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Chapters (50)
  1. Praise for
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. City of Mariit: Capital of Maynara Map
  5. One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Two
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Three
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Four
  31. By Order of General Ojas,On Behalf of Her Majesty Hara Duja
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Twenty-Four
  34. Twenty-Five
  35. Twenty-Six
  36. Twenty-Seven
  37. Twenty-Eight
  38. Twenty-Nine
  39. Thirty
  40. Thirty-One
  41. Thirty-Two
  42. Thirty-Three
  43. Five
  44. A Coronation Prayer
  45. Thirty-Four
  46. Epilogue
  47. Acknowledgments
  48. Thank You
  49. About the Author
  50. Violetear Books x Bindery Books

He didn’t budge when Eti stepped back and tucked herself under the cot’s threadbare sheets. Although he set the bottle down, he stayed at the window for a long moment. Eti didn’t bother him. She was too alert to sleep. In her mind, she stalked the halls of the palace. She sifted through hazy memories, lessons in cleverness passed down from her father. She searched for a solution, anything that could help free her family from the Kulaws’ clutches.

The queen, the king, Bulan, Laya⁠—Eti knew she could help them better than anyone. But how?

Twenty-Five

line

Laya

Her tongue awoke before the rest of her body. She felt it, thick and rubbery, against the roof of her mouth. The grassy taste of herbs clung to it like medicine, and Laya wondered if she had caught a fever. The last time she woke up swimming in sweat-soaked sheets, she had been ten years old. Hours later, when the fever had broken, Maiza was leaning over her, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead. Her father was curled up next to her on the bed. Maiza had said he didn’t want to leave her in case sickness-induced nightmares jolted her awake.

But Laya was alone this time. She was in her room. Someone had drawn the panels of her window open to the sun. The light blinded her the moment she opened her eyes. She lifted her hand to shield her face, only to find that her wrists had been bound together in front of her chest. She shot upright. She couldn’t wrench her hands free. And without her hands, she was powerless.

Panic coursed through her as memories of the midnight feast flashed in her mind. She remembered the explosion of glass above her head. The blood-slick tiles. Her mother’s blank-eyed stare as she froze in the middle of the throne room, caught in Imeria’s grip.

She scrambled to get out of bed. Her vision swirled. She struggled to plant one foot in front of the other. Whatever Imeria had done to her, the effects lingered. Laya’s limbs betrayed her. She fell to the ground with a thud.

Voices echoed on the other side of the door, and it slammed open. Laya blinked at the sight of sandaled feet as they hurried over to her.

“Dayang, you’re awake,” a woman said⁠—a servant. Gently, she pulled Laya by the arms into a sitting position.

“Mother,” she said in a feeble voice, her throat dry as sand.

“You must be parched.” The servant reached for the water jug that was sitting on one of Laya’s bedside tables. She poured some of its contents into a cup and knelt by her side, bringing the cup to her lips.

Laya gulped down the water and nodded. “More.”