Duja sniffled in disbelief. She had prevented Maynara from falling apart, but she’d never made her country anything more than what it had been during her mother’s reign. Pangil had been the rightful heir⁠—not her. She’d been too preoccupied with appeasing the datus. She wanted to prove that she was nothing like her brother, that she was worthy of the crown. Her caution veered too often into cowardice. Any vision she had for Maynara’s future had gotten lost somewhere between the politicking and the posturing and all the court games she’d been forced to play.

“In a few decades, Maynara will have forgotten all about me,” she said, for once giving voice to her fears. “I have no legacy of which to speak.”

“You have your daughters. You have Laya.”

Pangil’s words hit her like a punch to the stomach. She did have Laya⁠—an heir she failed to prepare in time. A daughter who wanted nothing but her mother’s unconditional devotion. But Duja had been too afraid of turning Laya away from her. Of turning her into Pangil. Even in exile, her brother had cast a shadow over their relationship. She couldn’t love Laya in the way she needed.

“It’s too late,” Duja said again. “If Imeria gets her way, Laya is already lost.” She could already see her daughter’s future mapped out before her, etched into copper like a Maynaran epic. Imeria would use Laya to solidify her family’s claim on the throne. If she couldn’t wear her down, she’d contain her by any means necessary. She’d wait for Laya to produce a new Gatdula heir⁠—one whom Imeria could mold as she pleased. Imeria had no problem biding her time. The second the rest of Maynara had their backs turned, she’d dispose of Laya. And she’d be clever about it too.

Duja swallowed a frustrated scream when she thought about her former lover. “I should have killed her,” she muttered to herself. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.”

“Imeria?” Pangil cocked an eyebrow at her. “But you loved her.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. It was true. “I did love Imeria. And she made me weak.”

In the shadows, her brother flashed her a sly grin. “No, Sister, she did not.”

His claim made Duja take pause. What had loving Imeria Kulaw gotten her, other than an adversary who threatened to destroy everything she held dear? Memories flooded back from their shared childhood. Imeria’s long, inky hair spilling down her shoulder. Her unguarded laughter echoing across the palace courtyard. Always urging Duja to speak louder, run faster. A lump formed in the queen’s throat when she remembered.

Imeria had been the first person to make her feel brave.

“Why are you here?” Duja cast her brother a wary glance.