Chapter 18
The Library of the Borjigin sat at the heart of the palace complex, a domed structure made of carved stone and processed wood that had survived three centuries of succession wars, fires, and the occasional neglect of Igwes who did not care for the arts.
Its doors were open to scholars, priests, and male members of the royal household.
Women were not explicitly forbidden, but custom made their visitation unwelcome.
Azul stood before those doors, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes upon her back.
The morning sun had barely cleared the walls, but the courtyard before the library already bustled with activity.
Scholars hurried past with armloads of parchment, and young nobles, sent by their fathers to acquire the education that would serve them in court, loitered near the entrance, waiting for their tutors to arrive.
All of them had stopped to stare at her.
"Can I help you?" The question came from a young man near the doors—barely twenty, with sharp cheekbones and an unimpressed expression. He wore the simple robes of a student, a kaftan fashioned like the scholars of Kemet, but his bearing suggested noble blood.
Azul smiled, trying not to clench her robes. "I require access to the library."
The young scholar's eyebrows rose.
"The library?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Forgive me, but women do not enter the library."
"I'm aware." Azul's smile didn't waver. "Fortunately for you, I'm not here as a woman. I'm here as the betrothed of the Great Khan Ragnar Valthorne to retrieve books for his leisure. Unless you'd like to explain to the Khan why you barred his Khatun from accessing texts he requires?"
The young scholar's face underwent a fascinating series of contortions—amusement giving way to uncertainty, then to dawning horror as he realised he was not equipped to handle this situation.
"I—Akwaugo—the library has rules. Your snake is also of concern."
"Khatun," she corrected. “The Khan has a very direct way of handling those who inconvenience him." Azul tilted her head, as did the little snake, mimicking its owner. "Shall I describe it? I've only seen it once, but the memory is quite vivid."
What had she seen? Perhaps the taut muscles that he wore beautifully.
He swallowed. "I believe an exception could be made. For diplomatic purposes."
"How gracious of you."
He stepped aside, and Azul swept past him into the library, feeling the weight of scandalised glares like arrows in her back.
Ragnar's name truly is a useful shield, she thought. I shall have to thank him properly.
Azul had grown up with her father's precious few scrolls, memorising each one until the words blurred.
Then when he hired tutors from Kemet, she had consumed his scrolls too.
She'd never imagined a space like this—shelves stretching to vaulted ceilings, scrolls packed so densely they seemed to form the very walls, reading tables worn smooth by generations of scholars.
The smell was intoxicating: aged parchment, drying herbs used to preserve the texts, and the faint dust of knowledge accumulated over centuries.
Even modern libraries couldn’t compare.
The organisation was, unfortunately, nonsensical. Scrolls were grouped by donor rather than subject, with the result that military treaties sat beside poetry, and astronomical observations mingled with cookbooks.
Host, these scrolls smell good.
Azul looked at her snake, shooting it a warning glare. It had grown quite a bit after eating one man, and since then it had badgered her for more food. The scrolls were naturally off limits, so it shrunk its head back.
Azul moved through the shelves, pulling texts at random, scanning them for anything useful, and replacing them with growing frustration.
"Looking for something specific?"
The voice came from behind her—young, male, and lacking malice or anger.
Azul turned.
The speaker was perhaps twenty-two, with soft hands and an even softer smile. His robes were of good quality but not ostentatious, and his eyes were clear as living water. She recognised him easily, the boy Borji schemed against.
"Yes," Azul said. "Information on the Divine Right of Kings, specifically the theological underpinnings."
His eyebrows rose. "That's... a rather advanced topic for a casual inquiry."
"Is it? I find casual enquiries are often the most fruitful."
A smile tugged at his lips. "True enough.
Though I suspect you're not here casually at all.
" He glanced toward the library entrance, where the young scholar from earlier was still visible, now deep in animated conversation with several older men.
"You've caused quite a stir, you know. The first woman to enter the library in living memory.
They'll be talking about this for aeons. "
"Perhaps the next woman who needs information won't have to threaten anyone."
A surprisingly warm laugh escaped him. "Khatun. Most women who enter places they shouldn't, apologise for it. You seem entirely unrepentant."
"I have nothing to repent for. Knowledge is mine to acquire as I wish."
"Well said." He extended his hand. "I'm Enoch, son of Tobechukwu Obiechina.
Junior scholar and amateur theologian. If you're going to be here anyway, I might as well help you find what you need.
The organisation of this place is deliberately obtuse—some former head scholar's idea of protecting knowledge from the uninitiated.
All it really does is frustrate everyone. "
Named after the great Titan.
Azul studied him for a long moment. There was no guile in his face, no hidden calculation in his eyes. He seemed genuinely pleased by the novelty of her presence.
"Azul. Though you probably knew that."
"Everyone knows who you are, Khatun. The theology section is this way. The former head scholar who organised this place was a devout man, so at least he kept the gods in one place."
The theology section was, mercifully, coherent.
Scrolls and codices filled three full walls, organised by deity, then by topic, then by era. Enoch moved through them with familiarity, pulling texts and handing them to Azul without hesitation.
"The Divine Right of Kings," he said, settling onto a bench and indicating she should do the same. "It's not a simple concept. Most people misunderstand it entirely."
"How so?"
He leaned back, warming to his subject. "The common view is that a Divine King is chosen by the gods.
They are blessed and elevated above other men.
And that's true, as far as it goes. But it's not the whole truth.
" He paused, choosing his words. "The gods don't choose kings because they like them.
They choose kings because they need them. "
Azul frowned. "Need them? For what?"
"The gods are powerful, but they're not omnipresent nor omniscient.
They can't be everywhere at once and can't act directly in the world except through great effort. So they need agents who can carry their will and embody their power on earth. As you know, a god’s power only goes as far as their followers.
" Enoch's eyes were bright. "A king is such an agent.
When he acts with divine authority, he's not just representing the god—he's channelling them.
For a moment, he becomes the god's hands in the world. "
"Channelling them," she repeated. "You mean—literally?"
"I mean, the god's power flows through him.
Not constantly, not without limit, but when he acts in accordance with their will?
Yes. Literally." Enoch leaned forward. "That's what makes a king different from any other ruler.
A chieftain has authority because men follow him.
A warlord has power because he's strong.
But a king has divine authority. When he speaks, it's not just his voice men hear—it's the god's. "
Azul was quiet for a long moment, processing.
"That's why people want to be kings," she said slowly. "Not for the title. For the power."
"Exactly. Anyone can call themselves a king. There are dozens of self-proclaimed kings across the continent, ruling little more than a village and a hill. But a true king—one recognised by a god, one who can channel that god's power—" He shook his head. "That's something else entirely."
“Is this like invocation?”
Enoch frowned and shook his head. Azul felt a flush rise up her cheeks; being a new student was truly hard.
“Invocation is different; anyone with a large enough spiritual gift can do it. As you know, everyone, every family has a chi. Be it small or great. The more followers a chi has, the more notorious it becomes, the greater a god it is recognised as.”
Azul nodded. Kamsi talked about it often. Their family’s chi was Ikenga, god of strength and victory.
“Spiritual gifts come in all shapes and sizes. For one, Djinn are born with natural gifts since they are the spawn of our chi. Shamans are humans born with the blessing of one god. And then there are normal people like you and me. When one wants to invoke a god, one needs two things. A good enough gift and a big enough sacrifice.” He lifted two fingers in demonstration.
“To invoke the name of one's chi, a sacrifice is necessary.”
Those words sparked a memory in Azul’s mind, and she found herself looking down at her youngest sister, sapphire eyes glowing, her expression dark as she sat in the centre of a ritualistic circle, the air around them vibrating.
Her lips moved, but Azul couldn't hear a word.
Her ears were ringing, so she brought her hands to cover them, feeling something warm.
She looked down at her hands; they were covered in blood.
She looked up, and Kamsi was gone. She looked around, then back to the ritual circle.
The chalk had been deserted, the kola nuts shattered, and the palm wine spilt.
Host.
The lizard they had killed remained in the centre, its blood staining the wooden floors.
Host! A voice called her, pulling her back.