“I’m not worried,” she lied. Laya remembered how Utu Luma would grunt through dinners at the palace, scoffing whenever the king made any mention of music or poetry. Manhood, in Utu’s mind, was a singular endeavor in which Hari Aki fell short. As far as Laya was concerned, Luntok could gut him.

He cocked his head to the side, the mask concealing his expression. “You are . . . a bit.”

“Not at all,” she said, more lightly this time. “But after the fight, you must tell me how you defeated him.”

Luntok chuckled against her cheek. “Minx. You know I would never betray the warriors’ secrets.”

Laya couldn’t help herself. She leaned even closer, making her voice deep and husky. “Warrior, I will break your iron will yet. I know just the thing to entice you.”

His grip tightened around her waist. They grew reckless, dancing closer than any strangers should. His hands wandered, and his need fed hers. During a pause in the music, she grabbed his hand. They broke away from the crowd.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the guard shouted after them.

“Oh, let her go,” she heard Eti say. “Laya knows what she’s doing.”

From the balete tree, they ran, pulling each other through the narrow streets until the cacophony of the parade faded into a distant echo. Then they collapsed, laughing, over a faraway canal on an empty footbridge. The tournament, the bespectacled Orfelian, and all the troubles of the day disappeared. Outside the palace, Laya allowed herself to be freer with Luntok than she had ever been.

They laughed for what felt like hours before falling into silence, as their breathing steadied.

“If you won’t share the warriors’ secrets, tell me a story,” she finally said.

“What story?” he asked, reaching over. His fingers tickled her spine through her blouse, making her shiver.

She looked around for inspiration. Someone had strung up lanterns along the bridge just across from them. The candles inside glowed purple and red from the translucent, colored paper. Below the bridge, moonlight skated across the black water.

“Tell me about the serpent who swallowed the moon.”

“You already know that story.”

“Tell me another story, then. Any. I’m not particular.”

“Come on, Laya. We all know that’s not true.”

He leaned against the railing with his hands on either side of her ribs. Laya turned to face him, trapped between his arms. They were both sweating from the excitement of the parade, the run through the city, and their shared body heat. She reached up and removed his mask to find that Luntok was smiling.

“At least I know what I want,” she said.

His smile broadened. “Tell me what you want, then.”