“Yes, hello.” Bulan all but ignored him⁠—flattery, like most games of courtship, slid over her head like butter. She swept past Bato to join her sister, her brow knitted in worry. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Laya asked.

“The earthquake.”

“Oh, that was but a minor tremor,” Waran said with a wave of his hand. “Hardly lasted more than a few seconds. I made sure Dayang Laya was unhurt.”

Bulan met Laya’s gaze. In an unspoken way, they both knew what that earthquake meant. Something strange was happening with their mother.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Laya said, but she gave a subtle nod to the flock of overly attentive suitors surrounding them. We’ll speak of it more later.

Bulan nodded in understanding and made to turn away, but Bato called her back with polite conversation. “We were just discussing the tournament, Dayang,” he said. “Will you be attending the final round tonight?”

“I should think so,” Bulan said, her shoulders relaxing. This was her uncontested domain. Laya did not take any particular joy from sword fighting and weaponry, but Bulan could discuss it for hours on end. She glanced between Luntok and Bato. “I caught a glimpse of your fight the other day,” she told them. “I didn’t make it up to the stands, so you might not have seen me.”

Luntok looked up in surprise, his attention momentarily pulled away from Laya. “What did you think of it?”

She stared at him. “You fought marvelously for a beginner. I was impressed,” she said, and Luntok’s smirk grew wider. When she turned to Bato, however, she frowned. “You surprised me, Bato. In previous years, you were more consistent.”

Red splotches spread over his wounded cheeks. He was embarrassed. “I suppose I wasn’t destined to win this year,” he said flatly.

Anyone with sense would have let the subject drop, but not Bulan. “I don’t know if destiny has anything to do with it,” she remarked, oblivious, and went on to describe every mistake he made in frightful detail. “Toward the end, you had the upper strike of an untrained infant. And you have to admit, when you’re tired, your footwork gets sloppy. Not to mention your stamina⁠—”

Laya was cruel, but she knew not to be insulting. “Bulan,” she said tentatively.

“What is it?”

“To fight in the tournament at all is an achievement, is it not?” she asked, hoping Bulan would catch the warning in her tone.

“Yes,” Bato agreed, a bit too enthusiastically for Laya’s liking. “With all due respect, Dayang Bulan, you have never competed in the tournament yourself.”

“Oh.” Bulan’s expression hardened. “I suppose that means I know nothing, then.”