Imeria didn’t like to be reminded of the years she had spent there, of the happiness they’d brought her and the grief. Standing in the great hall, the memories came flooding back. Music chimed from the back of the room. In the ring of gongs and bamboo zithers, she heard the soft, shy laughter of the former princess, calling her to hide with her behind the billowing batik curtains. She saw, creeping across the tiled floor, the dark, slender shadow of the former crown prince.

A lifetime before, Dayang Duja once pulled her into this very room, pressed her forehead to hers, and whispered, You are my heart, as I am yours. Promise you will never forget.

Imeria’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine goblet. She didn’t want to remember.

She devoted her attention instead to the room before her, cataloging every change the Gatdulas had made since she’d last visited Mariit. She took stock of the new reinforced locks on the windows, their brass dowels gleaming in the afternoon light. She counted the guards posted along the walls, finding that their ranks had nearly doubled over the past two seasons. She studied the palace foundation for the slightest hint of a fault line. But not once did she catch a glimpse of the Maynaran queen.

Imeria hadn’t seen Hara Duja since the end of the procession, which struck her as odd. This was one of the few occasions when the nobles could address her openly. The queen owed them her presence. Imeria knew better than anyone that Duja was infuriatingly stoic. She had never been the type of sovereign to renege on her duties.

“Datu Kulaw,” a man’s voice called. Imeria turned. It was Datu Tanglaw, head of one of the six highborn families and fellow council member. He was a distant cousin of the king and had more daughters than one could consider useful. Bato, his eldest child and sole son, was two years Luntok’s senior. From what Imeria could gather, they were not friends.

“Datu Tanglaw. Been some time, hasn’t it?” Imeria said.

He nodded stiffly. “It has.”

It had been an entire year, in fact, since she’d seen most members of the Maynaran court. The last time Imeria had come to Mariit had been during the feast days the previous year. She had been expected during the Day of the Weeping Goddess, and again during the Fire Moon. Her failure to accept the queen’s invitation had been interpreted as an insult, and the other families had shunned her for her disobedience.

“Will your son be competing in the tournament?” Imeria asked out of courtesy. Datu Tanglaw and his ilk were soulless lackeys who groveled at the Gatdulas’ feet. She couldn’t care less what they did.

“Yes,” Datu Tanglaw said. “And yours?”