Nobles flooded to Imeria in the stands to congratulate her on Luntok’s win. She did not spare any of them a glance. She kept her eyes glued to Luntok, down on the platform. Vikal was still holding him up. Luntok blinked, wide-eyed, stunned speechless by his own victory.

The cheers grew louder, drowning out the beating drums. Imeria’s gaze swept over the crowd. The awe and admiration on their faces⁠—she couldn’t be imagining that.

The warriors clambered onto the platform. They swarmed Luntok, clapping him on the back, mussing his hair as they congratulated him on his first win. Pride swelled in Imeria’s chest as she watched him. Finally, they saw what Imeria saw. Finally, they saw Luntok the way he was supposed to be seen. They gazed at him the same way Luntok gazed at his precious Laya⁠—as if he were the key to their salvation. As if he were greater than the cosmos itself. As if he were a deity.

After the fight, Imeria saw Luntok for no longer than a minute. Vikal whisked him away with a handful of the other Kulaw warriors to celebrate. She smiled as she watched them drag Luntok deep into the alleyways of Mariit. Luntok deserved to relish this victory. She planned to congratulate him when he came home⁠—hopefully in one piece and not too inebriated. Imeria had more important matters to address that evening.

Datu Gulod arrived at the Kulaws’ town house early. One of the servants showed him to the small receiving room at the front of the house, where Imeria was reading. He swooped over and offered her the bouquet in his hands.

“You really have no sense of subtlety, do you?” she asked. She set her book down and accepted the flowers. They were lovely⁠—like everything that passed through Gulod’s greedy fingers⁠—lush, bloodred lilies the size of dinner plates. Imeria handed them to her maid, who was waiting at her side. “Give them some water, please. We wouldn’t want their beauty to fade.”

“Your beauty hasn’t faded, has it, Imeria?” Without waiting for an invitation, Gulod took a seat across from her on the divan and studied her openly. “You look exactly as you did when I was a boy.”

“I’m not that much older than you,” she said, annoyed. “And since when are we on a first name basis?”

“You may call me Namok, if you wish,” Gulod said, grinning. “I like to be familiar with the women I’m courting.”

Imeria rolled her eyes. “Please. We aren’t courting.”

“What else would you call this little dance?” Gulod leaned back on the divan and crossed one leg over the opposite knee. He had changed into more extravagant clothes since she saw him at the tournament and was dressed in fine silks the shade of Xitai pears.

“A farce,” she said curtly.