A murmur of dread spread among the Council of Datus, who exchanged dark glances across the table. The truth alone would not reassure them. Duja wished she possessed her husband’s warm voice and easy grin, a balm against Imeria’s bluster. Guilt wound through the queen when she thought of a time when words of love, not venom, dripped from the Kulaw woman’s sweet, tender lips.

Duja shifted her thoughts back to the other council members. “The policy change would apply to foreign imports, not individuals,” she said. “The world has changed so much in the past few decades. We cannot remain friendless. In isolation, our people will suffer. Our wealth will dwindle.”

Across the table, a few datus nodded in agreement. But Imeria had a brutal vision of the world, and she had since she was a child; she could not be convinced. “And what of our friends across the Untulu Sea?” she demanded. “The Orfelians thought themselves clever when they gave Salmantica the key to their kingdom, and now they are slaves in their own land. I am urging you, Your Majesty, not to fall prey to the same trap.”

“Of course not, Datu Kulaw. Do you think me a fool?” Duja asked more harshly than she ought to have dared. The other council members interpreted her bitterness as strength. They nodded somberly.

“No one thinks you are a fool, Your Majesty,” Datu Tanglaw said, bowing his head in deference.

“Thank you, Datu Tanglaw, but I was speaking to her.” The rest of the table quieted as Duja fixed her sights on Imeria.

“I am merely worried,” Imeria said in a tempered voice, “that these foreigners will mistake your goodwill for weakness.” Her demeanor changed. She appeared more resigned than she had a moment earlier. Briefly, Duja thought she had her tamed.

“We must make concessions,” she said, “but that does not make us weak.”

Imeria’s eyes flitted up to hers once again. “Like your grandfather made concessions?”

Knots formed in Duja’s stomach. Briskly, she shook her head. “No. This is not the same.”

“The old king once opened his arms to these foreign invaders. He invited them within the walls of Mariit, built them grand embassies in the heart of the city. They, too, preached goodwill and comity as they plotted to depose him and plant a puppet in his place,” she said scathingly, as if to hold Hara Duja accountable for her grandfather’s mistakes.

Oh, but she was wrong to speak to Duja this way⁠—so very wrong.

“Imeria.” Her first name slipped out of Duja’s mouth, sharp as a bone shard and achingly familiar.