Chapter 17
"Great Khan."
The whip paused mid-stroke. Ragnar's shoulders were rigid, his breathing harsh and laboured, but he didn't turn.
"General," he bit, "you forget yourself."
"My apologies, Great Khan." Thane closed the door behind him.
"I simply wish to report on what you asked.
" There was no other way to stop him. Ragnar had a tendency to mull and think and obsess over thoughts that consumed him completely.
This was his way of clearing his mind under Ukhel. Flogging himself until he bled.
"Ukhel doesn't answer." Ragnar's voice was raw, stripped of control. "I pray and pray. But he remains silent."
Thane crossed the room; he retrieved a length of clean cloth from the pile by the bed and held it out without looking directly at his wounds.
Ragnar took it and pressed the fabric to his shoulders. Blood bloomed through it.
"Maybe he's trying to tell you something else," Thane said quietly. He did not believe the gods cared for the actions of men, so this all felt meaningless. "She's not who they said she was."
"What do you mean?"
"The princess they described—the one we agreed to, the one the alliance was built on—doesn't exist." Thane's jaw tightened.
"I spoke to three different sources tonight.
Merchants, servants, and a minor official who'd had too much wine.
The Akwaugo is not kind. She is not docile.
She is absolutely not…" He searched for the word. "Virtuous."
Ragnar said nothing.
"Two months ago, she attacked the Okpalaeze with a vase and split his head open.
She nearly killed him." Thane's voice was flat as he reported.
"Her name is so easily on the tongue of the common people; just ask anyone, and they will mention the vixen in the palace.
They must think us fools! Giving us a woman no one wants. "
The cloth in Ragnar's hand was now a deep red.
"She’s embroiled in meaningless political strife." Thane shook his head. "To take this woman would be to take a dangerous snake into your household, Great Khan."
Rain filled the silence.
Since Kasimir’s betrayal, they have both been on edge. Sisi’s influence reached this far, and this Borjigin princess might be another pitfall for them.
"Also," Thane added, his voice dropping lower; now that he had vented his displeasure, he could move on to a more pressing conversation.
"The other thing you asked me to check. There are troops moving in the tributary tribes.
The Ameachi specifically. I couldn't confirm the purpose, but the timing is too coincidental for comfort. "
"How much have they prepared?" Ragnar finally spoke.
"Caius sent word; they’ve been buying weapons from Kemet for the past two months, so this has been a more intentional preparation." Thane met his Khan's gaze directly. "If we ride into that without knowing what we're facing, we may not ride out."
A sound escaped Ragnar’s lips; it was laughter. "She told me by the end of this expedition, I would be dead."
Thane found his tongue unable to wag.
"She seems to know more than we do, clearly."
"The Akwaugo?" Thane asked.
Ragnar pressed the cloth harder against his shoulder, as if the pain could ground him. "She offered me a deal. In exchange for my alliance, she'll give me anything I want. And when it's over, she'll leave. No heir, no claim, no complications."
Thane stared at him like he was crazy. What sort of alliance was that? It sounded absurd.
"She wants to exterminate the Borjigin," Ragnar added, almost casually.
"Great Khan," Thane hissed. "This woman—"
"I know."
"She’s using you. She has to be; what other reason would she talk treason in the ears of a stranger?"
"I am aware."
"And you're actually considering this?"
Ragnar looked at him, and Thane found himself unable to argue.
There was a reason he had submitted to Ragnar as his general.
That reason was his uncanny ability to win any battle set before him.
That look in his eyes was wild and vicious, like the day they fought side by side for the first time.
Barely alive, malnourished boys fighting for their lives, for their freedom.
Those eyes, the ones that looked at him, were the eyes of death.
Thane caught something on the bed. A small glint in the lamplight.
A silver hairpin.
He didn't ask where it came from; he didn't need to.
"General," Ragnar said, and his voice had regained its usual command. "At dawn, I want scouts on the Ameachi border. I want to know exactly what we're walking into."
Thane hesitated, then nodded. "And the Akwaugo?"
"I will handle the Khatun."
The morning sun was still pale when Nkiru slipped into Azul's room, a folded parchment in her hand. Incense, mixed with a little hemlock, burnt strongly, hanging heavily in the air. Azul's gold waist beads jingled as she moved.
"Akwaugo. A message from the First Prince."
Azul took it without comment, her fingers already breaking the seal. Borji's handwriting was hasty, the ink smudged in places—he'd written it quickly, probably before dawn.
Third Prince Ameachi sends word. His gratitude for your letter runs deeper than ink can express.
Just write a reply for him, and send Nkiru to deliver it to me.
Also—the scholar met with me again last night.
He spoke of rivers and roots once more, but this time he mentioned a particular bridge that might be 'unstable.
' I have no idea what this means. I assume you will.
Be careful today. Somadina is in a mood.
Azul read it twice, then reached for her writing materials.
To the Third Prince of the Ameachi,
Grief is a river that carves its own path. Let it flow; do not dam it. In time, the banks will settle.
As for need—only your continued health and the knowledge that you are not alone. When the moment comes, remember: the coward dies a thousand deaths. The brave die only once.
She paused, thinking, and wrote a few more lines. Then she focused on Borji.
The bridge is Iyom's father. Cross it carefully. Eat less; don’t get poisoned.
She sanded the ink, folded the parchment, and handed it to Nkiru. "See that this reaches the First Prince before noon."
Nkiru nodded and vanished.
A day of foreign visitors meant a day of games and merriment in an attempt to entertain their guests. Azul found herself standing at the edge of the training fields, watching servants erect pavilions and groom horses for the day's competition.
The archery grounds stretched before her, green and vast, with targets set at increasing distances.
Nobles had already begun gathering—wives in their finest, elders in ceremonial robes, warriors polishing their bows and exchanging boasts.
The air smelled of horse sweat and the fine perfume of the women who gathered.
Azul settled onto the cushions prepared for her under a wide canopy, accepted a cup of wine she had no intention of drinking, and reached for a cluster of grapes. The young women of her age seemed to avoid her and whispered as they passed; Azul pretended not to see them.
"What did Borji say?" she asked Nkiru, who had stationed herself at her mistress's shoulder.
"He said he couldn't find anything about the girl, Akwaugo."
Azul sat quietly, so Kamsi was somewhere in the palace, but no one could find her?
She couldn't help but feel something bitter in her gut, she even sent the little snake with Borji just in case it could help.
After watching the archery preparation for a while, she let out a deep sigh. "This is boring," Azul murmured.
"You haven't even watched anything yet, Akwaugo."
"I've watched enough." She popped a grape into her mouth. "Men preparing to compete is always the same. They strut, they posture, and then they pretend they're not terrified of looking foolish."
Nkiru snickered. "Should I fetch more grapes?"
"Yes. And the honey cakes."
Nkiru hesitated. "Akwaugo, the cakes—"
"Everyone is eating them; we’ll be fine." Azul waved a dismissive hand.
Nkiru scurried off, leaving Azul to her observations.
The crowd had grown.
She spotted the Fifth Wife in deep purple, fanning herself and pretending not to watch the young warriors warming up.
The Sixth Wife, beside her, was more openly appreciative.
Iyom had positioned herself near the royal pavilion, close to where Somadina would sit.
The Ugoeze was conspicuously absent; she supposed it brought her no joy to see the Igwe eyeing the young girls following their mothers around.
Ragnar rode onto the field; his horse was a large, black stallion, its coat gleaming like polished obsidian. He wore the attire of his people—leather and fur, simple and sleek. An ivory mask covered his face, leaving only those storm-dark eyes visible.
Eyes that found her immediately, despite the crowd.
Azul raised a grape in a mock salute. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't look away.
"He's quite dashing," Nkiru whispered, returning with the promised cakes.
"Is he?" Azul mused. Was he dashing or was he just easily toyed with? Well, as long as he was only easily undone by her, she would be satisfied.
Ragnar rode to the Valthorne section of the field, dismounted fluidly, and began conferring with his men. But every few moments, his gaze drifted back to her.
Azul ate another grape and tried very hard not to find his attention pleasing.
The competition began with the usual formalities. Elders gave speeches, and young men roared and cheered, blood pumping. The Great Khan was introduced, and the crowd's reaction was respectful, many in awe at the legend before them.
Somadina mounted his horse, strutting across to the Valthorne delegates.
He looked magnificent; Azul would give him that.
Somadina was a handsome bastard, through and through.
Crimson robes, gold ornaments, his bow polished to a gleam.
He addressed the Igwe with appropriate deference, then turned to the gathered nobles with a smile that suggested he was about to do something memorable.