Imeria snapped the box shut and slid it into the pocket of her skirt for safe keeping. “Come dine with me later tonight, perhaps after the tournament,” she said. “I must thank you properly for your generous gift.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Datu Kulaw.” He stood and took her hand, brushing it against his lips.

She watched him return to his own seat as the whispers in the stands grew louder. Let them talk. Imeria cared little for their idle gossip. Her fingers curled against the thin fabric of her skirt, itching for the vials nestled beneath it. Knowing they were within reach rendered her breathless, giddy.

Later. From the platform below, drums sounded. Imeria sat up straight as a hush washed over the crowd. She found Luntok in the pit once again. He was waiting beneath the platform with Vikal and the rest of the warriors. Her chest filled with a premature spark of triumph. She would have the rest of the night to deal with the precioso. The tournament was about to begin.

This was the one feast-day event Imeria enjoyed, perhaps because the royal family rarely attended. With the exception of Bulan, sword fighting did not interest the Gatdulas. What use did they have for weapons when the power of Mulayri shot through their fingertips? But for ordinary Maynarans, this was their prized sport. Imeria used to sneak past her maids to watch the Kulaw warriors train on the grounds below their estate. Her father had been the strongest of them all. He’d stood tall as a pillar amidst the browning haycock hills, his rousing orders carrying in the salt-sprayed wind. That was one of Imeria’s few memories of him.

Before her father went to war, he represented the Kulaws in the tournament alongside the fiercest warriors in the kingdom. The tournament was ceremonial, intended to unite the ruling families around their shared sword-fighting tradition. Over the centuries, it grew into Maynara’s fiercest competition. It was a frequent source of shame for the losers⁠—like the Gulods, who cared more about their ledger books than they did for the martial arts. But for the families with war in their veins⁠—notably the Kulaws, Lumas, and Tanglaws⁠—the tournament was their one chance at glory. Vikal had represented the Kulaws since Luntok was a child. Now it was Luntok’s turn.

Below the stands, crowds swarmed the tournament platform, held up on rickety stilts. Imeria counted hundreds of spectators, stuffing their mouths with fried fish balls, chanting battle songs, and drinking. Judging by the rumble, the crowd was growing rowdier by the minute. The beating drums announced the first fight of the tournament, the beast-like Utu Luma versus a scrawnier Sandata upstart who was in over his head. The crowd cheered as Utu Luma charged across the platform. The air filled with the sounds of clashing metal as the Sandata boy matched him blow for blow.