Chapter 19 #2
"However," the Ugoeze raised a hand. "Dragging a sick girl through the palace would reflect poorly on us all. The Great Khan is still a guest in our home. If his betrothed is unwell, we should show concern, not cruelty."
The Iyom's smile faltered.
The Ugoeze rose gracefully, her robes spilling down like wine. "We will bring the audience to her. Those of appropriate rank may take sedans. The rest will follow on foot. We will pay our respects to the Akwaugo in her own dwelling."
The chamber erupted in whispered speculation. The Iyom stifled a laugh. The thought of all of them going to such a small place—if not to ogle and mock the girl, then for what reason?
Chidinma bit her lip, something akin to frustration passing her features.
The procession wound through the palace like a pompous snake—sedans swaying on the shoulders of men, lower-ranking wives trudging behind in the dust, servants scurrying alongside with fans and refreshments.
The Ugoeze rode in the lead sedan; the Iyom's followed close behind, her satisfaction visible in every grape she leisurely fed herself as they moved.
The shrine appeared through the trees—weathered stone, a sagging roof, and a small, embarrassing courtyard gone to seed. The bearers set down the sedan, letting the Ugoeze descend, her servants rushing to smooth her robes. The Iyom followed, already composing her opening accusation.
They approached the shrine's main building, their colourful robes stark against the grey stone. The door stood slightly ajar.
The Iyom reached it first, stopping at the sight of a man in the doorway.
He was tall, with shoulders that blocked the light behind him. His clothes were black and trimmed with fur despite the heat. An ivory mask covered his face, horns curving back from his temples, leaving only his eyes visible.
Those eyes surveyed the assembled women with the mild interest of a predator deciding whether the approaching herd was worth the effort.
The Ugoeze's heart stopped, then restarted at double speed.
The Great Khan. In the Akwaugo's chambers. Alone.
Every wife behind her had the same thought. The implications cascaded through their minds—scandal, impropriety, the complete destruction of the Akwaugo's already fragile reputation. A man alone in an unmarried woman's room. There was no explanation that could salvage this.
And yet.
He was the Great Khan. A guest of the Igwe. A man whose reputation made hardened warriors flinch.
No one dared to move.
Then, as if controlled by a single mind, every woman in the procession dropped to her knees, heads bowed. Even the Ugoeze knelt, her pride dissolving in the face of death.
"Great Khan." Her voice emerged steady. "We did not know you were...visiting."
"The Khatun is unwell," he said coldly. "I am ensuring her safety."
The Iyom's face went grey.
"She should not be alone in such a state," the Ugoeze managed. "We came to offer comfort—"
"Comfort." He scoffed. "How considerate." Ragnar stepped forward, and every woman's heart shuddered. He stopped at the Ugoeze’s side, hand on the hilt of his sword.
She did not look up.
"Ugoeze, you are the mother of this tribe. I will not interfere in how you govern your household. But the Khatun will be the mother of the Valthorne. Whatever punishment you deem appropriate for whatever transgression you imagine—deliver it. I will not stop you."
Her breath caught.
"However." His voice dropped lower, colder. "If she is harmed again—by illness, by poison, by any means—I will hold you personally responsible. Not the Iyom. Not the Okpalaeze. You. The mother of the tribe, who allows vicious snakes to nest in her house."
He straightened.
"Oversee your punishment, Ugoeze. I have said my piece."
The Ugoeze’s body was frozen as she watched him return, closing the door behind him.
He did not even bother to stay and watch.
Gritting her teeth, she spoke out loud. “Fifty slaps!” she said.
“If you do not slap yourself hard enough, I will send someone to slap you!” Without waiting for them to realise she was saving them from anything worse, the Ugoeze raised her hand, and her palm landed on her right cheek.
The Ugoeze knelt at the edge of the room, her back straight, her face heavily painted. Inside, her blood boiled.
The room around her was large, the centre cleared to receive Elders.
She bowed before her husband’s desk as he put brush to paper, not bothering to look down at her.
The Ugoeze wasn’t foolish enough to postpone informing him of her mistake; if he heard of it through his elders, she would be punished more severely.
"He was in her chambers," she said. "With the door closed. For hours, if the servants are to be believed. The scandal—"
"Ugoeze," the Igwe cut her off. He didn’t look up from his work.
"My first wife led a procession of women to my guest's betrothed and found him there.
The scandal is that you put me in a position where my choices are to challenge a man who could destroy this tribe or to punish you for your stupidity. "
The Ugoeze's mask cracked slightly. "My Lord!"
"Do you know what message that sends?" He looked up, his shadow falling across her like an eclipse. "It says my household cannot govern itself. My wives are petty and vindictive. My servants have loose tongues. I, apparently, cannot control my own women, so how can I control a tribe?"
She opened her mouth.
"Quiet!"
She shut it.
"I have made my decision. For the next year, your allowance is suspended. You will live on the same stipend as a common wife and remember what it means to earn your place."
The Ugoeze's heart stopped.
"My Lord! For a slave girl!?"
"You brought this on yourself. You may leave."
The Ugoeze’s face twisted, and seeing that seemed to anger him.
A loud crash startled her as the Igwe threw his seal across the wall. The heavy block fell to the wooden floor, leaving a dent. In his anger, he could’ve thrown that at her; that caused her to tremble.
“Do not forget yourself. Copy the scriptures of women’s duties until you understand the role of a first wife. This behaviour I might’ve expected from the Iyom, but you?” His hand darkened, the brush in his hand snapping. “If he had not already punished you, I would have killed you.”
The Ugoeze’s head fell to the floor quickly, trying to stop her shaking. “My Lord, you are right; I was wrong.”
The Igwe ignored her, dropping his broken brush and stomping past her, unwilling to see her face.
Chidinma's chambers were small and dark, tucked in a corner of Somadina's quarters where the sun rarely reached. She preferred it that way. Light revealed too much.
She sat by the window, embroidery frame in her hands, stitching the same flower for the third time. Her fingers moved automatically, the needle dipping and rising, her mind muddled with many thoughts, none she wanted to dwell on.
“Your Highness,” a servant called from behind. “Your father has sent word.”
Chidinma’s hands stopped. “What did he say?”
“He says you must bear it, for in the end, your reward will be great.”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and she continued her embroidery. “I see, you may leave.”
The servant bowed and scurried away, the door closing, only to open a few minutes later, letting her husband in without ceremony.
Somadina's footsteps crossed the room; he stopped behind her chair. His shadow fell across her work, across her hands, across her.
"The Ugoeze was punished severely."
Chidinma's needle paused; her cheeks still stung from that morning. "I heard."
His hands landed on her shoulders.
"You've been quiet lately; I hope you aren’t ill."
Her teeth chattered. "I've been tired."
"Tired." The word was mocking. "Of what? Sitting? Stitching? Being useless?"
She didn't answer. What answer would satisfy him? What answer would make this stop?
Chidinma gasped as he yanked her head back, his other hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing. The embroidery frame clattered to the floor, the needle skittering across the tiles.
He was behind her, so she couldn't see his face. Could only feel his grip, his weight, his presence consuming her very being.
"Try not to overstep your bounds next time; just stay at home and manage the household," he whispered as he kissed her ear. "All your fine breeding—you are a beautiful specimen of a woman. I appreciate every coin your father spent on you."
She couldn't breathe but existed under the pressure of his hand. He released her hair, pushing her head forwards until she was pressed against the window, his hands working against her skirt layers.
When he finished, he released her without ceremony. Before she could recover from the lack of air in her lungs, he was already at the door.
"Clean yourself up," he said without looking back. "You look pathetic."
The door closed.
Chidinma sat in the darkness, her body shaking, her hands pressed to her bruised throat.
For a long time, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she made her way to her writing desk and picked up her writing brush and dipped it in ink.
The words came without thought, writing down what her soul wished to express.
Once done, she sanded the ink, folded the parchment, and sealed it with a drop of wax. Then she sat staring at it with empty eyes.
The letter was written and addressed to one person: Azul.