by Alyssa Cole
“And you’re doing well, Your Highness?” a woman with rheumy eyes asked. “I know it must have been hard for you after your father’s passing. You admired him so.”
Sanyu glanced at her; something about her voice caught his attention. Maybe it was the note of actual concern. Apart from Lumu, Shanti, and Johan, no one had really acknowledged the hole in Sanyu’s life. The grief. Even he had mostly been focused only on the shame of not being as good a king.
“It was hard,” he said. “But now I must make sure that I’m the kind of king he would be proud of.”
The woman looked confused. “Why do you say that like it’s possible he wouldn’t be proud of you? He adored you as much as he did his kingdom.”
“What?” Sanyu said, his voice almost angry.
“Your father adored you,” she repeated softly. “Of course, he is proud of you.”
Sanyu’s eyes went hot but he blinked back the tears and turned away from the certainty in the woman’s eyes. She didn’t know what he was really like, or how often he’d been assured in so many words that he wasn’t anything to be proud of.
Not by his father, though. By Musoke.
“Excuse me! Can you tell me what this is?” Shanti called out, and the woman left his side to where Shanti stood at an altar looking at what seemed to be a pyramid carved of some sparkly mineral.
“Okwagalena. Like Okwagalena of Peace?” he heard her ask before the woman on the other side of him pulled his attention.
“You seem happy with your queen,” another attendant said quietly. “And she seems strong. Is it possible we’ll be having a renewal ceremony this time?”
Another attendant filled in the space abandoned by the woman speaking to Shanti. “That would make so many people happy. If we finally had a True Queen.”
Sanyu glanced over at his wife. He wanted her to stay, but how could he ask her to when Njaza made her unhappy, and he had as well? And even if he did, how was he supposed to when it had been decided that she wasn’t the True Queen? His father and Musoke had prepared him only for the possibility of sending wives away, not what to do if he wanted to keep one. If he managed to figure that out, would he just be fitting her with a matching too-small turtleneck?
“We’ll see,” he said.
When they returned to the car, she seemed to be deep in thought.
“Is Njinisbade far from here?” she asked, mangling the name of the town that was as far as one could be from the Central Palace while staying in Njaza.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s in the deep highlands, an old independentist stronghold during the Liechtienbourg occupation because they couldn’t figure out how to get there.”
“Interesting,” she said. “And Okwagalena?”
Sanyu searched his memory. “I’ve never heard of that place. It’s not in Njaza, unless people have been incorporating towns behind my back.”
She changed the subject after that, and they neared the palace much too soon.
“Maybe we’ll go into the capital next,” Sanyu said. “I can show you around.”
“I, um, that would be great,” she said without turning to meet his gaze.
When they parted ways and he returned to his office, he was met by a grim-faced Lumu, and behind him, Musoke, who sat at the desk that had belonged to Sanyu’s father.
“Sit down, boy. We need to talk.”
Chapter 17
Portia: Do you have social media?
Portia: It would be cool to post a video of you going through all the secret hiding spaces in the desk. Mostly because I want to see it.
Shanti: I don’t have social media.
The reason she hadn’t yet was because the thought of making an @QueenOfNjaza account only to have to delete it was too embarrassing. But things had been going well between her and Sanyu and he didn’t seem like he wanted to dismiss her. Then again, he hadn’t mentioned the renewal ceremony either and he had to know that time was short.
No. It would be fine. She was already making change, and Sanyu was doing the same. Whether she stayed or left, Njaza would be in a better place, but she’d come too far in just three weeks to consider failure possible now.
Nya: Make one! If you’re comfortable of course. If not, don’t!
Ledi: At the very least post it in here so Portia’s desk thirst can be assuaged.
Shanti sent a tongue sticking out emoji, but then looked at the desk. Social media wasn’t her thing, but she did think it could make for a fun video. She was fairly certain she’d found all the hiding places in it, and she had nothing to do until she left for the bookshop later so she tried again.
As she thought about her bookshop friends, she realized she could have snuck out in the last week if she’d wanted to, but she hadn’t because she felt guilty now. Before, she hadn’t really been lying to them because she hadn’t been involved in queenly affairs. Now she felt like she would be eavesdropping even if she did want to help.
And she’d lied by omission to Sanyu when he’d mentioned her never leaving the palace. It made her uneasy—even if the idea that a married couple could share everything with one another was naive, she didn’t like deceiving her husband. She hadn’t told him she left the palace or knew the activists who’d heckled him. She hadn’t told him about her invitation to the Royal Unity Weekend.
He hasn’t asked you to stay, she thought with frustration.
As she ran her fingers along the side of the desk, deep in thought, her middle finger came to rest in a shallow recess, one she’d assumed was just a wood knot the many times her finger had passed over it before. She pushed, and a slim drawer popped out.
Empty, save for a few spiderwebs. She was about to close it when she decided to look more closely. She felt around, hoping no spiders remained, and then patted the top of the cavity the draw had sprung from. Her fingers felt around an indentation . . . no, a notch . . . no, a lever—another secret hidden behind a more visible one. At first tug, the lever didn’t budge. She tugged again, then went to her vanity and grabbed the aerosol can of olive oil spray she used for her hair, giving two short blasts to the lever.
“Here we go,” she muttered, and tugged. A sound emanated from within the desk, but nothing happened. And then, before her eyes, the main panel in the center of the desk flipped down, releasing the scent of old dried plants and dust. A small book holder slowly emerged, pushed forward by a spring-loaded arm that had clearly rusted. Atop the ornate ledge rested a small journal with “Okwagalena” scrawled in ornate handwriting across the front.
Beneath that, in smaller letters in English, were the words:
Anise Lumeywa
General of the Resistance
&
First Queen of New Njaza
“Oh goddess,” Shanti exhaled, carefully taking the book in hand and laying it on the desk. This was the queen’s wing. This had been the queen’s desk. And the woman missing from Njaza’s history had apparently left her own.
When Shanti opened the journal, she was devastated to find it was mostly empty.
The first few pages were three-dimensional drawings of triangles sketched to show their depth, like the one she’d seen at the temple of Amageez, with words encircling it, almost like a logo:
Omakuumi–Amageez–Okwagalena
Strength–Head–Heart
On the following pages were random strings of words like hospital funds, metal detectors, prosthetics and terracing, irrigation, staple crops.
A to-do list, maybe?
The next writing she came across was a sentence in Njazan that, when translated, seemed to read:
Men take, drunk with power and unable to see past their egos; this is why kingdoms fall and will always fall until balance is achieved. I warned them.
That seemed, well, on point, but also not at all in line with how Shanti imagined any of the previous queens. She supposed they’d all been meek, mild and . . . exactly what she’d pretended to be until a couple of weeks ago. But she had never been meek or mild, and he
r own journal wouldn’t read that way either. People had always said Njazan queens were weak, and she’d believed it, thinking herself different when clearly that hadn’t been the case.
On one page was a drawing of a flame of three hues, but most of the remaining pages were blank like the ones that preceded them.
On the last page, Shanti found something even more confusing:
Two flames burn bright, stealing the kindling of the third. Love is not enough. My presence is ignored and my contributions are attributed to others. I’ve been silenced in the kingdom I spilled my heart’s blood to create by those I care for most dearly. They want to rule this kingdom and me—they will get only one of those things. I will leave them to it.
Enough was enough; Shanti had to get to the bottom of this. She carefully placed this journal, the files on the queens, and her own field guide to queendom into the secret compartment she’d just discovered, and locked them away. Sanyu would be going to the palace dinner to feel Musoke out about the meeting the following day, and would come over later than usual for a final run-through of their plan.
She messily wrapped her hair and then tied her head wrap, leaving on the simple patterned shift she’d been wearing—it was something she’d picked up at the market and was commonly worn in the capital. She had to get to Liberation Books to check in—and to ask if anyone knew more about the first queen, Anise. It made no sense that she’d never heard of her—no sense that no one spoke of her. Or of Okwagalena.
She’d go ask Marie, who was sure to know something, and then she’d go to Sanyu—she doubted he knew anything, unless he’d lied when she asked him about Okwagalena. That seemed unlikely. Maybe it was silly to trust him, but she didn’t think he’d keep something from her in this way—as she had from him.
She slipped into the secret tunnel, phone in her hand, and began heading out. She was used to moving through the dark space and when she reached the end and opened the door that led to the garden, she was momentarily confused as to why it was still totally dark.
“Going somewhere?”
Oh. Her massive husband was blocking out the light from outside.
“Sanyu? What are you doing here?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest as she tried to figure the odds that he just happened to be passing by this exact spot at this exact time.
“You’re asking me this?” His voice was tight with frustration, and the shadow of his form moved as he stepped inside the passageway. “If you must know, I’m following up on a report that my wife has been sneaking out at night and sowing discontent amongst my citizens. Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
She stepped back into the passage, and he followed. “Don’t use that tone with me,” she said. “Like we’re back to when you didn’t know me at all.”
Or care about me.
He rolled his eyes. “What tone should I use with the woman who lied to me? Went behind my back and humiliated me?”
What? He had this all wrong. “I didn’t humiliate you. I didn’t mean to, at least.”
“But you did, despite all your talk of teamwork,” he said. “Explain yourself. Now.”
The door closed, plunging them into true darkness, and she heard Sanyu’s robe rustle and his hand moved somewhere near her head. A dim light came on, showing his expression. She expected it to be furious, but there was nothing. Just the bland expression he’d worn for most of their marriage, when he’d blocked her out.
“A couple of months ago, when I was absolutely dejected at being left alone and ignored by my husband and not allowed to carry out my duties as a queen, I decided to try to help Njaza in other ways. I was looking for volunteer programs when I discovered the website for Njaza Rise Up, and I snuck out and went to a meeting.” She released a shaky breath and tried to pull herself together—why should she cower? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “They had no idea who I was and still don’t know. I didn’t give them any information apart from help with organizing and how to make their voices heard.”
Sanyu made a sound almost like a growl, though his face remained impassive. “How to make their voices heard? By heckling me?”
“No,” Shanti said. She could understand his anger to some degree, maybe. She’d snuck around and organized with people who, from his perspective, might want to undermine the kingdom. “I didn’t know they were going to confront you like that because I wasn’t in constant contact with them. But I don’t disagree with what they did. They weren’t being heard, and then they were. After that, you knew who they were and had to consider what they were saying. If the kingdom worked as it should, their needs would already have been part of the conversation and they wouldn’t have resorted to desperate measures.”
He made as if to contradict her, but she raised her hand. “No. You talk about this tight turtleneck you were born into, that chokes you. What of your people? What of everyone who isn’t an advisor that bows and scrapes to Musoke? Your citizens are entirely dependent on their king and his advisors, and they’re treated like annoying gnats when they tell you what they need.”
“You speak of Njaza as if it’s a dictatorship and not a kingdom,” he said.
Shanti felt all the ground she’d gained in helping her husband and her kingdom begin to crumble beneath her feet. “What is the difference to the everyday citizen? Do you even care whether there’s a difference?”
He took a step closer to her. “Do you think I want things to be this way? I’ve traveled. I’ve read. I’ve run from this place myself—I know things aren’t right and what we’ve worked on the last few weeks shows that I want to change things. But my father tried his hardest. Musoke tried. They brought this kingdom together single-handedly and it’s up to me to preserve that. I can make change for the better, but I can’t dismiss everything they’ve done.”
“Your citizens are trying, too,” Shanti said. “And you’re so worried about your father’s legacy that you can’t see that he and Musoke are the ones who tarnished it. The legacy you’re trying to protect doesn’t exist.”
“Enough,” he shouted. “You don’t understand. You’re a pampered woman from Thesolo. You have two parents who love you and support you—who probably hung your good grades on the fridge and had a shelf for your trophies. My father knew I wasn’t as good as him and loved me anyway, despite my deficiencies. He asked for one thing from me, to be strong enough to keep Njaza safe, and I can’t do it. He’s dead. Njaza is his legacy and I can’t—”
Sanyu’s rough words stopped abruptly, and his eyes went wet with unshed tears that she knew he wouldn’t let fall. She had only met his father once, a weak old man looking on during their bedside marriage. She’d been generally sad when he’d passed away, but she hadn’t truly understood Sanyu’s grief—she who had thought she could teach him what it was to be in a partnership.
She hadn’t even offered him comfort in all their nights together.
“Husband.” She cupped his face. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting. You are his legacy. You. Whatever you do will honor his love for you.”
His eyes were bloodshot and shiny; he darted his gaze to the wall above her head as she stroked his beard.
“You are not deficient,” she said.
He pressed his lips together for a moment, and when he looked back down at her, his grief had been tucked away, but not his pain.
“If I’m not, why is my wife sneaking out to assist people who think I am?”
Shanti had never heard his voice like this—quiet. Broken. And he was right. She’d been so sure of her quest to help others, to do so even if the palace wouldn’t allow it, that she’d never examined what her actions represented. In the past few weeks, Sanyu had talked to her, respected her, and his actions had shown that he wanted to make her happy. She’d snuck out to hang with people who increasingly saw him as the enemy, and in trying to make her personal goal happen no matter what, had shown her lack of confidence in him. Sure, she hadn’t meant to harm him, but he hadn’t meant to harm her either and she’d still
felt the sting of being ignored.
She remembered now, the one fight she’d ever been privy to between her parents. A neighbor had made a snide remark about “Queen Shanti and her little dream,” and when her mother had confronted the neighbor, her father had tried to mediate by making a placating joke. Afterward, she’d heard her mother whisper angrily at her father.
“We are a team. Tell me if I’m wrong, but don’t tell someone else before you tell me. You made me look like a fool that you have to tolerate instead of the person you’re working side by side with.”
“I—I was wrong,” Shanti said, her voice shaky. “I thought I was thinking outside the box, working with what I had, because I’m a rat.”
Sanyu raised a brow.
“That’s my nickname. If I see something I want, I go after it relentlessly. I’ll find my way through the most difficult maze. I’ll chew through concrete. I’ll find a tunnel out of the palace and people who I think need my help, without realizing how that might make you feel. Relentless Rat.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I’ve made you feel foolish and betrayed your trust. I’m sorry, Sanyu. I shouldn’t judge your father and Musoke so harshly either. I thought I was doing the right thing, like they did, but I hurt you, too.”
Sanyu let his head drop back and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then met her gaze again. “Musoke tried to convince me you were a spy set on destroying the kingdom.”
“I’m not,” she said, though she could see how pieces could be sorted to make things look that way.
“You’re giving a speech on Njaza?” he asked. “Next weekend? As if you’re an expert? It went up on some website today and people began to contact the council if this means we’re resuming relations with Thesolo.”
Shanti cringed.
“I meant to tell you,” she said. “I got invited to the Royal Unity Weekend. I’ve spent my entire life dreaming of being invited, but I only got the invite today because my mail was being held. And how was I supposed to ask you when you haven’t even told me if you want me here next weekend or after? The trial ends in a week and you’re just leaving that carrot dangling in front of me. Until when? What do I have to do to be deserving of it?”