Laya loved her sister, but how could she trust her? Bulan had always resented her for her lot in life: Laya was a true Gatdula and held the power of Mulayri at her fingertips. One day, Laya was going to be queen. And Bulan, who was born in the wrong year under a godless moon; Bulan, who wielded nothing but a broadsword and an empty title; Bulan, who was Hara Duja’s eldest but not her heir⁠—where did that leave her?

Laya knew her sister, knew that her bitterness burned stronger than any power she herself might have possessed. Bulan might not steal the throne, but she would find a way to take Luntok away from her, celestial alignment be damned.

When Bulan didn’t answer, Laya turned back to the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Freeing the ship had exhausted every ounce of strength she possessed. She closed her eyes, succumbing to the fatigue washing over her like a tidal wave.

Sisters or not, Laya could not bridge the divide that grew wider between them with each passing year. No promise she made could change that. Silence was a far greater comfort than any words she could share. She pretended to sleep, and Bulan didn’t talk to her for the rest of the ride through the city.

Laya kept her eyes shut until they rolled to a stop in front of the palace gates. By the time she opened them, the carriage door was swinging on its hinges, and the seat across from her was empty.

It was better this way, she reminded herself, as she made her way up the marble staircase and into the palace. She crossed the central courtyard, weaving through the throng of servants furiously scrubbing the tiles before the opening feast. From the courtyard, she retreated to the privacy of her chambers. No one was waiting for her when she arrived. She kicked off her shoes and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. A maid had left the balcony doors open to let in fresh air.

Laya stared past the fluttering curtains at the blue sky beyond the palace, half expecting a man’s head to appear over the balustrade. But no one was coming. She had ordered Luntok to wait until nighttime. A weight dropped on her shoulders when she realized he had heeded her request. Doubt leaped from her gut to her throat. She ought to have sent a kinder letter. What if she had angered him, and he’d never come again?

An absurd idea. Luntok could not keep away from her for long. He’d come to her, just as he promised.

Laya glanced up at the round giltwood clock that hung above her wardrobe. Hours to go before Luntok’s next visit. Her heart sank when she wondered how she might fill them.

Two

Laya