Chapter 10 #2
The woman looked back over her shoulder, and a beautiful smile graced her lips.
"We are sisters here," she said. "If you wish it, you can have it; payment should never be discussed between us."
Azul stood, and the snake stirred in her sleeve, restless. She bowed at the waist, "Thank you for your guidance."
Her heart had been deeply unsettled by how helpless she felt, but there was a way forward: an unknown horse to an unknown destination. Death was not her only path.
"Akwaugo, I hope you find happiness. A game like Ukhel Dain is deadly, but as long as you wish to play, there will always be a game board set before you, there will always be enemies to face, but there will always be a chance to win."
A smile graced Azul’s face, and she looked up. Her eyes widened, the garden before her seemingly empty. The breeze picked up, dislodging smaller leaves from their trees, and her hair was taken with it. All that remained before her was a compacted game board.
Host… the little snake called out to her. Azul raised her sleeve, looking at the nervous creature.
"Are you hungry?" Azul asked. She figured it was best to feed it regularly so it wouldn't be so small forever.
Azul had met the Fourth Wife once four years ago, on the day she wedded the Igwe.
She'd been fifteen; having sneaked out to visit the market, she had pulled her cloak over her hair and clutched a list of herbs tightly.
Her youngest sister, Kamsi, had begged to come—eleven years old and convinced that anywhere her older sister went was an adventure—and so Azul relented and let the girl join her after shaving down her horns.
The market was chaotic that day. More than usual.
Criers had been running through the streets since dawn, announcing the procession route, warning traders to clear the way, and demanding that commoners kneel and avert their eyes when the Igwe's new wife passed.
Kamsi had been thrilled—A real Steppe princess, she whispered, tugging Azul's sleeve—but Azul had only felt irritated at how disorganised her day had suddenly become.
The herbs she needed would be picked over by the time the procession ended.
They positioned themselves at the edge of the crowd, near a spice seller whose stall offered partial shade. Kamsi climbed onto a stack of baskets for a better view, and Azul let her. Her sister squealed when the drummers first appeared, their rhythms shaking dust from the awnings above.
Eventually, the sedan came into view.
It was massive—carried by twelve men, draped in crimson and gold, surrounded by guards whose eyes swept the crowd with suspicion. The curtains were partially open, offering glimpses of the woman inside.
She sat rigid in the decorated cage; her posture was perfect, her hands folded in her lap. Her face was painted in the Borjigin style—white clay, red lips—but beneath it, her eyes were downcast.
Back then, she had looked up by chance, and their eyes met.
Azul wasn’t sure if the Fourth Wife remembered, but she did.
The litter passed grandly, and the moment ended.
"What was she like?" Kamsi pestered as they walked home with their purchases. "The princess. Could you see her?"
"She looked pretty," Azul had said.
They were of the same age; to Azul, she was infinitely beautiful and infinitely pitiful.
Now, four years later, they met again.
Nkiru stared curiously at the board, finding herself confused to see the sheer number of items situated around.
She looked up at Azul, who had been staring at the game for at least half an incense stick, one hand propping up her chin, another on a book to the side.
If Nkiru could read, she would have understood what Azul was staring at the board for.
The only few pieces she could recognise were those fashioned against the Titans that were usually spoken of in children's stories, passed on in small villages under moonlight by older children.
She noted the famed Ekesi Akilli, the giant snake of Tarsyn that served the late King Methuselah, and she noted one with wings but couldn't quite remember its name.
Nkiru's ears perked up as she heard footsteps.
"Akwaugo."
Azul blinked, the trance breaking. She looked at Nkiru as though emerging from deep water.
"What?"
"Someone's coming."
Azul straightened, her hand moving instinctively to her sleeve.
Nkiru could only imagine the snake that accompanied her mistress and felt a chill down her spine; apart from feeding it once a day, she tended to avoid it at all costs.
It grew too quickly for her liking and stared too long as though it were planning to one day grow big enough to eat her.
The footsteps grew closer, and soon the source appeared through the trees: Nnenna, the Third Wife, with a large basket in hand. Beside her trotted Chinedu, his face lit with the particular joy of a child seeing a friend for the first time in a while.
"Akwaugo!" Chinedu broke into a run, abandoning all pretence of princely dignity. He skidded to a stop before Azul, bouncing on his heels. "Mama said we could visit! She made honey cakes!"
Behind him, Nnenna approached more slowly, her expression warm but watchful. "Akwaugo. I hope we're not intruding."
Azul rose. "Third Wife. You're welcome here."
Nnenna's smile widened slightly; she held out the basket. "A small token. For your kindness to my son."
Nkiru's eyes fixed on the basket. Honey cakes. Real honey cakes, with the golden glaze catching sunlight, the smell already escaping through the cloth. Her mouth watered.
Azul glanced at the basket, then at Nkiru.
"Take it," she said quietly. "Store it properly."
Nkiru bobbed a curtsy and accepted the basket, her fingers itching to lift the cloth. But she knew better. She'd learned quickly that Azul's trust was earned in small ways and maintained in smaller ones. She would not touch the cakes without permission.
"Can I go with her?" Chinedu tugged at his mother's wrapper.
Nnenna hesitated, glancing at Azul.
"The child may go," Azul said. "Nkiru will watch him."
Nkiru straightened at the implicit command. She was being trusted with a prince—a small prince, a young prince, but a prince nonetheless. She dipped her head and started toward the shrine's side entrance, Chinedu bouncing at her heels.
The kitchen was small but functional, with a clay stove, a few pots, and shelves of dried herbs and provisions personally sourced from outside the palace walls.
Nkiru set the basket on the lowest shelf—too high for Chinedu to reach, she thought—and began sorting through their stores for tea ingredients.
Chinedu circled the room like a curious puppy, touching everything within reach.
"What's this?"
"Dried pepper."
"What's this?"
"Millet. Don't touch."
"What's this?"
Nkiru sighed. "A grinding stone. Please sit still for one moment."
Chinedu sat. For approximately three seconds. Then he was up again, drawn by the clay kettle simmering on the stove.
"Does that have water? Can I help?"
"No—" Nkiru started, but Chinedu was already reaching, his small fingers grasping for the handle.
The kettle tipped.
Nkiru moved without thinking—catching the kettle before it could fall—and felt the burn sear across her arm as boiling water splashed. She bit down on a scream, setting the kettle back on the stove with shaking hands.
Chinedu stared at her, his face crumpling.
"You're hurt," he whispered. Then, louder: "You're hurt! Mama! Mama, Nkiru is hurt!"
Tears welled in his eyes—not for his own pain, Nkiru realised with confusion, but for her. The prince was crying because she was hurt.
Her lips pursed for a moment as rage simmered in her; what privilege one must have to cry on behalf of others.
"It's nothing," she said quickly, hiding her hand behind her back. "See? I'm fine. It's nothing at all."
"You're bleeding—"
"It's just water. Please don't cry. Please don't tell your mother—"
But Nnenna was already at the door, Azul behind her, both drawn by the commotion.
"What happened? It's only been a few minutes." Nnenna swept toward her son, checking him for injuries. Finding none, she looked at Nkiru—at the hand hidden behind her back, at the spilled water, at the kettle still steaming. "You burned yourself."
"It was my fault," Chinedu sobbed. "I tried to help and she—she saved me and now she's hurt—"
Nkiru shook her head frantically. "It's nothing, Third Wife. Truly. A splash of water, nothing more."
Nnenna's eyes softened. She glanced at Azul, who stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
"We should go; I only came to thank you for last time." Nnenna said quietly. "Let the girl tend to herself." She knelt before Chinedu, wiping his tears. "Your friend is very brave. You'll thank her properly next time, yes?"
Chinedu nodded, sniffling. He looked at Nkiru with such earnest concern that her chest ached.