfort him but didn’t dare say a word in front of Datu Gulod. “Don’t trouble yourself with that now, Luntok,” she said softly. “You are going to be king of Maynara, my darling. Soon, you will have everything you have ever dreamed of.”

“The crown. The throne. Maynara and Thu-ki, united at last,” Luntok listed, as if reminding himself what the entire coup was for.

She nodded to encourage him. “You will herald the realm into a new age, my boy. You and your lovely queen.”

In an ideal world, Imeria would have slaughtered Laya without a second thought. But the Gatdulas were far too beloved, and their murder would have provoked a wasteful, drawn-out war. Coercing them into a marriage alliance was the cleanest way for the Kulaws to take the throne. It would bind their families together by blood. And nothing in Maynara was held more sacred than a blood vow. No one?—not even the datus?—could protest their union after that.

For Imeria’s plans to work, she needed to maintain the pretense of Gatdula rule. Southerners were still received with suspicion in the capital, but the royal family’s fiercest worshippers craved continuity above all else. They might decry the marriage at first, but dissent was tiresome, and their anger would wane with time. She was certain she could tame the court, as well as any unrest that would soon sweep through the city. Even if it meant keeping Laya Gatdula, and the rest of her family, alive.

At the mention of Laya, Luntok’s expression brightened the slightest shade. Imeria regretted choosing those words to comfort him. She could say with complete confidence that the princess would never live down their treachery. But Laya’s love, like her forgiveness, couldn’t matter less. The girl would rule at Luntok’s side whether she wanted to or not. Luntok would one day learn to accept it. Vaguely, Imeria wondered how her son would manage disappointment with the weight of a crown upon his head. Doubt twisted in her gut, but Gulod was watching them too closely?—she refused to let him see it.

With a sigh, Imeria reached for Luntok once more. In a firmer voice, she told him, “You’ve had a trying few days, Son. The fatigue has gone to your head. Promise me you’ll rest.”

To her surprise, Luntok didn’t protest. “You’re right, Mother,” he said with a resigned nod. “You should rest too.”

A bittersweet warmth burst in Imeria’s chest. He leaned into her palm as she brushed a thumb over his cheek.Do you see now, my son?she thought, casting her gaze back to the skyline of Mariit.All of this belongs to you.

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