The servant obliged, holding back her hair as she drank. Sleepiness made Laya clumsy. Some of the water leaked down her chin and onto her clothes. No one had thought to remove the soiled dress she had worn during the closing ceremony. She felt filthy and ill all over. Her wrists chafed against the shackles, fastened tight against her skin.

“They told me to let them know when you woke up,” the servant said quietly. She set the cup down on the floor and made to stand, but Laya snatched her by the elbow.

“Wait,” she croaked. “Don’t tell them yet. A moment longer⁠—please.”

The servant hesitated but, at Laya’s pleading eyes, gave in. “One moment, not more,” she said, and refilled the cup.

Laya tried to drink slowly this time. Less dehydrated now, her mind cleared. Her gaze settled on the servant before her. She was young, around Laya’s age, pleasant looking but unremarkable. She had to be someone Imeria trusted, enough to allow her to be alone with her. “What is your name?” Laya asked, lowering the cup.

The servant stared, surprised, then bowed her head. “My name is Yari, Dayang.”

A southern accent, maybe from the Kulaws’ kadatuan. Clipped speech marked her as lowborn. The palace must have employed her as a scullery maid, too common to serve the royal family this intimately. Laya wondered what she had done to win Imeria’s trust.

The girl was not loyal to her, but she had to know something about Imeria’s plans for the Gatdulas. The chains rattled when Laya took her hand and whispered, “My family, Yari. What has become of them?”

Yari hesitated. Fear creased the corners of her eyes. “They are alive and well, Dayang,” she told her, bowing her head lower. “Datu Kulaw has been merciful.”

Anger flared beneath her ribs. “Merciful,” she echoed, releasing her hand. “Does this look like mercy to you?”

Sensing her wrath, Yari scrambled for the door. “You’re awake, now. They’ll want to know.”

“Wait!” Laya cried, but it was too late. She had spoken too brashly, and the servant girl disappeared. The door locked shut behind her.

Cursing loudly, Laya tossed her cup to the side. Her thoughts raced as she searched her room for options. Yari would be of no help to her. She had to act while she was alone, because she wouldn’t be for long.

Her gaze landed on the open window. She struggled to her feet and rushed toward it. Laya glanced over her shoulder. The door remained closed, and she couldn’t hear any footsteps from the outside. Cautiously, she headed onto the balcony. The chains on her wrists clanked against the balustrade. When she leaned over the railing and saw the drop to the ground below, she felt like vomiting. Luntok may have survived that fall dozens of times before, but he had use of both his hands.