Chapter 1
If there was one thing Azul could say about her father, it was that he was never caught unaware, and he was never disgruntled by the unpredictable seasons.
Every year he would order the new thatching for their household an entire month earlier than necessary, and every year the village children would laugh at him.
Chukwuemeka, they would sing. You wake up three hours early so as not to miss the cockcrow. You drink your water two days early so as not to forget to drink. You have your children a year early so as to avoid unfortunate births.
She hated it as a child. She'd have a terrible, ugly scowl on her face and refuse to play with anyone. She would stomp her little feet home, bringing up dust in her wake.
As she grew older, she began to understand the kind of man her father was.
When her acquisition of the title ‘Akwaugo’ was announced, Azul was sitting idly at the edge of the lotus pond in her father’s compound, her feet dipped into the cool water.
Fish swam beneath her as she fed them melon seeds to pass the evening.
Her youngest sister—a thin girl with short hair like Azul’s, pale and tightly coiled—took a fan, keeping the both of them cool under the dry season’s heat.
“What will you do now? Do you think the prince will call you back?” The little one asked with a look of schadenfreude in her eyes.
She stopped fanning both of them, letting the stretched leather cover her lower face, eyes fluttering shyly.
Azul had met the prince by chance on the Afor market day.
Their hands brushed past each other as she bartered for herbs, eyes meeting for a split second—the Crowned Prince under a hidden identity.
They had spent the day together, Azul only returning late in the night.
It was like a folk tale, a poor village girl meeting a prince and having the most romantic evening, with her sister having to help her climb back over the walls into their father’s household.
The matter of men and women was something neither of them talked about often, but Kamsi was almost fifteen; naturally, she was more curious and wished to learn from the more experienced Ada what it meant to kiss a boy.
Of course, the girls were unaware that would be the last evening they would be able to sit leisurely together and eat melon seeds.
Azul’s eyes fluttered open, memory fading from her mind. She winced as her head throbbed, trying to keep hold of the dream she had, the scene she had relived with her sister, but to no avail. She found herself in a bed familiar to her. This time there was no man trying to kill her.
My name is… Azul? The words felt strange in her mind. I will simply have to get used to it… But how did I get back here?
Last she was aware, she had lost consciousness as her memories flooded back. She had no choice but to assume it was that stranger who brought her back to her chambers under the veil of night.
When she woke up that morning, there was no reaction from the servants around her. As a prisoner in the palace, she was followed at all times by at least two maids. Guards escorted her any time she stepped outside the harem, and the princesses avoided her, as she was a stranger to them.
A bird trapped in a cage, the Akwaugo of the Borjigin had been bought for the exorbitant price of 200 silver coins from the great warrior Chukwuemeka. The rumours spread like wildfire that the King had bought himself another daughter.
It was a strange concept and had certainly never been done in the history of the Borjigins, but perhaps it was luckier than simply being taken to be a wife.
After all, terrible husbands often made great fathers.
For three days, Azul had been pampered, fed, accompanied, and kept in the King's backyard, away from her family and friends.
Her meals were tasted by the royal poison tester, her clothes made by the royal tailors, and her jewellery procured from the royal treasury.
It should've been a great thing to be taken from your poor father's home and be given the title of 'Akwaugo'. But she knew, then and now, her reality; she was being positioned as a pawn.
Azul watched as the servants covered up the bruise on her neck with a band of gold. No one seemed to care; it was as if they all knew the prince's plans from the night before and were pretending not to.
If not for the pain, Azul would've thought that night was a fever dream, but it clearly happened.
"Akwaugo, the Ugoeze will see you now," a maid announced at her door.
Azul's hands clenched into fists on her lap.
The Ugoeze, the Igwe's main wife—it seemed she would be the one administering her punishment.
Taking in a deep breath, Azul looked at herself in the bronze mirror. Her beauty never did her any good, and now it would only exacerbate how the women of the Igwe's harem saw her. The more beautiful a woman was, the less pitiful she became, the less human.
The Ugoeze's chambers were grand, as befitting the mother of the tribe. Tapestries depicting the glory of the Borjigin's conquests of northeast Tarsyn hung from the walls, and incense burned in bronze holders, filling the air with the scent of Lycia and musk.
What a strange combination, Azul thought. Lycia and musk were two halves of a coin: one herb to stall one's fertility and the other to enhance it. Still, it didn't matter what strange herbs the women of the harem chose to use in their incense burners.
The Ugoeze herself sat on a raised platform, draped in layers of crimson and gold brocade.
Her expression was serene, sipping tea at regular intervals with her lips in a permanent, good-natured smile.
It looked as though she were merely settling a dispute between quarrelling children rather than presiding over an accusation of attempted murder.
Around her, scattered like wax-coated petals, were the other wives of the Igwe.
They knelt on cushioned woven mats, their faces painted with varying degrees of concern and curiosity.
But it was the woman in black—the Iyom, second wife and mother of Somadina—who commanded attention.
She knelt closest to the Ugoeze, her body bent forward in supplication, her hands clasped together as tears streamed down her painted face.
"Ugoeze," the Iyom wailed, her voice trembling as though in agony. "My son lies in the healer's chambers, his head split open, royal blood spilt by this whore whom you have brought into our home. I beg you, as a mother, to grant me justice. Let this girl answer for what she has done."
Azul’s lips pressed into a thin line. So it was you who suggested that your husband should buy me?
The Ugoeze's expression did not change, though her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the armrest of her seat.
Azul, albeit miffed that she had to answer to these people, found it morbidly fascinating, the hierarchy of women.
To be seen as anything less than fair and magnanimous would undermine the Ugoeze's position amongst the other wives.
A first wife must never be moved to jealousy by the other women whom her husband chose to impregnate.
In exchange, she received the greatest gift of all: her name would be written in the genealogy regardless of her fertility status.
What pointless endowments, made to keep the first wife silent regardless of any injustice she might face. How meaningless that her name would be remembered as the woman her husband selected out of tens, hundreds, and sometimes thousands.
"Iyom," the Ugoeze said, her voice as calm as mist. "Your grief is understood. A mother's love for her son is sacred. But we must hear all sides before justice can be administered. Let the girl speak."
All eyes turned to Azul.
She stood in the centre of the room, the golden band at her throat catching the light.
She did not lower her gaze; they expected her to be intimidated by them, a village girl amidst royalty.
The servants had dressed her well—layers of crimson and gold that made her look every bit the princess the King had proclaimed her to be.
Or they wished for her to aggravate the Ugoeze who wore the same colours.
But Azul did not have the strength to overthink their actions.
Beneath the finery, her body ached, and the memory of Somadina's hands around her throat burned hotter than any flame.
"Akwaugo," the Ugoeze continued. "What happened in the Okpalaeze's chambers last night?"
Azul's jaw tightened. She could feel the weight of their stares, the hungry curiosity behind their faces. They wanted a scandal they could leak to their families outside the palace. If her name were smeared, what could she do from this cage?
"The Okpalaeze summoned me," Azul said, her voice quiet but each word spoken clearly. "He attempted to force himself upon me. I simply defended myself."
A gasp rippled through the room. The Iyom let out a strangled cry, her hand flying to her chest as though Azul's words had struck her physically.
"Ugoeze! See how this Ogbanje lies!" the Iyom shrieked.
"My son is the heir to this tribe! I have raised him as the pearl in his father's hands!
He would never—he has no need to force anyone!
Look at you, girl. Do you think we are fools?
I have heard what the people say about you.
You are beautiful, yes, but you are also ambitious.
You wanted his favour, and when he rejected you, you struck him out of spite! "
Murmurs of agreement rose from some of the wives. Azul's fingers curled into her palms. The Ugoeze frowned. Azul noted it. Though she wasn't sure if it was due to the mockery of her lack of sons or because the subject being discussed was too taboo.
"I have no interest in the Okpalaeze's favour," Azul curtly replied. "I want nothing from him."
"Then why were you in his chambers?" another wife called out, her voice sharp with accusation.