Chapter 16
"Are you serious!?" Borji asked in a dangerously low voice. They were barely twenty paces from the main hall and he had not stopped talking since he pulled her out of the alcove. "You know better than to draw that curtain closed. That man is not someone you can simply handle."
Azul crossed her arms.
"Don't roll your eyes at me."
She flinched. How did he see that in torchlight? His eyesight genuinely unsettled her.
Borji let out a long breath.
He had been, for the past several minutes, working through every conceivable consequence of so many eyes seeing her spend time alone and unchaperoned with a man of such infamy. Azul didn’t even seem to care, her eyes wandering around like her reputation wouldn’t be in pieces by daylight.
A group of servants passed at the far end of the corridor, trays balanced, moving quickly between the kitchens and the hall. Borji waited until they were gone to continue.
"Anyway," he said, the word carrying the particular exhaustion of a man accepting a defeat he cannot name. "I spoke to the young scholar. As you asked... Enoch?"
Azul's posture changed immediately; she was ready to actually pay attention, much to his ire. "And? What did he say?"
He tugged at one of his braids. "I genuinely could not tell you. He spoke entirely in circles. The river seeks its own level but the bank may yet be persuaded to shift its course." He looked pained. "I can't make anything of that manner of speech. It gives me a headache."
Her eyes went briefly to the ceiling, to the dark corners.
"That is precisely why you need a scholar as your right hand. You cannot expect every useful person to speak plainly. Subtlety is a language. You must learn it."
Borji shifted his weight. Something moved across his expression, a deep discomfort. "He is Iyom's brother," he said, keeping his voice below the noise of the feast. "Does that not concern you?"
Azul hummed. "I intend to burn this royal house to its foundations.
He's not married into the Igwe's direct line.
Whether he lives or dies is not my concern.
Therefore, it is sensible to put him to use while he is available.
" Something lighter moved across her face.
"Now. Tell me exactly what he said. And more importantly, did he say it whilst looking as though he were delivering a very serious dramatic performance and lifting the edge of his sleeve to cover his mouth? "
Borji's lips quirked. "How did you know?"
She snorted, which was unlike her. It seemed the banquet had put her in an unusually good mood. "Go on then, everything."
He sighed, giving up on trying to guide her.
How important was a woman’s reputation anyway?
Surely it wouldn’t be too scandalous to spend time with one’s betrothed?
"He went on about familial piety. A tree does not sever its own roots.
The river rages but always returns to its source.
He will not betray his sister — not for coin, not for promises. His loyalty is to his blood."
"He didn't say no."
"He didn’t?"
"He didn't say, I will never help you; do not ask again.
" She twirled a finger through her curls, continuing her lesson.
"He gave you a riddle about loyalty. Which means his loyalty has a limit.
He simply needs a reason righteous enough to justify breaching it.
He needs a push. The kind that shows him the roots are already rotten and the river has been poisoned at its source. "
Borji was quiet. The feast surged through the walls—a toast going up, the hall responding in kind.
"There will be chaos soon," Azul said, and her voice had changed register entirely, the lightness gone, something forward-looking and precise in its place, "begin drawing people to your side. Everyone you can reach."
A cold thread moved through him. "You mean…?"
She nodded. "You can sanction Iyom’s father once you're ready."
The cold night wind picked up, and thunder rumbled in the distant skies.
Obiageli moved through the crowd of women, her eyes keeping straight ahead. As she walked, they parted ways, bowing and separating. Her veil covered her face, her eyes gleaming gold underneath as she took her seat to the side, above all, separated from common mortals.
The women's quarters of the reception hall were thick with perfume and polite smiles.
They arranged themselves on cushions according to rank—junior wives nearest the door, senior wives closer to Obiageli's elevated platform, and the concubines relegated to the farthest corners where the incense struggled to reach.
"Have you seen her?" The whisper came from somewhere to Obiageli's left. "My maid said she's on the men's side, acting as bold as a market woman."
A dismissive scoff followed. "What is Akwaugo but a title? Her mother was nobody."
"She snuck into the Warlord's alcove without a chaperone."
A titter of laughter was quickly smothered. "I suppose the brute has already claimed her."
"Brute is kind. Have you seen the Valthorne men? They rut like animals and fight like them too."
"The women are worse. They ride horses and draw bows like peasants; it's simply unnatural."
Obiageli's eyes observed all. She made note of faces and apparent alliances and watched the way certain women leaned toward certain others.
The politics of wilting flowers. She had played this game ever since she was a child.
Before she could inherit her title, how many times had Iyom nearly killed her? Finding her an eyesore.
Her gaze stopped on Chidinma, raising a cup to her lips.
The Okpalaeze's wife sat among the senior women, her posture perfect and her face strangely cold compared to the niceties of those around her.
She laughed at something whispered in her ear—a light, tinkling sound that did not reach her eyes.
And on her upper arm, catching the light through the high windows, a gold armband in the shape of a viper.
Obiageli's goblet paused. But soon a smile graced her lips, and she drank.
"At least the Okpalaeze has taste," one of the women continued, louder now, emboldened by wine and the apparent distraction of the Dowager. "The Akwaugo is beautiful; I'll give her that. Though beauty doesn't last."
"Neither will she, if the Valthorne's warlord is half what they say. Those men break women like twigs."
"Perhaps that's what she wants."
Chidinma laughed, her foul expression easing.
Obiageli set down her cup.
The motion was small, barely noticeable, but the women nearest her fell silent immediately. The silence rippled outward until the entire gathering sat in stillness, waiting.
Obiageli stood.
Around her, cushions shifted as women scrambled to their feet. Heads bowed. Eyes dropped to the floor as the Oracle of the Udamili left.
The corridor outside was empty. The guards at the entrance to the women's quarters bowed as she passed, but she did not slow.
She walked the long way.
The palace corridors wound and twisted, built for a king who had feared assassination and wanted his enemies to lose their way. Obiageli knew every turn, every dead end, every hidden passage. She had walked them for nineteen years, over and over, all in hope of a day like this.
The abandoned courtyard of the late Fourth Wife sat at the far edge of the compound, where the walls grew moss and the servants forgot to sweep. No one came here. The Fourth Wife had died badly, so the door to her quarters remained sealed, the courtyard left to weeds.
A figure waited in the shadow of the crumbling wall.
Obiageli stepped into the courtyard, and the figure turned.
The Akwaugo.
She smiled, her eyes gleaming.
"You came," Azul said.
"I said I would."
A rustle at the courtyard's other entrance. Both women turned.
Chidinma stepped through the broken archway, her fine robes catching on the thorns of an overgrown bush. She did not curse or pull away—she simply stopped, looked at Azul, and looked at Obiageli.
The large snake on Azul's arm lifted its head, tasting the air.
The silence stretched between them like a thread pulled taut.
"I just wanted to welcome you properly," Obiageli said, "to the Borjigin palace."
Chidinma sneered. "The Borjigin." She spoke the word like it tasted of something spoiled. "You expect us to celebrate being stuffed in this palace by a woman who hides her face like a coward?"
Azul snickered, earning her a glare from Chidinma.
"Chidinma, you seem to have forgotten; you wanted to get stuffed in here like the rest of us."
Chidinma scowled and pulled her dress free without saying anything more. Yes, she was foolish, but one week was enough for her to see reason.
"I'm glad you're both energetic. It's nice." Obiageli mused, pulling up her veil for both of them to see.
The other two froze upon seeing her.
"That's not possible." Chidinma's voice had lost some of its sharpness. "You've been here for—"
"Nineteen years," Obiageli finished. "Trapped in my courtyard. Not allowed one foot out unless visiting grandmother. Today was an Imperial feast I was required to attend, but it seems the palace has been too busy to arrange extra guards for me thanks to the Valthorne arriving early."
Azul stared at the girl, understanding—somewhat—the game being played. "We are…" She started.
Obiageli nodded. "Twins, of the Igbele."
"Why didn't father say anything?" Chidinma asked, her irritation fading, being replaced by a sober mind.
Obiageli laughed. "Chukwuemeka tells many people many things, none quite the truth.
At least one thing is true: our mother is long dead, Azul.
It is a shame that the Imperial family insisted they have me, and now they want to have you too.
" She looked at Azul, the same eyes and hair staring back at her.
"I suppose I should thank them for giving me a weapon I can point at them.
" Her eyes flickered to the snake that had wound its way around her neck.
"How do we know we can trust you?" Chidinma spat, "this could all be part of father's plan."
"Because she has no reason to deceive us," Azul said quietly. "We have nothing to offer her. She is the Oracle, above all women barring the Ugoeze."
Obiageli nodded; her voice was flat. "We were separated at birth since the Oracle of the Udamili had dictated I would be her successor.
And you were abandoned in the Igbele before Chukwuemeka found you again.
The Oracle made me what I am. And when the old woman died, they put me in her place.
But I have no interest in remaining trapped here forever. "
Chidinma's hand had not left her armband. "If this is true—and I am not saying I believe it—what do you want from us?"
"Want?" Obiageli's eyebrows rose. "I want nothing. I am offering something."
"What?"
"An alliance."
Azul and Chidinma exchanged a glance. In that glance, years of shared childhood flickered.
They had not spoken a kind word to each other in years.
They had distrusted each other for longer.
But something passed between them now, quick as breath.
They were both raised by the same man, though Azul was merely brought into the family, unlike Chidinma, who is his by blood.
"An alliance for what?" Azul asked.
"Chukwuemeka has offered you to the warlord," she said to Azul. "He is working for Somadina, trying to bring him a great victory and solidify his rule as a great king. You will be expected to kill your husband, and surely you can't expect to live long after that?"
Azul's jaw tightened. "I know what he plans.
" If she successfully killed Ragnar, did she believe she would survive another year?
If his men wanted vengeance, wouldn't she be the one blamed?
Besides, to kill one's husband was a crime punishable by death to the Borjigin; they would never accept her as one of their own.
"Do you know what comes after?" Obiageli looked at Chidinma. "Do you really think that your husband—the Okpalaeze—will be Igwe? Do you think it is by mere coincidence we four are all in the palace?"
"Four?" Azul asked.
Obiageli nodded. "Kamsi is here too. I haven't found her, but she is here."
"How do you know that?" Chidinma's patience wavered.
Obiageli smirked. "Well, a king needs his own Oracle, does he not?"
The three fell silent; their youngest—like Obiageli—was a Shaman, and like Azul, was taken in at a young age.
"Chukwuemeka has been visiting the palace since I can remember; I know he doesn't simply plan to help the Okpalaeze," Obiageli explained.
Understanding struck Azul as she met Chidinma's eyes. It seemed they both had the same use for their father.
"He has been building towards this for twenty years," Obiageli continued.
"Ally with one, conquer the other, and absorb both into his growing empire. And you, Chidinma, placed in the Okpalaeze’s household as a spy, will have served your purpose.
What do you think happens to spies when their masters no longer need them? "
Chidinma's fingers tightened on the viper until the metal bit into her skin. "He wouldn't."
"He would. He's our father." Azul said, a smile pulling at her lips, her heart thumping in her ribs.
Obiageli nodded. "I have had nineteen years to watch him, to study him, to learn the shape of his ambition. He loves nothing that he cannot use. Not his wives. Not his daughters. Not even himself—he would sacrifice his own body if it brought him closer to power."
The courtyard had grown darker.
Azul looked at Chidinma. Chidinma looked at Azul.
"What kind of alliance?" Azul asked finally, lifting her hands to cover her lips.
Obiageli smiled.
"I'm offering to fight with you. Beside you.
We are daughters of the same father. We share an enemy.
And we share a destiny, whether you know it yet or not.
" Obiageli's golden eyes burned. "He put us in cages—different cages, but cages all the same.
He expected us to sit quietly, to be useful, to die when he no longer needed us.
But we are capable of more than he ever imagined. "
She held out her hands—one to Azul, one to Chidinma.
"I have one goal and one goal only," Azul spoke up. "I wish to destroy all of the Borjigin to the ninth generation."
Chidinma remained unfazed; she tsk'd, rolling her eyes. "I simply want to leave this place. I don't care what either of you do."
Obiageli's smile turned into a manic grin. "Then, should we destroy everyone?"