Duja wanted to scream in frustration. “By the gods,” she cried, wringing her wrists, “how can I hope to stop Imeria now? My daughter needs me, and I do not have the strength.”

“Um, Your Majesty?” Duja looked up to find Ariel Sauros standing before her in the prison cell. His lanky stature and wire-framed spectacles were unmistakable.

She stared at him. “How did you⁠—”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we don’t have time for explanations,” Ariel said. He reached into the pockets of his trousers, digging out a handful of crystal bars and a rusty pipe. Cautiously, he knelt before her and laid the objects in her lap.

Duja’s heart raced as she stared down at them. “I don’t believe it. It’s⁠—”

“Precioso,” Ariel said, nodding. “I believe it’s exactly what you need.”

Thirty

Laya

Laya’s neck ached as she leaned out the window of her carriage. It was the damned headdress with wide gold plates that weighed a pound each⁠—the same one her mother had worn during the closing ceremony. Behind her stretched a string of royal attendants and the spineless nobles who had already capitulated to Imeria, eager to win the new sovereign’s favor or to spare their families from her wrath. She glanced at the lone girl sitting across from her and would have allowed herself a dark, humorless chuckle at the laughable size of her retinue for such a momentous occasion, if she weren’t leading her country to its doom.

They passed through the heart of Mariit on their way to the ramparts that protected the city. The entire population had gathered around the canals⁠—ruddy fishermen, finely dressed merchants, mothers with crying babies swaddled against their chests. If this were like royal weddings past, there would have been baskets of coconut-flaked sweets passed around and paper lanterns launched into the air and rice wine flowing into the streets. From every footbridge, minstrels would have serenaded them with warbling love songs. Children would have chased behind her carriage, waving banners, cheering.

Instead, the people watched in silence as the procession cut through the throngs. Their faces were somber, resigned, as if they were bearing witness to a funerary march.

Save me, Laya thought as she met their gazes through the carriage window. Save your future queen.

In spite of her gods-given power, Laya could not save herself. Before she left the palace, the brass shackles had been fastened to her wrists anew. The marriage ceremony was too important, Imeria had told her, for things to go amiss. Laya cast a bitter glance over her shoulder. The Kulaws rode in the carriage directly behind her. If she were to try to escape, they would be the first to see.

“You look lovely, Dayang. Your betrothed will be more than pleased.”