Chapter 36
Somadina heard the gate fall from the palace courtyard, where he stood surrounded by his remaining guards. The sound carried—a deep, cracking roar that seemed to shake the very earth—and with it came the screams.
"They're through the north gate!" A messenger skidded to a halt before him, his face grey with terror. "Okpalaeze—they're in the city—they're—they’re—"
Somadina grabbed him by the throat. "How many? How many came through?"
"Hundreds—thousands—I don't know—they just keep coming—"
Somadina released him. The messenger crumpled.
The city was falling. His city. His people. His throne, barely warm, already crumbling beneath him.
He thought of Azul. Locked in her room, safe for now. He thought of his mother, dead by his own hand.
Everyone he had ever relied on was gone.
All except one.
“Lock the palace gates!” He barked. "And bring me Chukwuemeka!"
As usual, the dungeons smelled of death and human excrement. Somadina waited at the end of the corridor, his arms crossed, his face carved from stone, as the guards dragged the old man from his cell.
Chukwuemeka looked terrible—his eyes yellow, his gait unsteady, bones sticking out of worn, aged skin. When he saw Somadina, he seemed to have no reaction, as though he had been waiting for his summons.
"Okpalaeze." His voice was hoarse from disuse. "You came."
"I need you." Somadina's voice was flat. "The city is falling. The north gate is breached. Orda's soldiers are in the streets."
Chukwuemeka's eyes widened. "Then it's over. We've lost."
"No." Somadina stepped forward, grabbing the old man's chains, tugging until he stumbled forwards. "You're going to fix it. You're going to negotiate with Altansarnai. You're going to—"
"Negotiate?" Chukwuemeka laughed. "With what? We have nothing. No army, no food, no leverage. The Naiman don't negotiate with the defeated."
"Then you'll find something." Somadina's grip tightened. "You were his contact. You wrote the letters. You know him. You'll go out there and you'll make him stop."
Chukwuemeka stared at him. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant roar of battle, filtering through stone and earth like the breathing of a dying beast.
"There is a way," Chukwuemeka said slowly. "One way to stop the attack."
"Tell me."
"Ragnar Valthorne. They are coming to defend us, I hear.
But by the time they arrive, our city might be in pieces.
Even then, who is to say they would be able to defeat Altansarnai?
The Naiman hate the Valthorne, as they are enemies.
If you can prove to Altansarnai that the Valthorne threat is neutralised... " He paused. "He will spare us."
Somadina's eyes narrowed. "How do I neutralise the Valthorne?"
Chukwuemeka met his gaze. There was no triumph in his expression. "You give him Ragnar Valthorne's head."
Somadina's hands fell from the chains. He stepped back, his face cycling through a dozen emotions in the space of a heartbeat.
"The Great Khan," he said slowly. "You want me to kill the Great Khan."
"I know you believe it is impossible. But you have his greatest weakness in your hands.
I want you to choose." Chukwuemeka's voice was quiet.
"Your city or your Vixen." He stopped, something flickering in his eyes.
"Don’t forget, should the Valthorne win, they will take Azul, and you will lose your Shaman, unable to be crowned Divine King. "
The distant roar of battle swelled, as if the gods themselves were underscoring the choice.
Somadina stood in the darkness of the cells, the weight of everything pressing down on him—his father's throne, his mother's grave, his people's screams, and her face. Always her fucking face. He wished he could take a heavy stone to her bones, just to disfigure his greatest weakness.
"Get him cleaned up," he ordered the guards, his voice hollow. "Prepare him to go to Altansarnai."
Chukwuemeka's eyes widened. "You'll do it? You'll give them the Khan?"
Somadina didn't answer.
He turned and walked away, leaving the question hanging in the darkness.
Night after night passed, formless and cold. Azul had not moved from the floor. She sat with her back against the bedframe, knees drawn up, watching the slow crawl of moonlight across the wood. Her cheek throbbed. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue. Her hands had finally stilled.
Everything hurt. She couldn’t tell what was broken; sitting in that position was the most comfortable for her ribs. Moving her head felt daunting; even speaking took all she had.
She did not know how long she sat there.
The door eventually creaked, and her eyes found themselves staring at someone she shouldn’t have been too surprised to see.
Before she could step inside, an armoured hand seemed to stop her.
"The Okpalaeze's orders," one of them rumbled. "No visitors allowed."
Chidinma’s face stiffened into some semblance of authority.
"I am his favoured wife. Do you think he would deny me the comfort of my own sister in her hour of need?
" She let the words hang, sweet as poisoned honey.
"Shall I fetch him to clarify? I'm sure he would be delighted to be disturbed while at court. "
The guards exchanged a glance. One guard stepped aside, followed by the second.
Chidinma scoffed as she swept into the room, and the door closed behind her.
The two sisters simply looked at each other. Chidinma, flawless in silk and gold, her bruises hidden beneath powder. Azul, on the floor, her cheek swollen, her lip split, her hair a wild tangle around a face that held no expression at all.
"Look at you." Chidinma crouched, bringing her face level with Azul's.
Her eyes traced the damage—the purple blooming across her sister's cheekbone, the dried blood at the corner of her lips. "The great devil who bends princes to her will. With your meagre abilities, you were so haughty, thinking he wouldn’t touch you for fear of your fiancé.”
Azul said nothing. Her golden eyes remained fixed on her sister's face. Her words were new; her expression, however, was not.
Chidinma's eyes watered, her body shaking. But she continued to speak loudly.
"If I ask Somadina in bed, he might soften. Of course, I would expect you to finally understand your place. You loathed Somadina for denying you the title of main wife, so you left him to me. Now look at you; you aren't even a recognised bed slave."
She searched Azul’s gaze, tears pooling in her eyes as she saw the state of her sister. The first time was not the last time Somadina visited, and one hit the next time was not enough. She wiped it away quickly.
Azul's cracked lips parted. "Yes. I accept your help."
Chidinma reached into the small pouch at her belt—the one that held her sewing supplies. Her fingers closed around something long and sharp; she withdrew a silver needle, holding it up to Azul.
"For each needle you allow to pierce your flesh," she said, trying to steady her voice. "I will raise your case to my husband. A fair trade, wouldn't you say?"
Azul's right hand extended. She hadn’t eaten, so her body shook.
"I’m sorry," Chidinma whispered. Then she positioned the needle's point at the centre of Azul's supinated forearm.
And she pushed.
Azul's body went rigid. A muscle jumped in her jaw. She bit down on her already numb tongue; her golden eyes remained fixed on some point beyond Chidinma's shoulder. She forced her body steady, but the tremor spread all over, making it hard to concentrate on the pain.
The needle slid deeper, piercing skin, muscle, and the sensitive bed of tissue beneath. Blood welled and spilled down the sides of Azul's arm to pool on the stone floor. Chidinma pushed until the silver vanished completely, buried in flesh, with only the faintest outline visible beneath the skin.
Chidinma quickly withdrew her hand.
Azul's hand shook violently; the urge to retract it overwhelmed the false princess’s senses.
Chidinma selected another needle, then another.
Five needles.
By the end, Azul's arm was bloodied, but once cleaned, it looked relatively unharmed, with only small red dots to prove anything had happened to her at all. She held it in her lap, cradling it with her other hand, as sweat dripped from her temples. Her breathing was laboured, her eyes red.
Chidinma sat back on her heels.
She opened her mouth, speaking with no sound. “He will come tonight. The Mal-kai is ready.” With that, she rose to her feet and quickly backed toward the door, her composure cracking under a hammering heart.
Taking a look at her arm, Azul gritted her teeth, and finding a red spot where a needle was embedded, she pressed down around it hard in an attempt to force the needle back out.
Somadina had seized hers when moving her things, so these would have to do as replacements in the meantime.
As Chidinma said, the next time her doors opened, it was Somadina; he had a paper and an inkbrush in his hand, and behind him, a guard dragged in a little girl in a half-unconscious state. She was bandaged, and her body was limp, her eyes glazed, still medicated.
Azul’s heart lurched in her throat seeing Nkiru; she was still recovering, and yet he had brought her all the way here.
“What is the meaning of this?” Azul asked, but her voice couldn’t quite find the strength, as her body shook.
Somadina knelt in front of her and dropped the piece of parchment. His eyes were dark, and Azul found herself looking into the eyes of a man possessed.
“I need you; you write to your barbarian.”
A metallic hiss filled the room, and Azul’s head snapped up, a gasp escaping her lips. A blade was at her servant’s neck, waiting for Somadina’s orders.
Azul looked down on the piece of paper, her body weak and beaten, her heart heavy.
Death, or death?
At that thought, she bit her lip, blood coating her tongue again.
She picked up the brush and began to write.
The door opened without a knock.
Her eyes remained fixed on the blood drying beneath her fingernails.
But the footsteps that crossed the room were not a guard's tread.
Azul's gaze shifted.
Obiageli stood before her with a beautiful smile. She took it all in. The swelling on Azul's cheek. The split lip. The way she cradled her right arm against her chest, the pained wheezing.
"Sister," Obiageli said softly.
Azul stared at her, her heart sinking.
"You," Azul whispered. Her voice was wrecked, barely audible. "It was you."
She tampered with her dosing of Somadina's sleeping medication. She alerted him to her absence; she had forced this situation, trapping her here.
Obiageli's expression did not change.
Azul kept quiet; she knew Obiageli was the informant for Orda Naiman's army, this only confirmed she was also a pawn in her plans despite their agreement.
"I thought we were allies." Azul's words were flat, her voice hoarse.
Obiageli moved closer and knelt before her, placing her hands on Azul's knees.
"We were," she said quietly. "We are. That has not changed."
Azul laughed. "You opened the gates to an invading army. You sold the city. You sold me. How is that not change?"
Obiageli was silent for a moment.
Three of them—Azul, Chidinma, Obiageli—had access to the name of 'Viper'; how they used it was their own prerogative.
Obiageli reached out and tucked a strand of matted hair behind Azul's ear. Azul did not flinch, nor did she pull away.
"I need the other half of my abilities back, or I can't open the Third Gate." Obiageli said.
Azul's cracked lips parted. "The invasion—"
"Clears the board." Obiageli's voice was gentle, almost kind. "Somadina dies. Chukwuemeka dies. The old powers crumble, and in the chaos, I reclaim what was stolen from me. The Naiman will withdraw after they have what they came for. And I will finally have the power I deserve."
I will finally kill you.
Words left unsaid.
Azul's hands curled into fists in her lap. The movement sent pain lancing through her needle-punctured arm, but she welcomed it. It was best she never forgot the pain she felt in that moment.
"If Ragnar lives," she said slowly, "would that change anything?"
Obiageli considered this. Her head tilted, the eagle feathers in her headpiece catching the light.
"He will die anyway," she said. "The Naiman army is vast. Altansarnai has waited years for this. Even if Ragnar Valthorne is everything the tales claim, he cannot defeat them alone." She paused. "It might be more merciful if he dies by your hand."
Azul's body stilled.
Obiageli rose to her feet. She looked down at her sister—broken, beaten, bleeding—and for a moment, her expression softened into something almost human.
"You were a great ally," she said. "The best I could have hoped for. If things were different—if I were different—"
"But you're not."
"No." Obiageli's face smoothed back into its mask. "We're not."
Azul looked up through her lashes, her eyes cold. They were the same kind of person; Azul understood clearly what was going through Obiageli's head. If she were in her place, she too would kill her twin sister to obtain their full abilities.
The Dowager was never her divine King, Azul only found out because she dared to ask her snake to eat the old woman despite their alliance.
"Sister," Azul called as Obiageli walked towards the door. The Oracle paused.
"Thank you."
A long moment passed, then Obiageli nodded once and stepped through the door, closing it softly behind her.
The room was silent again.
Azul sat motionless for a long time, staring at the door her sister had disappeared through.
Then, slowly, her shoulders trembled. The quivering quickly spread before becoming a convulsive shake.
And finally, a manic laugh escaped her lips, and her eyes locked onto a dark corner of her room ceiling.
To the shadows that gathered there, thicker than they had any right to be. Darker. Deeper.
"Do not tell the Great Khan anything."
The shadows did not move. But Azul knew that someone listened.
"I am your Khatun," she said, and her voice, though broken with her laughter, carried the weight of command. "I command you. Silence. Until I say otherwise."
The eagle arrived the very next day, at dawn.
Nyraxa caught it herself, her arm raised as the great bird descended through the grey light, its wings cutting the air. She unstrapped the message from its leg, unrolled the tiny scroll, and read.
Then she read it again.
With a confused expression, she walked to the Khan's tent.
Ragnar was already dressed and armoured, preparing to ride out the last stretch of their journey. He looked up at her entrance.
"A message," Nyraxa said. "From the city."
She held it out.
As he read, his expression did not change.
"It could be a trap," Nyraxa said quietly.
"It’s her handwriting."
They fell into a beat of silence. Nyraxa understood; he would go anyway, as long as it was her that wrote to him, he had no reason to disobey.
She was speechless, was he truly beyond logic?
“Alone?” She asked, quietly.
Ragnar nodded. “You need to carry on the march if I don’t return on time.”
She was quiet once more, and then, she spoke. "I'll have a horse ready."