Page 74 of Black Salt Queen

A small writing desk stood in the corner by the window. In the drawer, they found a letter opener with a slender white-shell handle. The blade was small, but it looked like it had been sharpened recently. It wouldn’t stab through an enemy warrior’s flesh, but it was sharp enough to slice through Eti’s long, dark strands.

Swallowing hard, Eti took a seat at the writing desk. She didn’t look at Ariel as she thrust the letter opener into his hands. For a mournful second, she ran her fingers through her hair. It would grow back, she reminded herself. Hair meant nothing to her?—not if Eti evaded the Kulaws long enough to rescue her family.

Roughly, she brushed her hair over her shoulders so it hung straight down her back where she couldn’t see it.

“Cut it,” she told Ariel in the crisp, blunt tone she’d learned from Laya. “Now, Ariel, before I change my mind.”

To Eti’s surprise, she rather liked how the cool night air felt against her nape when she and Ariel stepped back outside. The man’s shirt Ariel had found for her fit comfortably over her slight frame, a welcome change to the fine silk dresses she’d worn over the feast days. Dusk had fallen over the city, and the area around the inn was too quiet. If they wanted to learn anything about the Kulaws’ plans, they needed to roam the crowded quarters of Mariit.

They ventured deeper into Mariit than Eti would have dared when she looked like a princess. Garbed as a humble serving boy, she faded into the throng. No one spared her a second glance. She and Ariel walked a few blocks north, rounding the corner onto the busy street leading to the heart of the city. It was easy to follow the noise. Distant shouts and jeering drew them all the way to the base of the sword-fighting tournament platform.

The feast-day festivities were long over, but a crowd had gathered. Two people stood at the crowd’s center?—a man and a woman?—arguing at the top of their lungs. The woman appeared around the queen’s age, with eyes that burned with anger and a simple green sash draped over her right shoulder. The sash shone in the light of torches above their heads in stark contrast to the stripe of scarlet hanging from the man’s heaving chest. Eti scanned the crowd, picking out scraps of green and scarlet all around her. From where she stood, almost a head below everyone else, it was impossible to determine which color outnumbered the other.

“The gods blessed Maynara with the Gatdulas. When the westerners came, they fought and bled and died for us. They’re the one thing standing between us and annihilation,” the woman cried, stabbing a disparaging finger in the man’s direction. Her voice rang loud and clear over the tournament pit. “You, sir, forget who really protects this kingdom. You forget where true loyalty lies.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from the crowd, quieting a second later when the man roared, “Loyalty? And whom do you think the Gatdulas serve? Not the servants who scrub their tiles, I’d wager. Nor the men who build their ships. No, the Gatdulas care only for those who can fill their strongboxes with gold. Generations of waste and negligence?—and so it will continue, as long as cowards like you beg for scraps at their feet like starving pups.”

Eti stiffened at the man’s harsh words, and Ariel laid a hand on her shoulder. Tension cut through the pit. The other half of the crowd yelled in the man’s favor.

But the woman did not back away. She took a threatening step toward the man. She was taller than him, and she looked down at him with an unwavering glare. At Eti’s side, Ariel leaned over her shoulder. He whispered, “I don’t like the sound of this. We should?—”

The woman let out a sharp laugh, drowning out the rest of Ariel’s warning. “And what did the Kulaws do to deserve your loyalty? Half their rulers, cruel puppet masters, eager to enslave any subject who dared defy them. The other half, greedy beast-kings, who didn’t hesitate to pick this very island to the bone. If it is their mercy you seek, brother, I pity you. For that is the true mark of cowardice.”

A deafening crack split the air as the man struck her smartly across the face. At once, the spectators surged forward in outrage. Several lunged to hold back the man from striking her again. Others tried to appease the woman to no avail. She leaped from their arms and clawed at the man’s cheeks. Dozens of smaller brawls broke out between Kulaw and Gatdula supporters throughout the crowd. People banged into Eti as they rushed back and forth across the pit. She let out a cry as someone jammed into her left side. She might have fallen had Ariel not hoisted her to her feet. Arm in arm, they fought through the sea of flailing limbs. Eti struggled to push through, but she was too small. Cursing in Orfelian under his breath, Ariel half carried, half dragged her to the edge of the crowd.

“We need to leave!” he shouted over the rising noise.

Unsteadily, Eti nodded. She grabbed his hand and made to follow him. Then a booming voice echoed across the tournament pit, freezing everyone where they stood.

“Enough!”

An imposing man in heavy armor was standing atop the platform. Eti recognized him, the warrior Vikal, head of Imeria Kulaw’s private guard. At his orders, royal guardsmen swarmed into the pit below. They pried apart the brawlers. Those who refused to stop fighting, even those with scarlet fabric pinned to their clothing, were taken away in chains.

“Rioting in this city will not be tolerated,” Vikal declared as the guardsmen subdued the crowd in the pit. “This will be your final warning. Anyone caught fighting will face imprisonment, with bail of up to one hundred gold pieces.”

A chorus of agitated grumbles rippled across the tournament pit.

“Yeah? Under whose orders?” one spectator yelled. Eti searched the crowd. It was the woman in the green sash who spoke out, a thin line of blood trailing from her swollen lips. Her remark sent a defiant spark through the crowd. Shouts of indignation exploded from the pit. They cursed Vikal, pointed fingers at him, and called him a traitor. The guardsmen couldn’t subdue them all. Another riot would break out any minute. Ariel tugged at Eti’s hand, desperate to slip away, when another figure joined Vikal on top of the tournament platform.

“Under my orders,”barked a crisp, familiar voice that fused Eti’s feet to the ground. She stared at the newcomer, half-concealed by the torchlight’s wavering shadow. Eti’s gut churned in protest. She didn’t want to admit that she recognized the outline of the woman towering above them on the platform. But everything, from her brisk gait to her slender stature, was undeniable.

Laya came to stand at the edge of the tournament platform, sending a shocked hush through the throng of rioters. She already looked like a queen, with blinding rings of gold hanging from her head and neck. It looked as though she’d descended upon them from the heavens. A force equal parts divine and terrible.

Hara Duja’s heir wore not Gatdula green, but the scarlet silk of her captors. Laya held her head high. But the torchlight caught on the angry tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyelids. Tight brass shackles encircled her wrists. Eti’s mouth dropped open at the sight of them. If she could only get close to Laya?—get one finger against the brass?—then she could snap the shackles in two. But the crowd separated the Gatdulas like a yawning cavern. Laya was too far. Instinct told Eti to lie low. To reveal herself now would be too risky.

Silent rage built at the base of Eti’s throat. She started to tremble, helpless and indignant. Was she truly meant to do nothing while the Kulaws paraded her sister about Mariit as if she were their puppet, chaining her up like a lowly prisoner?

“If you will not listen to my guardsmen, listen to me, your future sovereign.The violence must cease.Remember that it is a crime to lay a hand upon your brother. And we are all brothers and sisters here.” Laya’s voice shook as she addressed the crowd. Not once did their attention waver. They stared at her in tense silence. She went on, more forcefully than before. “You fight over divided loyalties, when your allegiances are one and the same. When I take my place on the throne, I will not be alone. Luntok Kulaw, heir to the kingdom of Thu-ki, will rule at my side.”

At Laya’s announcement, cries of outrage and confusion rang out across the pit. She raised her bound hands. Nothing she said would calm them. If Eti hadn’t been so transfixed by her sister’s reappearance, she might have missed the rest of Laya’s message.

“Our reign will bring peace and prosperity to the realm,” the future queen declared with crushing finality. Her words carried over the mounting turmoil. “It will begin with our marriage in three days’ time.”

Bleak understanding shivered down Eti’s spine. The Kulaws were forcing Laya to marry Luntok, their family’s sworn enemy. And they claimed it was in the name of peace.

Wait!Eti wanted to cry out as Vikal took Laya’s arm and led her down from the platform. Her sister hadn’t caught sight of her in the crowd. Even if she had recognized Eti, with her baggy clothes and black hair snipped short, what good would that do? Laya couldn’t save anyone while they towed her away in shackles. Already she was on her way back to the palace that had turned into a prison. Already she was leaving Eti behind.

In Laya’s wake, the brawl threatened to start anew. If the Kulaws thought sending Laya out would appease the capital dwellers, they were wrong.

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