Imeria shook her head. Although the rebellion was long over, it was futile to try to negotiate the terms her family had agreed to after they’d surrendered. Twenty-two years earlier, Hara Duja made it painfully clear that the Gatdulas would have no affiliation with the Kulaws and their ungodly bloodright. It didn’t matter if Imeria threw herself at her feet and begged Duja to let her stay. Imeria’s own naive words came back to her. Turn me out and push me away. I am your heart, Duja, always.

“If we want the throne, we must force Hara Duja out ourselves,” she said in a hollow voice. “It is the only way.”

“And what of Dayang Laya? Do you plan to expel her as well?” Gulod stroked his chin.

Imeria glowered. She would exterminate the entire Gatdula bloodline from the earth if she could, but Laya⁠—Laya was a brash, empty-headed girl, but she was not her mother.

“Let me deal with her when the time comes,” she told him. Imeria would restore her son’s title and birthright. If everything went to plan, she would be able to grant Luntok his princess too.

Twelve

Laya

Once the others had eaten breakfast and gone off on their own agendas, Laya followed Bulan to the upper terrace, where she stood looking over the palace gates and the long, narrow canal that flowed down to the giant balete tree at the heart of the city. She was fuming in silence, her shoulders hiked up to her ears.

“There’s something odd about that Orfelian, don’t you agree?” she said.

“Oh, drop it, won’t you?” Bulan snapped from behind her.

Laya sniffed and folded over the balustrade. Sunlight slid like butter down the sides of the twisting spires dotting the skyline. Mariit melted beneath the midday heat, which had climbed to unbearable heights rarely seen in the city during the dry season. Laya thought about summoning a few clouds for shade, but she settled on a gentle breeze instead. She held her hand out above the latticed railing. The air rushed to meet her fingers in swirling currents that tickled her skin.

She sighed in relief and squinted up at her sister. Bulan crouched barefoot on the palace roof, balancing in the break between the two highest tiers. Her profile was silhouetted against the sun, its rays glaring off the laminated steel of her blade.

“I’ll drop it when you get down from there,” Laya said. She had witnessed Bulan dart across the roofs with impressive speed over a dozen times before. Her sister took too much care to fall, but the sight of her standing so high above made Laya jitter.

“It helps to practice balance,” Bulan explained. She tucked her sword back into its sheath and slid down the slope on the lower tier. Laya watched as her sister swung over the side and landed on the terrace with a graceful thump.