The queen tore her gaze away. She straightened her shawl, collecting herself, then planted her palms flat against the armrests of her chair. The threads pulled free of her grip. A moment later, the shaking subsided. Her hands remained motionless, free of tremors. Duja had taken a monumental risk wielding her powers like that. She sighed in relief and prayed to the gods her hands wouldn’t tremble again.

Duja stole a glance at Imeria, who did not look up from her lap. The queen hadn’t forgotten. Long before Imeria had pointed fingers at Duja from across the council table, she had traced lullabies into her skin.

The other woman’s tearful words echoed back to her from another lifetime, the last words she’d said to Duja the day the eastern wing had burned down: You’re cruel to me. It’s not fair. Was it cruel of the queen to threaten her subjects so? To threaten Imeria, whose slender fingers once entwined so perfectly with hers, whose passion once set Duja’s soul ablaze?

Duja shook off the guilt when she remembered that the Kulaws required special treatment. If Imeria stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting, Duja’s stunt with the earthquake would have been worth it.

“Now,” she said after a long silence, her voice surprisingly calm as she turned her attention to the other council members, shock etched across their graying faces. “Does anyone else take issue with the gold tax?”

Fifteen

Laya

Laya, lost in thought, was pretending to marvel at the spotted orchids at the garden entrance when the earth beneath the courtyard shifted. Earthquakes were a common occurrence in Maynara⁠—some by natural causes, others by her mother’s will. They rarely lasted longer than a few minutes, but never did they hit the capital with such fervor. As the vibrations intensified, Laya lost her footing. She pitched forward, grabbing on to the person nearest her for balance.

“Are you all right, Dayang?” It was Waran Sandata who helped her gather her bearings. He was Bulan’s age, two years her senior, and the youngest of Datu Sandata’s many sons. Although he possessed no spectacular talent and an unremarkable face, he had a kind smile and a genuine sense of humor, which was rare among highborn children, who often took themselves too seriously for their own good.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Laya looked around. Several nobles in the courtyard had also lost their balance. Many had stumbled onto the tiled ground and were dusting off their fine silks.

“The gods must be displeased,” one man joked as he passed Laya on his way into the gardens. She looked up at the palace, where Hara Duja was hosting a council meeting.