by Alyssa Cole
Shanti prided herself on reading subtext. She knew what was being said and what wasn’t. She did something foreign to her, who had been nicknamed little rat; she didn’t try to find her way through the maze of Sanyu’s words to the meaning at the center of them. She allowed herself to be comforted by the superficial because, though it had always been the most likely outcome, the thought of leaving at the end of the marriage trial seemed like losing something more than a goal.
He didn’t want another wife. That was enough for now. Wasn’t it?
“Smile again. You’re handsome when you smile,” she said, not wanting to think about it anymore. She felt a stirring in her chest when his lip curved down the slightest bit. She wanted to press her thumb there, trace the contour of his bottom lip.
“You’re handsome when you frown, too, if you want to keep doing that,” she added.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low. Then his body tensed and he began to look around—as Shanti watched he began to shift into the brooding Highland king once more.
The sound of footsteps approached.
“Musoke,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and beginning to march in the opposite direction.
She stood still, anchoring her weight so he couldn’t pull her. “Why are you running from him?”
When he turned to her, the worry in his eyes was so stark that she reached her hand up to his face, cupping it and placing her thumb into the indent at the corner of his mouth like she’d wanted. His facial hair tickled her palm as his jaw settled into it; she could feel the clench of teeth and tic of muscle, though he looked so calm now that he’d reined in the fear in his eyes. He looked how he always did while sitting in meetings or stalking through the palace.
Was he always this anxious?
Several things fell into place for Shanti then. They were all assumptions, but they filled the space between her and the man she had married, who seemed to always be armored in anger and strength but might actually be clad in what so many men in powerful positions sported—fear.
“Sanyu!” Musoke’s voice rang out in the hallway, and Sanyu’s body went even more rigid. His expression hardened and the last of the light that had been dancing in his eyes faded.
“Husband,” she said as the footsteps drew near. “There’s a ceremonial spear on the wall. Do you want me to take his head off?”
He looked down at her sharply, eyes wide.
“You said you weren’t a murderer.” His Adam’s apple bobbed against the heel of her palm.
“I’m not. Musoke is clearly not human since he arrived so quickly to interrupt us, as if he sensed someone in the palace was about to have fun and needed to crush it. Maybe he’s Amageez incarnate like he pretends to be.”
Sanyu squeezed her hand and gave her a quelling look, as if Musoke might hear her.
“You’d kill a god for me, then?” he asked.
She pretended to contemplate the question. “I’d rather not, but to get rid of whatever puts this look on your face, yes. I would.”
Sanyu stopped pulling but didn’t drop her hand. He just looked at her, the same look he’d given her so many times during the first months of their marriage—like he wanted to talk to her, to ask of her, but didn’t know how.
His lips parted, as if he were finally ready to ask for what he needed.
“The Njazan king does not engage in public displays of affection with his wife.” Musoke’s voice cut through the tension between them like a blade, and Sanyu dropped Shanti’s hand as he turned toward the old man.
He bowed to show his respect. Shanti curtsied, but half-heartedly, toward the man who was already trying to replace her.
“The display of such emotions shows weakness, which is why they are interboten zu roi.” Musoke’s gaze was still on Sanyu, and he didn’t seem to notice his lapse from Njazan into Liechtienbourgish. “Holding hands with the foreign woman who attacked your advisor is not the way of the Njazan king.”
When she glanced at Sanyu he stood at military attention, his hands behind his back. Like the way he’d hidden his laugh, it seemed like something he did unconsciously. Marie’s words from the night before came to her.
“. . . modeling confrontation can be effective in populations where people are unhappy but don’t have a strong cultural history of protest.”
“I have a question for you, wise Musoke,” she said, forcing herself to use Njazan despite how Musoke had ridiculed her for it. “What is the difference between advising and controlling?”
“That has nothing to do with anything,” the advisor she’d frightened with the spear called out from behind Musoke.
Shanti tried to gather her vocabulary words.
“People Amageez give gift are advisors because they use her gift to guide the king’s iron fist,” she said slowly. “But when advisor creates rules, and forces rules in the king, that is control, no? And control is not the house of Amageez. Another god exists who is in charge of such behavior?”
Musoke looked at her then, and there wasn’t just annoyance in his eyes, but fury. Perhaps she’d pushed too far, questioning his motivation. Perhaps he was going to tear her vocabulary and grammar apart and ridicule her in front of everyone.
“There are only Omakuumi and Amageez,” he spat. “To imply otherwise is sacrilege.”
“Pardon?” she asked. He seemed to have entirely missed the insult in her words. Maybe she hadn’t phrased it correctly.
“There are rules in this kingdom, rules written in the blood of those who fought for its freedom,” Musoke continued. “They exist for a reason, and those who try to change them threaten to make the sacrifices of the past all for nothing.”
“The Liechtienbourger magistrates did not want change to their rules either,” Shanti said, knowing she’d crossed a line but wanting her insult to be understandable despite her lack of fluency. “But sometimes things have to change for a kingdom to have a good future.”
Musoke’s eyes bulged as if he choked on his anger. “You compare me to colonizers? To the ones you tricked Sanyu into inviting here?”
Shanti switched back to English, her anger too great for her to hold onto her Njazan.
“Sanyu invited the diplomat here himself, and together they helped Njaza take the first steps toward a future where land mines no longer plague the kingdom. But you act like he is a child who was told what to do.” She pointed at Sanyu. “He is your king. Saying he can’t make decisions by himself undermines his leadership. Why would his head advisor do this?”
Musoke regarded her for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was that of a man truly sorry for something. “I can admit when I’ve made a mistake,” he said. “Sanyu was correct when he first refused to marry you. I shouldn’t have pushed him into it when he completely was against being joined with you. I should have let him choose someone else, someone who knows her place and doesn’t speak with the authority of a True Queen when she will never be one.”
Shanti felt the grate of Musoke’s words like the scales of a snake winding around her—she, who had spent her life not caring what people thought of her but had found herself creeping through the staff hallway rather than face Musoke. Who had hidden the accomplishment of speaking passable Njazan so he wouldn’t mock her. Who had made herself small with the hopes that if Musoke didn’t see her, it would make her life easier.
Sanyu had been subjected to this all of his life, she realized. Sanyu, who stood silently beside her now, who sat silently at meetings, who read Musoke’s words at royal speeches, but spoke his own in the privacy of her chambers, where Musoke never ventured.
The wrinkles on the advisor’s face bunched as he grinned, as if he thought his barb had found its mark.
Shanti responded with the same overly concerned condescension. “Oh, was that supposed to hurt my feelings? Sanyu told me we shouldn’t marry that night, too, so that’s not news to me.” Now she didn’t look at Musoke—she looked at the advisors and guards who watched the scene. “If he doesn’t
want to remain married to me, he doesn’t have to. If he doesn’t want to abide by your outdated traditions, he can change them. He is king. Either you respect him, or you don’t. It has nothing to do with me.”
She felt Sanyu shift beside her.
“The queen didn’t intend to do harm,” he said, the usual harshness of his voice subdued. “She frightened an advisor, which wasn’t necessary, but it wasn’t an actual attack. She kills gods, not men.”
His expression was serious, but he glanced at Shanti from the corner of his eye and winked. It was an uncle move, but was such a playful contrast to his seriousness that it made her cheeks go hot.
“What are you talking about?” Musoke looked at Sanyu in complete confusion. “Did that Chetchevaliere woman rub off on you? Within the last hour you’ve let this kingdom be disgraced by not one foreign woman, but two!”
Sanyu sighed. “I’m fine. The advisor is fine. My wife will not display her staff skill again. The soldier who didn’t recognize his own queen has learned a lesson. There’s no cause for further discussion.”
Sanyu was still standing at attention, but didn’t look so tense that he might keel over anymore.
“Is that your decision as king?” Musoke asked mockingly. “You’ve certainly been making interesting ones lately.”
“It is my decision, Advisor Musoke,” Sanyu said respectfully. “Let’s debrief the guards now. Go ahead of me to the guard station, if you wish.”
Musoke turned angrily and walked in the opposite direction, and the advisors and the guards followed.
“I’ll go back to the queen’s wing,” Shanti said.
She looked down, unsure of what she should do. Wave? Kiss him? Glide away like an elegant ghost?
“Shanti.”
His fingertips whispered up her neck, briefly, and she looked up.
“I owe you an apology. I laughed the night we met, when you said you’d protect me. I’m trying to be better about admitting when I was wrong.”
“I wouldn’t call taking a swing at an advisor protecting you,” she said, her body growing warm as the rough pad of his thumb grazed her throat.
“Neither would I,” he said. “I still owe you an apology.”
He lowered his head and Shanti closed her eyes—his lips pressed into her forehead, of all places, and for some reason it still sent a shock through her as if he’d crushed her mouth with his. Why were her nipples hard and her body tingling from a peck on the forehead?
Sanyu turned and followed Musoke.
Shanti should have been happy. Her husband had taken his first giant step toward being the king his people needed him to be. Her goal was to help the people of Njaza, but as she watched him stride away, she thought of how he’d resisted telling her why he didn’t want another wife and she hadn’t pushed, even though not knowing left her at a disadvantage.
It wasn’t that she always pushed; she was an expert at judging when to press and when to pull back. Her instincts had told her to press. Her heart had told her not to because she’d rather not know the answer yet, and she’d listened to her heart.
She’d thought that convincing Sanyu to let her stay, to perhaps be his True Queen, was worth anything. But she had to be careful. She was working to secure her crown, not her husband’s affection. And she certainly wasn’t willing to lose herself in the process.
Chapter 12
Something odd happened at the following day’s meeting of advisors: Sanyu paid full attention.
His mind didn’t drift, and he didn’t retreat into the shroud of grief or fantasies of escape. Because he didn’t allow himself to get distracted, he remembered why he had checked out to begin with—having to listen to everything said at these meetings was absolutely torturous.
Musoke talked about the greatness of Njaza and the former king as usual, but nothing he said was useful. He spoke of past glory, and even when he spoke of the future it was so deeply rooted in protecting the past that there was no material difference. Musoke was in possession of his faculties, but Sanyu was beginning to understand that perhaps he lacked something more important than logic and the knowledge that came with it—foresight.
Foresight was in the charts and projections Shanti had showed him about the possibility for change in the country; it was how she spoke of Njazans as people with minds of their own and not just a will-less mass that had to be led for their own good. It was in the future Sanyu began to shape in his mind as he reeducated himself on governance. He had hopes and dreams for his country, behind the belief that he’d never live up to his father’s legacy. Behind the not-fear that plagued him and usually made him freeze like a marshbuck in the headlights in meetings and onstage.
When his thoughts did stray, he heard Shanti’s voice in his head, which had slammed into him like Omakuumi dropping a boulder from above.
“If he doesn’t want to abide by your outdated traditions, he can change them. He is king!”
Two sentences. Two truths that he’d known but never fully understood until she’d said them with the conviction that was such an integral part of her.
He’d only ever been taught to uphold what already existed because with change came ruin. His father and Musoke hadn’t said that explicitly, but they might as well have.
I can change things a little, he thought to himself giddily. Even tradition.
As Musoke droned on, Sanyu was filled with the almost overwhelming urge to jump up, to tell him to stop speaking. Guilt raced in after his agitation, and Sanyu realized this was why he’d tuned out, too. Musoke had helped raise him, but the things the man said and did and the way the country was run created a response in Sanyu that felt much too close to dislike for him.
Love wasn’t something that was discussed at the Central Palace, but he cared deeply for Musoke. The flashes of resentment toward him felt more treasonous than not wanting to be king—though still less treasonous than thinking he might actually be fit for the job. Musoke, after all, was supposed to be the one who determined whether or not that was true, so what would it mean if Sanyu decided he could be a good king when Musoke clearly thought otherwise?
Would it mean that Musoke could also be wrong about Shanti not being a True Queen? About everything? Sanyu took a sip of his tea and cataloged flavors until his thoughts stopped multiplying.
“Ah yes, and for the parade, I’m thinking we need to have a reenactment of that final battle.” Musoke’s words drew his attention. “But perhaps we can add a chariot. There were no chariots, of course, but it would add some drama to the reenactment. The citizens would be amused.”
The advisors around him nodded their encouragement, but Sanyu could see it now that he was paying attention—these men were checked out, too. Maybe some of them were actually interested in Musoke’s never-ending reminiscence about the past, or agreed that Sanyu shouldn’t have made a deal with von Braustein, but all of them had to have heard this story and all of the stories of military glory hundreds of times.
“You know, this kingdom almost didn’t win its freedom. If not for Sanyu I’s strength and my intelligence, we’d still be under Liechtienbourger rule or in the throes of civil war,” Musoke said. “And we might yet be if we continue to work with them on the land mine removal.”
Sanyu took a deep breath knowing he’d likely regret what he was about to do, but he couldn’t sit quietly any longer.
“O learned Musoke,” he interrupted when the advisor took a breath of his own. “The land mine removal is to the benefit of our people, and acting like it’s a Trojan horse implies that our advisors are too ignorant to do a thorough check before letting said horse in through the gates. Or that I am. I have faith in our council and its ability to guide us toward a future where we don’t reject offers out of hand because we fear we can’t defend ourselves. And if anyone doesn’t have that faith, they need to speak up so we can address any issues that they think make us vulnerable.”
Sanyu felt the sudden shift in the room’s mood, a vibrating silence like his ea
rs had been blocked due to an altitude change for months, years, and suddenly popped.
In a way, he still felt he was on autopilot because otherwise, how was he speaking so freely? This had to be his father’s confidence, and perhaps his father’s words, too. Or Shanti’s. He still felt the not-fear, but it didn’t squeeze his vocal cords as it had in the past. He didn’t wait for Musoke to answer, deciding instead to ride this wave for as long as he could.
“Is it possible to get an update on how the parade will be funded?” he asked. “It’s already a tremendous undertaking, and given the last-minute nature of all of this, I’m sure the cost will be even higher than necessary.”
When he glanced toward Minister Masane, the man’s eyes were bright and locked on him. He patted at his bald head with a handkerchief.
“Oh right, you and your quibbling over the legality and cost of celebrating your recently deceased father—what every honorable son worries about,” Musoke said.
A dull pain throbbed in Sanyu’s abdomen and his hand closed over the tube of antacid in the fold of his robe, but he didn’t pull it out.
“It’s what every honorable king worries about,” he said sharply. “Legalities. Finances. Ethics and accountability. It should be what every advisor worries about, too. If Amageez gave you the gift of knowledge, that shouldn’t be hard to understand.”
Musoke’s lips thinned and he gripped the head of his cane. “I’ve found an alternate source of funds—the money set aside to be used for your marriage ceremony should you choose to remarry that woman. The independence parade is being held the same weekend, and it’s not like you’ll be keeping her after her displays of disobedience, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Sanyu stared at the man, weighing whether to admit that he’d given thought to making the marriage official and asking Shanti to become his True Queen—he didn’t know why, but the image of his childhood blanket ripped to shreds suddenly popped into his mind.
“Will that be a problem?” Musoke pressed.
“Yes, it will,” Sanyu said. He heard an actual gasp from one of the advisors. “Any decision to reallocate funds needs to go through formal channels. Who approved this change?”