Page 87 of Black Salt Queen

Thunder erupted in the sky above. Then the bay sucked him in as the underworld beckoned to him. The waves kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, the faint line across his back where his mother had healed him. Darkness enveloped his body, the warm embrace of an old lover. If this was death, it was but a mere shadow of mortal pain, and he felt none of it.

Luntok had spent years climbing to precipices beyond his reach. He was ready. He wasn’t afraid.

The gods called his name, and Luntok was ready to meet them.

Thirty-Two

Imeria

No.

Imeria watched, open-mouthed in horror, as her son flew over the edge of the cliffs. She had watched Luntok fall countless times before: sparring with Vikal at sunrise, barreling down the streets of Mariit to answer Laya’s beckoning. He stumbled often, but never without grace, and always?—always?—within Imeria’s reach.

Her breath caught in her throat.I can reach him. I can save him.

In the split second before he fell, she lunged for him. But Imeria was too slow, too feeble. By the time she blinked, Luntok was already an ocean away.

“My lady.”She heard it as a low, distant whisper.“My lady, please!”

Dimly, she became aware of a pair of strong arms holding her up. Holding her together. Vikal pressed her face to his chest, shocked tears spilling down his blood-splattered armor. He held Imeria no longer than a heartbeat before he took her hand and started pulling her away.

“We must leave now,” he said, choking back a sob. “And Luntok?—gods help us. If we wait any longer, they won’t let us get away.”

Panic gripped the base of her throat. She jerked her arm back. “No,” she said. “We’re not going anywhere.” Her stomach twisted in grief.Not without him.

Datu Gulod darted toward them from the other side of the cliffs. He was ashen-faced, his waxy features stretched wide in terror. “Are you insane?” he hissed at Imeria. “What are you waiting for?Run.”

She cast her gaze at the flattened grass where her son had been lying mere moments earlier. Laya was kneeling at the cliff’s edge. The last orange tones of twilight glinted dimly off the golden plates radiating from her temples, her head bowed as if in prayer. Her right arm hovered above her head, cupping the air she’d used to strike Luntok. Her fingers trembled. The rest of her remained hauntingly still.

Monster,Imeria thought, clenching her hands into fists. “No,” she said again, as white-hot rage flooded her veins.Not before I kill this bitch.

She thought only of Luntok’s face as she barreled toward the edge of the cliffs.

“My lady!” Vikal yelled, his desperate cry piercing the shocked silence.

Metal flashed at the corners of Imeria’s vision. She glimpsed green sashes, stained scarlet at the hems?—the threat of Gatdula warriors closing in. She paid them no heed. She charged forward, thrusting her hand out in Laya’s direction.

I will make her hurt. I will make her pay?—

“No!”A broken voice rang out.

A muddy chunk of earth jutted out of the ground. Her foot caught on its ragged edge. She slammed into the grass with a scream. When she looked up, the queen was hovering over her. Bright-red blood coated Duja’s fingers, her arms, the torn silk of her dress. Salty tears dripped down her jaw, squared in sorrow, in rage. She stared down at Imeria, her tight lips trembling.

“Duja?—” Imeria gasped.

Duja’s fists closed around the collar of Imeria’s dress. She had become monstrous in grief. Her hands did not shake when she wrenched Imeria to her feet. “Touch my daughter and I’ll kill you,” she said, her voice lowering to a growl. “I’ll kill you like your people killed him.”

Imeria glanced over Duja’s shoulder, where the king lay in a patch of bloodied grass, lifeless. Her vision clouded with shame and anger and pain. He was gone. They were both gone. An excruciating pang wound through her when she thought of her son?—her beautiful, broken boy?—waiting for her at the base of the Black Salt Cliffs.My son, my son?—she couldn’t bear it.

One strike by Duja’s hand would end it. And for the first time in her life, Imeria craved Gatdula clemency more than anything. “Go on,” she said, staring Duja in the eye. “Kill me, then.”

Doubt flickered in the queen’s gaze. For a moment, Imeria saw the young girl she’d once been?—afraid of her brother’s shadow and paralyzed by second guesses. The mirage faded as quickly as it appeared. Duja’s face hardened into a mask of steel.

“No,” she said again, and pointed to her fallen husband. “Not before you heal him.”

Imeria froze. She looked beyond Duja’s shoulder at the crowd of people clustered around Hari Aki’s body, their heads bowed, their clothes soiled by royal blood. The old hag Maiza had already stepped away, muttering ancient prayers under her breath. Bulan was kneeling beside the king’s chest, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs. General Ojas stood straight-backed at her shoulder. He was watching Imeria with cold eyes, his weapon drawn.

The king was dead. Imeria could do nothing to change that.

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