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Chapters (50)
  1. Praise for
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. City of Mariit: Capital of Maynara Map
  5. One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Two
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Three
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Four
  31. By Order of General Ojas,On Behalf of Her Majesty Hara Duja
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Twenty-Four
  34. Twenty-Five
  35. Twenty-Six
  36. Twenty-Seven
  37. Twenty-Eight
  38. Twenty-Nine
  39. Thirty
  40. Thirty-One
  41. Thirty-Two
  42. Thirty-Three
  43. Five
  44. A Coronation Prayer
  45. Thirty-Four
  46. Epilogue
  47. Acknowledgments
  48. Thank You
  49. About the Author
  50. Violetear Books x Bindery Books

“Yes, Pangil. He had these tremors. I helped him. I can help you too⁠—” The alchemist’s mouth snapped shut. His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment when he remembered who Duja was. “Your Majesty,” he added, lowering his head in deference.

Questions flooded Duja’s mind as she stared at the alchemist. She detected no trace of treachery in his eyes. Maybe her brother had been telling the truth after all.

“Pangil,” she said again. A shiver of apprehension ran through her body. “How did you help him, exactly?”

The alchemist’s eyes trailed down to Duja’s fingers, which quivered like dying leaves at her side. Something clicked in his gaze. For a brief moment, he didn’t appear lost at all. In fact, he appeared to understand more than Duja gave him credit for.

Duja stared as he leaned closer. Judging by the nervous glint in his eyes, she half expected him to start babbling in Orfelian again. Instead, the alchemist took a tentative step toward her. In a hushed voice, he asked, “What do you know about precioso, Your Majesty?”

Eight

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Imeria

The rice wine soured on Imeria’s lips as she gazed up at the soaring ceilings of the great hall. Resplendent patterns of orchids and kingfishers swirled along the arched doorways, gilded walls, and marble pillars. Fragrant bowls of rose mallow lay at the center of each table lining the hall. Servants wove in between them, offering the noble guests platters topped with food and drink.

At the end of the hall loomed Hara Duja’s throne. It sat upon the back of a crocodile, which served as a dais and was carved from black volcanic stone. The crocodile’s neck curved toward the supplicants below, its jaws frozen midsnap. Imeria remembered counting its teeth while she knelt at the base of the throne as a young girl. She and her mother had been summoned before the old queen to plead for their lives. The old queen was kinder than the Gatdulas before her, and she harbored inside her enormous bosom a soft heart and strong ideals.

I see a great deal of my daughter in yours, the queen had said to the late Lady Kulaw. She thought Imeria an immaculate, harmless thing whose father had been at war for most of her life. The rebellion kept him far from home, unable to taint her with his treasonous misdeeds.

Ironic that Imeria’s guilelessness had saved them.

She must have played her role well, because the old queen invited her to live at the palace not as a prisoner, but as a promise of peace. Let us put these years of bloodshed behind us, she’d said, and live as one people, as we were always meant to be.