Page 83 of Black Salt Queen

Ignoring Yari, she stared straight ahead. Over their driver’s shoulder, the jagged mouth of the Black Salt Cliffs loomed. The cliffs stretched out from the base of Mount Matabuaya, enveloping the bay like shark teeth. Laya thought about the story Maiza had told her about the first Gatdula king, the daughter of Mulayri, and their blood-soaked marriage atop those cliffs.

The high shaman used to regale her with Maynara’s founding myths during their lessons. But on this day, as a bride herself, the story gave her no comfort. How could she feel like the mother of her nation when she’d been brought to the Black Salt Cliffs in chains?

“We have arrived, Dayang,” Yari muttered as their carriage rolled to a stop at the end of the rocky path. A footman dismounted and hurried to open the door. As Laya tried to balance on the carriage step without the use of her hands, the footman held her arms to steady her and help her to the ground.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she continued down the path.

The wind was stronger along the coast, and her skirt caught between her legs. At the mouth of the cliff, the witnesses had already gathered: Datus Luma, Tanglaw, Sandata, and Patid. Rows of nameless servants hung behind them. Over two hundred guards flanked them on either side, scarlet sashes draped around their waists. Imeria had summoned an even bigger battalion than Laya expected. Her palms grew clammy as she passed them, line after unbroken line. Even without the shackles, she couldn’t fend them off single-handed. All watched in silence as she approached, their faces as somber as the ones she had passed in Mariit.

Maiza stood alone all the way at the edge of the cliff. She looked frailer than usual. After the coup, she must have fought back. Laya’s blood boiled when she saw the purple bruise that streaked across Maiza’s narrow chin. The Kulaws dared strike a high shaman.

With a pained expression, Maiza took Laya’s arm and had her kneel before her on the windswept grass.

“What a shame, my child, to be wed beneath such cruel skies,” the shaman murmured. She brushed her leathered knuckles against Laya’s cheek?—a rare display of affection, which caught Laya off guard.

A whimper escaped from her mouth. “Maiza.”

“You are doing your duty, Dayang,” Maiza said in a gravelly voice. “As shall I.”

Imeria arrived a moment later. Luntok was at her shoulder, handsome in his gold-trimmed vest, his eyes soft and hopeful.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he knelt beside her.

Laya’s gut clenched. She cast her eyes forward to avoid looking at him. Beyond the cliffs, the sun was just touching the horizon. Its orange rays skated across the Untulu Sea.

“Sundown,” Imeria said, as she gave Maiza a curt nod. “The ceremony may begin.”

A hush dispersed through the crowd. Laya stilled, listening to the soft rumble of the sea as it lapped against the rocks and the cackling of terns overhead. Maiza began to chant blessings in Old Maynaran, a language as ancient as the gods themselves, abstract words that lost all meaning in translation. Laya recognized a few from her studies. The words fordevotion,compact, and the most useless of them all,promise.

As she chanted, Maiza beckoned to a serving boy, who brought forward a bowl of uncooked rice and laid it in the grass. Desperately, she met Maiza’s gaze.Save me. Stop the ceremony. Please.But Maiza shook her head as she reached forward and entwined Laya’s fingers with Luntok’s above the bowl. Her hands were clammy. Luntok, unaware of the depths of her suffering, gave her fingers a tight squeeze.

Maiza called again for the servant, who presented a goblet and ceremonial dagger?—the same objects that had been used at the midnight feast. When she lifted the dagger, Luntok leaned forward. Maiza made a shallow cut across his chest no larger than a dimple, then dripped his blood into a goblet. She did the same to Laya. She hardly felt the blade pierce her skin. Maiza mixed their blood, diluted it with blessed water, and handed the goblet to Luntok to drink. He took a sip and passed the goblet to Laya. With bound hands, she lifted it to her lips. Their combined blood tasted bitter?—tainted, like the rest of them.

How many times had Laya dreamed of this day, praying Luntok would be the man kneeling beside her on the cliffs? She wondered, If Hara Duja had let them marry, if she were the one standing by her side, would this moment have tasted any sweeter?

More chanting, more blessings followed. Maiza nodded to the serving boy, who came forth once again with a cord. The boy brought Laya’s hands to Luntok’s and wound the cord around their shoulders and wrists. As he wrapped the silken threads around Laya’s shackles, his hands snagged around her fingers, and he gave them a light tug. Too intimate. Too familiar. Her gaze snapped up to meet his.

Laya nearly gasped.Eti?

Her sister’s long hair had been snipped short, her knobby knees concealed by baggy, threadbare trousers?—but her round cheeks and light footsteps were unmistakable.

Laya tore her gaze from Eti for fear of calling attention to her. Her eyes flitted between the Kulaws and Datu Gulod standing next to Imeria, convinced they would register her sister’s presence at any second. But Imeria remained fixated on the goblet resting between the high shaman’s hands. And Luntok?—Luntok only had eyes for her.

Maiza drew Laya’s attention back to herself. This time, she caught a sharp glint of defiance in her eyes. In a thin, scratchy voice, the shaman announced, “I bring together this man, Luntok Kulaw, and this woman, Laya Gatdula. They are now one. May we all bear witness to their union, and to the start of their enduring reign as sovereigns of Maynara and Thu-ki.”

Behind them, a discontented rumble spread across the crowd. Luntok’s gaze locked on hers. His eyes burned with a love that Laya suddenly knew was genuine?—it always had been.

“Laya...” He hesitated, waiting for her to speak.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eti shuffling toward her. Neither Luntok nor Imeria had noticed her. So consumed were they by the marriage ceremony?—and the victory it would bring them?—they could think of little else. But the ceremony was drawing to its farcical end. Eti was standing so close to them; anyone might recognize her if they gave her a second glance.

Laya forced her eyes to soften when she returned his gaze. “I suppose that makes you my husband,” she said.

“And you, my wife.”

She saw the question in his eyes and gave him a small nod to encourage him. He exhaled sharply, like he had been waiting his entire life for this signal, and leaned in.

As Luntok pressed their lips together, Maiza barked out, “Boy, the marriage cord!” and motioned Eti over.

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