It pains me to caution you against the passions to which you are so inclined. After all, you sent heart-stirring elegies in your last letter. How could a warrior wield such a gentle pen? When we meet again, you’ll hang your head and beg me not to be so brisk. To this I say, Wait, my darling. What I promise will ignite your soul far more than some paltry poem. When you are in my arms, you will forget all else.

Come see me tonight, but no sooner. You know the way, perhaps better than myself by now. You mustn’t come before the usual hour. I’ll leave the window open for you, as I always do.

You accused me of apathy in your letter, alongside your poems. I wonder, Luntok, What do you expect me to confess?

I would tell you I missed you, if that’s what you want to hear, but when I said it last time, you didn’t believe a word of it.

Until tonight,

Laya

One

Laya

Few things displeased Laya more than impromptu appointments. She was doubly displeased when such appointments were demanded of her before noon.

She drew back the carriage window shade with an impatient sigh. Bulky blocks of limestone loomed in the corner of her vision⁠—the city’s ramparts, a relic of past wars, now a modern eyesore. The royal carriage lumbered through the ramparts’ imposing gates, slowing as it entered the port on the outskirts of the city.

“What took you so long?” Her older sister’s voice, crisp as the ocean breeze, greeted Laya as soon as her carriage rolled to a stop on the warped planks that lined the wharf.

“I had scarcely woken up when you sent for me,” Laya said, shoving open the door. Bulan jumped out of the way. The hilt of her sword scraped against the carriage’s lacquered surface⁠—a piercing sound that made both girls wince.

“Laya,” Bulan hissed as she regained her footing.

“What?” Laya asked, unperturbed. She gathered her skirt with one hand, the glossy indigo silk creasing in her fingers, and grabbed the doorframe with the other.

“Allow me, Dayang Laya,” one of the guardsmen muttered⁠—a new recruit, judging by the pristine shine of his armor. He stole a glance at Laya, his beady eyes shimmering with curiosity, then offered his arm to help her down.

Laya ignored him and stepped out of the carriage on her own. She cast her gaze beyond the mouth of the harbor, squinting at the pale dawn light that rippled across the Untulu Sea. If given the choice, she would not have left her bed until midday, but Bulan’s messenger had been persistent.

“You truly have no sense of urgency, do you?” Bulan said, pursing her lips. With her arms crossed in disapproval, Bulan could not have looked more like their mother.