Chapter 14 #2
Borji seemed hesitant. Azul wouldn't force him. Eating food from a stranger's plate wasn't something she felt comfortable with either.
"All right," he agreed.
They settled on cushions around the low table and for a while, ate in comfortable silence. It felt strangely domestic, as though they were siblings sharing a meal rather than pieces on a board each tried to control.
"I heard Iyom's been quite busy these days," Borji said eventually, amusement in his voice. "Apparently she'd been trying to get the Igwe into her chambers every night this week."
Azul rolled her eyes. "She's wasting her time."
"Oh?"
"Iyom will never have children again."
Borji paused mid-bite. "What makes you say that?"
"Musk," Azul said casually.
"Musk?"
"In her perfumes. She may have been wearing it for years—she probably doesn't even realise what it does." Azul took a sip of water. "The Ugoeze, too. She probably won't keep that child she's carrying."
"The Ugoeze is with child?"
Azul looked up from her bowl. "Maybe." She hadn’t checked her pulse, so she couldn’t be sure.
"Maybe?"
"I will be able to tell properly in another month; it's just my suspicion."
Borji set down his plate. "But why would they be using musk? Their perfumes are controlled by the imperial palace. Everything they wear is approved and regulated."
"Yes." Azul met his eyes. "The Igwe doesn't seem to want them having any more children. Especially not the Ugoeze."
Borji didn't seem to believe her. What good did it do to have the Queen herself not bear any sons?
But Azul wanted him to consider what good it would do if the Ugoeze had a son.
"You're saying the Igwe is poisoning his own wives?" Borji asked. "Preventing them from bearing more heirs?"
Azul shrugged. "Whether it's the Igwe himself or someone acting in his interests, I couldn't say."
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked finally.
Azul picked up a piece of fish with her fingers. "You should know what kind of place this really is before you decide what you want from it."
Borji was quiet for a long moment. It was hard for him to comprehend, but it wasn't beyond the bounds of reality. "Speaking of which, I went to meet with the Head of Military today. That's where I've been."
Azul looked up, genuinely interested. "Are you planning to become a general?"
He nodded. "It's best. I can't stay here forever, and..." He trailed off, then met her eyes. "And I want something that's mine. A position I earned, not one I was born into."
"You'll be a great general," Azul said, and meant it. "People underestimate you, which is the best advantage a military leader can have."
"High praise from a little devil." He smiled. "I'll wait until I see you off when the Great Khan leaves."
The mention of the wedding soured the mood immediately, replacing the ease between them with an oppressive sense of doom.
"Borji," Azul said quietly. "Do you want to be Igwe?"
Her brother's eyes widened. "Kihaana, that's treason."
"I'm serious." She kept his gaze, without even a hint of mockery in her eyes.
"Yes, I do. Is that terrible—to want my father's throne?"
"No." Azul smiled and reached for the wine jug beside her. She poured two cups—one for him, one for herself. "To be honest, it works in my favour."
She raised her cup. "To General Borji. Future Igwe of the Borjigin. May your reign be long and your enemies few."
Something shifted in Borji's heart. All this time, he'd been the one bringing her food, and now she was serving him wine. Offering him a toast. Acknowledging him as someone she could condone in her life.
He took the cup and drank without hesitation.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"I will set a table before you in the presence of your enemies, but you must know clearly. Who is your enemy?"
He hesitated to speak, the scar down his back tingling. "Enemies? If I said the entirety of the Borjigin, would you believe me?"
She smirked, gulping down more wine, slamming her cup on the table.
"So we have the same enemies. I am not someone to stand even a thorn in my flesh. I will not rest until this entire family has crumbled from the inside out."
Borji couldn't help but stare, his hand tightening around his goblet. All these years, his hatred for his family had dulled, unable to push through and hurt anyone. Compared to her, wasn't he laughable?
"So I will make you king," she said. "I will elevate you above all men in Tarsyn. You, the boy with no name, will be greater than all."
His heart skipped a beat. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, for her words seemed so impossibly absurd. Yet it felt like a rock was stuck in his throat, rendering him unable to reply.
So he finished his alcohol.
Not once had she drunk from any cup he had given her, but now that she had prepared him a cup personally, he would gladly drink.
Azul smiled, watching him, her eyes glancing briefly to the side; a letter sat on her vanity, signed with the sigil of a viper. Her lips stretched, finding the game had only gotten much more interesting.
The Ugoeze’s closest guard was a careful man. He had learned, over his years of service, exactly how to deliver unwelcome news—standing at a slight angle, never directly in her eyeline, his voice neutral enough that the information arrived before she could attach the emotion to its source.
"The meeting concerned the Valthorne delegation," he said. "They arrived ahead of schedule. The council agreed to hold the formal banquet tomorrow afternoon. The Akwaugo is to be presented."
The Ugoeze nodded, her fingers moving through the stems of the arrangement on her table.
"And after the meeting?"
The guard's pause was almost imperceptible. "His Majesty did not return to his own chambers."
She waited.
"He went to the Second Wife's quarters."
The shears in her hand moved once, clean and without hesitation. A lily head dropped to the table, stem severed. The petals held for a moment, then loosened, fanning across the coated surface.
Once a month, a night with the Igwe was owed to her as the First Wife, and yet, he had once more disregarded this for one of many nights with his favourite.
Setting the shears down, the Ugoeze reached out and touched one of the standing buds with her fingertip. It was already losing its firmness at the edge. She pressed lightly. It came free, drifting to the floor.
Already wilting.
She said nothing for a long moment. Then she lifted her eyes to the maid standing by the screen.
"Prepare my cloak."
The Dowager ate late, as she always had. It was one of the few habits her son had never managed to persuade her out of, and she held onto the privilege to do what she wanted because she had survived all the other wives and was the only one left of her cohort in the palace.
Obiageli sat across from her; the girl ate slowly.
She had lived with her grandmother from a young age; no one could be sure why she didn’t just leave with her recorded mother, the Ugoeze.
The Dowager’s cat had arranged itself across the corner of the low table as though it had been specifically invited, its white paws tucked neatly beneath its chest.
The Dowager was mid-sentence when the door opened.
She didn't look up immediately. The Ugoeze would wait.
The First Wife entered, bowed with appropriate depth, and straightened. Her cloak was the dark one—which meant she had come discreetly.
"Mama Igwe." She inclined her head. Then her gaze moved to Obiageli, and she suppressed her disdain quickly. "Princess Obiageli," she greeted.
Obiageli looked back at her, a smile gracing her beautiful face.
"Sit," the Dowager said.
Obi opened one eye, assessed her, and closed it again.
"The Valthorne delegation has arrived," the Ugoeze said, her voice finding its usual smoothness. "The council met this evening. The formal banquet is set for two days from now. The Akwaugo will be presented to the Great Khan."
The Dowager set down her bowl, a frown on her features. "She’s not dead yet?"
The Ugoeze felt a chill crawl down her spine, her lips struggling to speak. "No, Mama." She avoided Obiageli’s gaze, the girl instead picking up the lazy cat to coo at.
"Useless!" Plates shattered in that instant, the Dowager’s old maid quickly coming to her side, her hand tapping her back to calm her down.
The Ugoeze shrank back, not daring to look up.
"I apologise, Mama, I do not know what happened to the man we sent. It seems she might have secret backing we are unaware of… Recently, the Okpalaeze stood up on her behalf; he might have kept men to look out for her."
The Dowager’s face contorted. "What kind of excuse is that!? Three times now you have failed to kill that girl! How do you have the guts to show your face!" She pointed as she scolded, her body trembling.
"Grandmother, do not worry. Since it has become like this, we must not be hasty. There will be more chances in the future."
The Dowager sighed, and her maid began to knead her temples.
"I should have cut the bud years ago; had I known, I would’ve just killed her instead of letting them drop her in the Igbele.
" She looked at her granddaughter, taking her hand.
"Are you sure you can wait? When the gate opens, I worry you will struggle. "
Obiageli smiled, charming everyone in the room. "It’s no worry, as the gods decide. I have the goddess of the Udamili on my side; what god does she have standing behind her?"
The Dowager seemed pleased at her words. “Good! I will return it all to you, and you can comfortably inherit what was rightfully yours."