Imeria did not pay their fight any heed. She stared at her son as the noise swelled to a ferocious pitch. This was a far cry from the Kulaws’ secluded training grounds. Luntok had never battled in such conditions before. She worried he would lose his head amidst the surrounding chaos.

But rather than decenter him, Luntok seemed to draw energy from the crowd. Imeria recognized his stance⁠—the squaring of his shoulders, the firm tilt of his head⁠—Luntok was deep in concentration by the time the tournament judges announced his name.

She held her breath as he mounted the platform, the wooden boards already smeared with the rust-brown traces of bloodstains. People rarely died in the tournament. After all, it was a friendly affair. Victory came in two ways, by knocking one’s opponent off the platform or by pushing them to surrender. Participants might not fight to the death, but they could still draw blood. It was a well-known fact that the tournament judges were biased worms who turned a blind eye when their favorites played dirty.

The Tanglaws, expectedly, were among the judges’ favorites. Across the platform waited Datu Tanglaw’s son, Bato. Imeria frowned. She had heard after the dawn feast of their plot to secure Bato’s betrothal to Laya by the end of the week. No doubt Luntok was aware of this. He unsheathed his sword and stalked toward Bato with a face of pure venom.

In the stands, Imeria’s hands balled into fists. Don’t you dare lose your calm, she wanted to scream. Luntok was stronger and more skilled than the Tanglaw boy, but Imeria knew his weakness: if Bato taunted him about Laya, Luntok wouldn’t just retaliate. Luntok would implode.

Bato drew out his sword, half turning to face the watching crowd. His taunt echoed up to the stands so the highborn spectators could hear. “First fight, Kulaw? Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

Luntok barked out a laugh as the two young men began to circle each other on the platform. “Give me your worst, Tanglaw. Wouldn’t want to lie to Hara Duja about your valor when they’re done scraping you off the floor,” he called.

At Luntok’s remark, titters rippled through the crowd. Bato stiffened and raised his sword. Luntok followed suit. They stared at each other, any attempt at banter screeching to an abrupt halt.

“On my mark . . . Begin,” a deep voice boomed from somewhere in the pit, cutting across the rising cheers.

Bato made the first move. He lunged for Luntok, who dodged his sword easily, making the Tanglaw lose his balance.