Duja met Imeria’s eyes. The other woman’s palms were raised to the heavens. A breeze swept in from the sea and ruffled Imeria’s skirts. She stood there calmly, a buoy drifting amidst the rolling chaos. She returned the queen’s gaze, head cocked to the side, as if she were inviting her to make the first move.

“What will it be, Duja? I have your daughter,” Imeria called to her. But Duja could hear no wrath in her voice. Imeria sounded tired.

“Not Laya. Please,” Duja pleaded, desperate.

“She killed him.” Her voice cracked. “She killed Luntok.”

Duja looked around helplessly. Laya was stock-still at Imeria’s right. Beside her stood Ojas, his sword arm frozen midstrike. Dozens of the Gatdulas’ allies were caught in Imeria’s curse. And Duja could do nothing to save them⁠—nothing except run.

“She killed my boy,” Imeria said, her shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

A stone dropped in Duja’s stomach. “The fault is mine. Take me,” she begged.

Imeria’s fine features contorted in pain. She didn’t say a word. She stood as frozen as the guardsmen flanking her.

Duja let out a shallow breath and held out her hand. “Come,” she said. “Too many have died. I am the one you want.”

“No,” Imeria whispered, shaking her head.

“Take me,” Duja said again, her voice carrying in the wind. “Please, my heart.”

The other woman swayed on her feet. A gentle gale sailed over the cliffs, whooshing through the blades of grass. Duja could still peer into Imeria Kulaw’s heart, even after all this time. She may be a monster, but not even she could stomach mindless bloodshed. Not when her victory had been stolen from her. Not when both families had lost so much. If she wanted to avenge her son, so be it. Out of the hundreds of souls frozen on the Black Salt Cliffs, there was only one life she wanted.

After a moment of tortured deliberation, Imeria lowered her hands. She steeled her shoulders and straightened her back. “If that is your wish,” she said, her voice constricted.

Imeria limped toward Duja in slow, measured steps. She clutched her side, wincing; she may have survived Duja’s blow, but not without a couple of broken ribs. As she approached, she freed the men she passed from her power. They pitched forward, falling to their knees, groaning as they regained their senses.

“My lady!” Vikal called from across the cliffs. His blood-drenched sword fell limply to his side. He stared after Imeria in shock. “What on earth are you doing?”

But Imeria didn’t answer him. She took Duja’s arm. “Let us end this,” she agreed.

At her side, Bulan let out an indignant cry. “Mother, where are you⁠—”