At the end of the tour of Mariit, the riverboat circled back to the balete tree. Laya could hear the wind rustling through its twisted vines, the whisper of spirits⁠—the dead who awaited her on the other side. With a heavy heart, she stepped onto the platform. The whispers quieted as she walked past the ring of spirit houses and into the sacred grove. Her parents slept together in the same rosewood tree. Hari Aki’s remains rested in the tree, tucked into a limestone sarcophagus. Over the nine days following his death, Maiza’s shamans sang funeral dirges as they cleansed his skin with blessed water and betel sap. They had hollowed out a space for Hara Duja’s sarcophagus beside him earlier that week, even though they never recovered her body.

Laya reached out and laid her palm against the bark. If she could have wielded the wood, she would have reached straight through and tugged her parents’ spirits from the resin. But they were gone, roaming a distant realm, and not even Maiza could call them back.

“I will not fail you,” she murmured. She wanted her mother to hear this more than anyone else. Her mouth flooded with all the questions she would never get a chance to ask her. Hara Duja had left her too soon, and Laya was not yet ready to bear the mantle. How could she govern a country that had scarcely healed from its recent scars? She had coveted the throne her entire life, but the reality of taking her mother’s place terrified her.

But she wouldn’t be alone. Her ears perked up at the light tread of footsteps. Laya looked over her shoulder. Bulan and Eti hung back to give her a moment alone with their parents. The small act of deference caught Laya by surprise⁠—the first of many changes. She beckoned to them, and they joined her. They linked hands as they stood before the sacred rosewood tree.

“They’re still with us,” Bulan said softly. She squeezed Laya’s hand. A deep trust had blossomed between them in the hole their parents had left behind. After everything they had lost, they put aside their unspoken grievances. They agreed to be kinder to each other. To lean on one another, as sisters should. Their past arguments, the hurtful insults they had exchanged over the years⁠—all of that seemed so petty. Laya’s cheeks burned with shame when she thought about how awfully she had treated Bulan before.