Chapter 26
The news of Tobechukwu Obiechina’s death didn’t faze Azul; she paused her game. Nkiru waited a few feet away for a reaction. How he died was a mystery. He wasn’t stabbed, nor did he hang himself; he was simply found collapsed on the floor as though the guards had struck him.
“I see,” Azul said slowly. “Thank you.”
She supposed someone was cleaning up loose ends.
The Iyom stood on a chair underneath the loop of silk hanging from the beams of her room, measuring one yard exactly.
Dying seemed painful, but to continue existing felt meaningless.
Her father had gone, and no crying or wailing could bring him back.
Of course, this night, as she shifted her weight and the chair clattered to the side, was the night Somadina came to visit her.
"Mother!" he rushed in, grabbing her legs to lift her weight up as she choked and gurgled, clawing at her neck. The guards followed suit, cutting her down and letting her fall into her son’s arms.
When she came through, seeing her son, her only reason for living, tears welled in her eyes. "Somadina, you came to see me—"
A slap silenced her.
His embrace, his warmth, and his care all left her senses in that moment. As he stood, she looked up; his eyes were bone-chilling, filled with hate, filled with disgust. It seemed that he too despised her.
Before her thoughts could establish a new reality, he spoke to her, and for a moment, she wondered what kind of spawn had come out of her womb.
"Mother, have you heard the rumours?" He extended his hand, and an attendant handed him a handkerchief, one he used to clean the hands that touched her. "You are a whore who made my father a cuckold."
Iyom’s heart staggered; the bruises around her throat came alive, tightening.
"Mother," he said. "Is it true?"
Iyom flinched. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
She shook her head frantically, ready to deny all accusations. "H-has your father heard of this?"
His face soured drastically, and it was then she quickly pushed herself to her knees.
"No, no, my prince, it’s a lie spread by that Djinn bastard to weaken you—"
"Don’t you dare deceive me." Somadina grabbed her arms and squeezed them tight. "That bastard looked me in the eye and told me I was not the Igwe’s son. Now, you will look me in the eye and tell me who I am."
Her composure crumbled in his grasp as fear overtook reason. A sob escaped her. "I… I didn’t know! It was only once! I thought… I prayed you were his. You had his bearing, his eyes… I convinced myself you were! There was no true way to know!"
Somadina’s face turned grim; a muscle ticked violently in his jaw.
"You must believe me! You are your father’s son!" She tried to plead with him, but what did it matter? The mere fact of her infidelity was enough to put his lineage in jeopardy. The moment the Ugoeze heard of it, she would use it to crush both of them until not even their corpses remained.
"His name," Somadina demanded, the words dropping like stones into the pond of her sobs. "The man’s name."
Iyom looked up, her eyes wide with a new terror. "Why? What does it matter now? He is nothing! A ghost!"
"A ghost whose blood taints my claim," Somadina hissed, leaning closer. "A ghost whose existence gives my enemies a weapon to unmake me. Tell me his name so I can send him to join the ancestors for good. So I can erase your mistake."
A name, long buried under layers of shame and ambition, spilled from her lips. "Eze… Eze Udoka. He was the Imperial Physician sent to assist me."
Somadina stared at her. Not a noble, not a visiting king. A physician. His origins were not just illegitimate; they were common.
The humiliation was revolting.
He straightened, turning away from her weeping form as if she were a stranger. He strode to the door and pulled it open, facing Chukwuemeka, who awaited his orders.
The two of them shared a look of mutual understanding.
The rumours weren’t baseless.
Borji, the useless, lackadaisical prince, had an information network that rivalled their own. It set fear into their hearts, for time was of the essence.
"Eze Udoka. He is to be found. Scour every record, every village, every grave in Tarsyn.
If he has any living kin, any descendants, any trace of his line, find them.
" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper that was more terrifying than any shout.
"And kill them. All of them. Erase his blood from the earth. Leave no seed."
Chukwuemeka, his face impassive, saluted. "It will be done, Okpalaeze."
Somadina didn’t look back at his mother as he left. The bond between them had just been severed without much effort. In the royal family, there was no such thing as family.
The Oracle's words spread like fire through dry grass.
By dawn, every corner of the palace hummed with them.
By midday, they had reached the city. By dusk, there was not a soul in the Borjigin lands who had not heard: a devil walks among them.
A heretic who has angered the Udamili. The reason the army was at their gates. The cause of all their suffering.
No name was given. No face was described. But the people did not need names. They had eyes. They had ears. They had the desperate need to blame someone, anyone, for the terror that gripped them.
And so they looked.
At the Djinn who had lived among them for years, suddenly suspect. At the strangers, the outsiders, the ones who did not quite fit. At the promiscuous vixen that now held the attention of a foreign warlord.
No one knew where the rumours started, nor did they care.
In the private chambers of the Okpalaeze, Chukwuemeka knelt before his prince.
Somadina sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by the wreckage of his latest rage—shattered pottery, torn scrolls, and an overturned table.
His chest heaved. His eyes were fixed on nothing.
They couldn’t find him, though they'd searched high and low; his biological father seemed nowhere to be found.
Sighing, he lifted his head to the ceiling, having other, more important things to deal with.
"The rumours are spreading exactly as you predicted. The people are terrified. They're looking for someone to blame."
Somadina's lips curved.
"And the direction of their gaze..." Chukwuemeka paused. "It seems to have settled on the Akwaugo."
Somadina laughed; finally, a sliver of good news in this mess.
Chukwuemeka bowed his head lower, understanding Somadina’s feelings. "And the other matter, Your Highness? Your ascension?"
Somadina's eyes snapped to him, sharp and dangerous. "What of it?"
"No matter how much we push, she refuses. She will not accept you as her Divine King. She will not perform the acceptance ritual."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"She still refused?" he repeated.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"And you cannot make her?"
Chukwuemeka's jaw tightened. "She is a Djinn. Her gift is genuine. If she does not perform the ritual willingly, it will not work. Ikenga will not accept a coerced offering."
"Why?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Why does everything fight me? The throne. The Djinn. That woman." He turned, and Chukwuemeka flinched at what he saw in those eyes. "I am meant to be king. I am the Okpalaeze. Why does everyone resist?"
“My Lord, if the child is not willing, perhaps we should find another Shaman.”
Somadina clenched his fists. Shamans did not simply fall from the sky; it took great skill—where could he simply find another one?
“My Lord,” Chukwuemeka dropped one more hint. “There is someone with the knowledge and the skill. The question is, is she willing?”
Under her bed, the space was empty.
Azul knelt on the cold stone floor, her hand reaching into the darkness, searching.
The little snake was gone.
She rose slowly, finding herself in a moment of uncertainty. Did it abandon her? But she had trained it to stay with her. She couldn’t even feel the skin it shed.
Could it be that it moved somewhere to shed its skin?
Azul closed her eyes; she did not like how unprotected she felt without it. And so the walk to the library, alone, was the longest of her life.
Azul had not left the shrine since the war council. Had not seen the faces of the palace since the rumours began, and until now, she didn’t quite understand what it meant to be hunted by whispers.
The servants scattered as she passed, pressing themselves against walls, averting their eyes. Nobles she passed in the corridors did not meet her gaze, but she felt their stares on her back like knives.
Something wet struck her cheek.
Azul stopped.
She raised a hand to her face and looked at her fingers. Spit. Someone had spat on her.
She turned slowly, searching the corridor behind her. Servants. Guards. A few low-ranking nobles. All of them looking anywhere but at her. All of them pretending they had seen nothing.
No one would admit to it. No one would claim responsibility.
Azul stood for a long moment, her face expressionless. Then she wiped the spit from her cheek with a fold of her sleeve and continued walking. She kept her pace, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of seeing her affected.
But her hands, hidden in the folds of her robes, were clenched into fists.
The library was quiet when she entered.
No scholar barred her way this time. In fact, no one came near her at all. The few men inside looked up when she entered, then looked away—quickly, pointedly, as if proximity to her might be contagious.
She moved through the shelves alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
"Khatun."
She turned to see Enoch smiling at her.
"You shouldn't be here," she said. "It's not safe for you to be seen with me right now."
"I know." He did not move. "But I heard you came. I thought you might need help with your search."
Heard my name?
Azul studied him for a long moment. She understood where his loyalties lay, so she wouldn’t question him.
"I need information," she said finally. "About Ekesi Akilli."
Enoch blinked. "The Titan?”
Azul nodded.
He hesitated only a moment, then led her deeper into the stacks. They stopped before a shelf of scrolls so old they seemed ready to crumble at a touch.
"Ekesi Akilli," he said quietly, pulling one down, "I suppose this is what you’re looking for?"
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the scroll in her hands. "Do you know what happened to it?"
“He was imprisoned. His body lies behind the Third Gate of Hell, sealed away so he can never return to the world of the living." He looked up at her. "Tarsyn holds the Third Gate."
“Who sealed it?” Azul dared to ask.
“Before his death, Methuselah sealed all Titans, apart from Enoch.”
Azul absorbed this, her mind flashing with that room that was used to invoke Ani. "Can someone open the gate?"
Enoch froze, his brows furrowing. "I don't know.
The old texts say it requires a king—a true king, one who channels a god's power.
And a sacrifice. A great one." He swallowed.
"But why would anyone want to unleash a Titan? Besides, the texts talk of their return only under specific circumstances. When the Unknown returns, the gates will open, and the world will finally be united as one, under one—”
“Above one.” Azul finished his words, remembering Ukhel’s scriptures.
Something settled in her heart, another thought occurring.
“You think it’s strange too, don’t you?”
Enoch’s words shocked her out of her thoughts, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Why is the Okpalaeze obsessed with becoming a divine king? Why are they trying to kill the Valthorne Khan?”
He knew; he knew all this time. Azul felt relief wash over her; for once she appreciated having another ally in this place. “It’s as if he’s desperately trying to find a way to control the creature. As if the gate is going to open.”
Azul went still.
The death of which whom shall bring.
She had read those words. Copied them for the Dowager. Written them in her own blood. They had meant nothing then. Now—
A sound cut through her thoughts.
A whisper. A hiss. The barest disturbance of air.
Run.
She turned toward the window, and an arrow aimed for her face.
A hand grabbed her, forcing her back as the thing lodged itself into Enoch's arm.
He cried out, stumbling back, blood staining his robes.
"Get down!" he gasped.
Azul did not move.
She looked past him, through the window, into the trees. She saw an assailant nock another arrow and aim it between her eyes.
The death of which whom shall bring.
She recalled her sister's ritual, the circle, and the blood that flowed freely from her ears.
She remembered running out with her bleeding body, running in search of help.
She remembered her sister reassuring her, telling her it worked, the ritual.
She remembered her death at Somadina’s hand, and she remembered the light in the room.
A burning sensation branded her back, and Azul hissed. A hand grabbed hers, pulling her to the floor.
The arrow shot past, embedding in the shelf.
“Khatun!” Enoch tried to snap her out of her trance.
Azul blinked; she felt like she was underwater. Nothing quite made sense.
“Enoch,” she eventually said. “I think I understand.”
From the corners of her consciousness, a voice called out to her. One deep and rough, echoing in the depths of her mind as if it had been trying to reach her.
Host… can you hear me?