Chapter 34
The siege had entered its twelfth day, and the Borjigin were starving.
Orda Naiman's army surrounded the city in an unbroken ring of steel, their siege engines looming against the horizon, haunting layman and soldier alike. They were waiting; they cut off supply lines and poisoned their wells, letting hunger and despair do the work their swords would otherwise claim.
Inside the walls, the mood dimmed with each passing day.
Rations had been cut twice already. The stores that should have lasted months were dwindling faster than anyone had predicted—thanks, Somadina knew, to the corruption that had hollowed out the palace from within.
Iyom’s family was not the first to use their power to take advantage of the city, and they were certainly not the last.
Somadina sat on the edge of Azul's bed, his head in his hands, his armour discarded in a heap by the door.
He had not slept in three days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of the children in the city, begging for scraps.
He had ordered rations to be distributed evenly, but from top to bottom, there were too many discrepancies; too many Elders were lining their pockets even in this dire situation.
Azul's hand found his hair, stroking gently.
"Rest," she murmured. "You're no good to anyone dead on your feet."
"I can't." His voice was raw. "There's too much to do. Too many lives depending on—"
"And yet the city still stands." Her fingers continued their gentle rhythm. "The walls still hold. Your people still fight. My lord, cherish yourself more."
He wanted to argue. He wanted—more than anything—to be strong, to be the king everyone needed him to be. But her touch was so gentle, and his body was so tired, and before he knew it, he was lying down, his head in her lap, his eyes drifting closed.
"I'll just close them for a moment," he murmured. "Just a moment."
Azul smiled down at him. "Of course."
Within minutes, he was asleep.
Chidinma, seated in the corner with her ever-present embroidery, watched the scene with an expression that gave nothing away.
"He comes here every night," she observed quietly. "Do you open your legs for him too? I was hoping he would stop pestering me, or are you leaving the dirty work to me?"
"When you say things like that, it makes me squirm. Remember, I have my betrothed; he wouldn’t dare do anything until he’s dead."
Chidinma's needle paused. "Does the Great Khan know?"
Azul shrugged. “If he knows, what can I do about that?"
Chidinma shook her head, returning to her stitching. If the Great Khan was a paranoid man, wouldn't Azul be suspected of adultery? "You're playing a dangerous game, sister."
"The only kind worth playing."
"The Valthorne! The Valthorne are coming!"
On the twentieth day, Azul heard the cries from her room, where she sat reading by the window. She closed her book and smiled.
Finally.
She went to see Obiageli that evening, as the sun bled gold and crimson across a sky heavy with the coming storm.
The girl’s chambers were in the oldest part of the palace, a tower that had stood for centuries and would likely stand for centuries more. Guards flanked the door—not to keep anyone in, Azul knew, but to keep the curious out. Obiageli was valuable. Somadina hadn’t even made the move to kill her.
Azul stood at the window—a narrow slit in the stone, just wide enough to see through—and waited.
After a long moment, a figure appeared on the other side. Pale hair. Gold eyes, colder than Azul's own. A face that held no expression at all.
"Is anything wrong?" The girl asked.
"We plan to climb the gates for the night. Come with us."
Obiageli's expression became conflicted, and after careful deliberation, she relented.
Getting Obiageli out of the tower required Chidinma's help.
The new Ugoeze had resources the old one never dreamed of—guards who owed her loyalty, servants who feared her displeasure, and a network of informants that spanned the palace.
Within hours, she had arranged for the Oracle's guards to be reassigned, for the doors to be left unlocked, and for a path to be cleared through the chaos of the siege.
The wall was easier to scale than Azul had expected—rope ladders hidden in advance, guards paid to look the other way. Azul couldn’t help but feel moved.
“Chidinma… you are truly a good woman.”
Her sister grimaced at her words, but Azul didn’t care. For once, someone was making allowance for her lack of strength and her even greater lack of motivation to exercise.
Within an hour, they were in the city, moving through streets that smelled of smoke and excrement. Obiageli pinched her nose beneath her plain cloak the entire time, clamping her mouth so she wouldn’t complain too much.
The city was alive, even in its suffering. Children played in the shadows, too young to understand the danger. Women huddled together, sharing what little food they had. Men stood guard on every corner, ready to defend their homes with whatever weapons they could find.
Obiageli drank it all in with hungry eyes.
The village square had been active, with many coming out to spend their nights together, for no one knew when their last night would be.
They arrived at the square where soldiers gathered around fires, their laughter rough but heart-warming. Azul wore a plain wooden mask herself, hiding her face from anyone who might recognise her.
"Dance," she said to Obiageli. "Enjoy yourself. For one night, forget who you are."
Obiageli looked at the soldiers, at the fires, at the music that had begun to play from somewhere in the crowd.
“Can I really?” She asked
Azul nodded.
So the girl abandoned them, finding her curiosity earned her many curious glances and many more conversations.
Azul and Chidinma watched from the shadows.
“I can’t believe she’s older than me.” Chidinma couldn’t help but marvel. “I thought you would kill her when you left the courtyard, how did she manage to convince you to bring her out here?”
Azul declined to answer. She didn't come out here for Obiageli.
They were the same age, they looked the same, they were twins, and yet they had grown up so differently that Azul found Obiageli to be the Azul that could’ve been.
Even the worst husbands could be good fathers. Obiageli had a lack of killing intent; she was truly just a player, she wished not necessarily to kill, but she wanted to win. She was suited for a different game, not the game of politics and power.
"Will you use her?" Chidinma's question pulled Azul out of her trance.
Azul considered the question. "No."
A soldier approached, bowing low. "A message for the lady in the mask."
Azul took the folded parchment, recognising the seal immediately.
Valthorne.
Ragnar.
She looked around; Chidinma seemed preoccupied, glancing at the other teens in longing.
Azul opened it, and her heart stuttered.
She looked up, scanning the crowd. And there, at the edge of the square, half-hidden in shadow, stood a woman. Dark hair. Sharp features. A smile that held no warmth but infinite amusement.
The woman beckoned.
Azul looked at Chidinma. "I have to go."
Chidinma followed her gaze, confusion flickering in her eyes. She looked back, and seeing Azul’s serious expression, she relented. "I see, so you only came out to receive a message. Fine. Go. I'll watch the girl."
Azul crossed the square, weaving through soldiers, dancers and fires until she stood before the stranger.
"Nyraxa Varkesh," the woman said, her voice low and musical. "The Great Khan's most trusted... associate. Come. We don't have much time."
She held out her hand.
Azul took it.
And the world dissolved around her.
She fell through darkness.
The void pressed against her from all sides, seeping into her lungs and bones and thoughts. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Tried to move, but her body was not her own.
And then, suddenly, she was somewhere else.
A ritual circle, drawn in chalk and blood, surrounded by candles that flickered with flame that gave no heat. The symbols on the ground were familiar—Ukhel's marks, the ones she had copied in the shrine what felt like a lifetime ago.
Azul stumbled, her stomach heaving, her skin crawling with the residue of whatever magic had just pulled her through reality itself.
"Unpleasant, isn't it?" Nyraxa's voice came from somewhere to her left. "Takes a lot out of you. And me." She stepped into the light, looking entirely unbothered. "But it can't be helped. The Khan needs to see you."
Azul heaved and gagged, but there was no food in her stomach to displace. After catching her breath and her bearings, she could understand—barely—what spiritual fuckery had happened.
"Where is he?"
Nyraxa's smile widened. "This way."
The tent was dark when Azul entered, lit only by the dying embers of lanterns and the faint glow of moonlight through the canvas. She moved quietly, her feet silent on the carpets, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dimness. She hadn’t quite expected this.
Ragnar sat in a large wooden tub at the centre of the tent, sprawled back against the rim, water steaming around his shoulders.
His eyes were closed, his arms spread along the edges, and his bare chest rose and fell with a deep rhythm.
The mask sat on a small table beside him, close at hand, and without it his face was open, vulnerable.
Azul froze, looking away instantly.
I should leave. She decided it would be best to find Nyraxa or at least wait somewhere else until he was dressed and composed.
“Are you the servant girl Nyraxa sent?" He waved a hand vaguely toward a pile of cloth. "Towel. Please."
Azul's heart pounded.
Her feet carried her forward.
She picked up the towel and walked toward him. Kept her head down. Kept her face shadowed. Held out the towel like any servant would.
His hand closed around it.
And stopped.
"Azul."
Her name.
Not Khatun.
She looked up but a hand covered her amber eyes at that moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know it was you. Don’t look at me.”
"My Lord."