Duja faltered. Would she allow Pangil to return to Maynara? The same question had been plaguing Duja since the previous evening. She and the king had agreed to wait until the end of the feast days before they entertained the possibility. Given the facts, Pangil had told the truth. Ariel was a worthy messenger, and so far, Duja’s intuition told her to trust him. He testified as to precioso’s efficacy on her brother, and it was thanks to Pangil that Duja had access to the drug. Maybe Pangil deserved Duja’s pardon, but the feast days were no time to grant it. The last thing Duja needed was a scandal to erupt concerning Maynara’s exiled prince. No⁠—Pangil needed to be dealt with quietly. She could not risk seeing him until the nobles left Mariit.

In the meantime, Ariel promised to concoct a small quantity of precioso for her to sample. Duja didn’t need her brother’s word when she could test the drug herself.

The queen saw no need to tell the Orfelian any of this. She shook her head and diverted her gaze. “The matter is still being debated,” she said curtly.

Unlike the nobles, Ariel did not pry. He closed his mouth, and they turned back to the courtyard below. Bulan pulled her father and sisters to their feet. Hari Aki dusted his clothes off, still chuckling to himself. He reached for his three daughters, bundling them into a bodily embrace.

Duja’s heart swelled once more. “The king is a good man,” she told Ariel, turning away from the window.

“He is, Your Majesty.” He nodded in agreement and grabbed hold of the window screen. Duja shook her head, gesturing for him to stand aside.

The tremors hadn’t withered her body to dust. Not yet. From closing a window to combing her own hair, the tasks were small victories for Duja but victories all the same. Precioso would make them easier. Until then⁠—

The queen reached past Ariel for the window screen. This time, with steady fingers, she slid it shut behind him.

Eleven

Imeria

Imeria fanned herself with one hand as her gaze swept across the tournament ring. Her thick golden bangles glared in the light as they slid down her wrist. The crowd’s raucous cheers pierced the air. They shouted the names of their prized warriors, an endless list of nobles that shuffled year after year. Each spectator had their favorites, but only one contender would win.

“I’ve brought a present for you,” Datu Gulod said by way of greeting. He sat beside her under the parasol shielding her from the afternoon sun.

Imeria wrinkled her nose at the intrusion. “Are you always fishing for scandal?” she said dryly. It was bold to address a widow like her with such familiarity, and Gulod was fully aware of this.

His grin widened. “I’d risk anything to remain in the presence of such an enchanting woman.”