If Imeria was going to act, it must be soon. But for her schemes to come to fruition, she needed every star in the universe to align.

The carriage wheels groaned beneath the weight of Imeria’s trunks as they pulled away from the dock. She looked at the empty seat beside Vikal. Maybe the key to the Kulaws’ success was closer than they realized.

“Luntok didn’t accompany you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She had sent an earlier ship to the capital⁠—kitchen staff and scullery maids to prepare the town house for their sojourn. Luntok insisted on departing with them.

Her son spent half the year in Mariit, far longer than any future datu had a right to. His frequent stays in the capital did not go unnoticed. Imeria, along with the rest of the court, knew precisely whom to blame.

Vikal cleared his throat. “Luntok was occupied this afternoon. He didn’t say where he was going, but, well . . .”

“That Laya Gatdula.” Imeria let out a dry laugh. The princess was pompous and impulsive and vain. It didn’t help that she was beautiful the way a limestone statue was beautiful⁠—high-nosed, untouchable.

“He’s awfully devoted. I’ll give him that,” Vikal said with a shrug.

Imeria raised an eyebrow at him. “To the princess, or to the cause?”

Vikal chuckled in response. “To be frank, my lady, I believe Luntok has yet to figure that out.”

She sighed. Laya was not the core of the Kulaws’ plans, as Luntok claimed, but a distraction. Imeria might not be able to save her son from heartbreak, but maybe she could grant him the power he desperately craved.

At the great stone walls that protected Mariit, the guardsmen barely glanced at Imeria and her traveling party. All she had to do was play the role of the bored noblewoman, unable to part with her luxuries for more than a week. One look at her dour expression, and the guards waved them through the checkpoint.

Imeria gazed out the window as the carriage trudged deep into the heart of the city. It was dusk, and the market canal had long since emptied. Boats crowded its lanes during the day, laden with green cabbages and dried fish and unripe mangoes. Hundreds of baskets exchanged hands over the water each day⁠—food and wares as far as the eye could see. Silence, rarer than snow in the capital, had settled over the market canal when Imeria rolled past. The only boats docked to the moorings drifted empty, thudding against the wooden planks of the walkway as they swayed.

The carriage followed the canal west before crossing the nearest bridge into the central district. The buildings there stood tall on sturdy coral stones. The Kulaws’ town house stood the tallest, with slanting, gold-tipped roofs that mirrored the architecture of the royal palace. After the carriage rolled to a stop, Vikal popped open the door and helped Imeria to the ground.