Bulan noticed the shift in her expression. “Are you all right, Laya?” she asked. “You look ill.”

Laya faltered. “I’ve just remembered something,” she said.

The doors of the great hall swung open. All heads turned to watch Imeria stride through the entrance in a billow of scarlet silk. Luntok was close behind her. He met Laya’s gaze for a brief second. Her heart leaped, singing louder than the whisper of suspicion.

Someone very powerful had healed him after the tournament, but who?

“You’re late, Datu Kulaw,” Hara Duja called from the opposite end of the room. She did not sound pleased.

“Apologies for missing the feast, Your Majesty.” She glanced over her shoulder at the clock above the arched doorframe. With a faint click, the hands struck midnight. “As you can see, I’ve arrived in time for the ceremony.”

The queen pursed her lips. She didn’t seem to have the energy to berate Imeria any further. “Very well,” she said and raised her arms, inviting the datus to join her around the throne.

Laya took that as her cue to stand beside her father on the dais. Bulan followed her. Their mother remained with Maiza in front of the throne. A small table lay before them, atop which rested a golden wine goblet and a ceremonial dagger, its hilt made of an enameled buffalo horn. The blade glinted dully in the faint sconce light of the throne room. Some believed the blood of generations of datus past to be absorbed into the steel. Laya didn’t place much stock in blood magic, but she appreciated the symbolism of the closing ceremony same as anyone else.

“Where’s your sister?” the king whispered as she climbed the dais to stand at his side.

“She must have been overwhelmed,” Laya said. It was odd⁠—Eti should have been back by now. But everyone knew she hated feasts, always calling them stuffy and pretentious. Most likely she was hiding in some staircase after bringing the desserts to Ariel, tinkering with her precious metals.

The king frowned, which was rare of him. “Look for her when this is over” was all he said.

The receiving room quieted as Maiza began to chant in Old Maynaran. It was a haunting language, the whisper of gods. As she chanted, the lights dimmed, bending themselves to her magic. Only Hara Duja stood fully illuminated. The rest of the room was basked in darkness.

The six datus formed a semicircle around her. Like them, Laya watched in awe as her mother transformed. Hara Duja cast an imperious gaze down at her subjects from where she perched on her obsidian throne. She raised her chin, and shadows danced across the hollows of her cheeks. Her eyes hardened to steel. When her mother carried herself like this, she became the most magnificent creature Laya had ever seen.