by Alyssa Cole
On the ancient deities of Njaza: Omakuumi of War, Amageez of Wisdom, and Okwagalena of Peace.
A bolt of curiosity—and surety—went through Shanti. She’d never heard anyone speak of this Okwagalena, never seen mention of the name in all the materials she’d sorted.
She searched for the rest of the dissertation, but everything else was unrelated.
“Psst!”
She noticed a motion in her peripheral vision and looked up to find a woman with brown skin and hazel eyes peeking at her from behind a nearby bookcase.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The woman flipped a business card her way and it somehow landed faceup on the seat beside Shanti.
BEZNARIA CHETCHEVALIERE
JUNIOR INVESTIGATOR
WORLD FEDERATION OF MONARCHISTS
“Turn it over,” the woman named Beznaria said, then grinned, revealing a gap in between her two front teeth.
Shanti turned the card over and written in flourishing penmanship on the back were a phone number and what appeared to be another title: Commendatore, Damsel in Distress Rescue Services, LTD.
“You . . . rescue damsels?” Shanti asked.
“That’s my side hustle. I’m here on RoyalMatch.com duty to check in on the status of your arranged marriage, but I think both skill sets can be useful depending on how this plays out,” Beznaria said quietly in an accent Shanti couldn’t place. “I snuck away from your husband to make sure he wasn’t able to influence your answers. Are you okay? Is your health and well-being looked after? Do you feel safe?”
Shanti’s face went taut and her eyes began to sting. She didn’t think anyone in Njaza had directly asked her that since she’d arrived. Both Lumu and Kenyatta were clearly concerned, and Sanyu had asked her what she thought of her time there, but no one had asked with this kind of intentionality—with the expectation of an honest answer.
Shanti found herself momentarily overwhelmed.
“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.”
The woman squinted at her. “I have to admit, I don’t believe you, so I’m going to have to ask again. Are you okay? Blink twice for help if you think we’re being recorded.”
Shanti forced a smile, but it was harder to make it stick than usual. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
She was, wasn’t she? She’d asked for respect and cooperation, and she and Sanyu were starting to build that. She wanted to change the world, and she was doing that with Njaza Rise Up. The last few months hadn’t been great, but everything was coming together now.
The investigator twisted her lips. “Look, I’ve spoken to your husband and even he knows he’s done a terrible job. Do you want to leave with me? I have a cart full of cabbages with a hidden compartment underneath it. You can hitch a ride out of here, though we’ll have to stop to off-load the product before we cross over the border.”
Shanti blinked at the woman in disbelief.
Beznaria squinted behind the huge lenses of her glasses. “Four blinks. Does that mean you’re doubly in need of help?”
“No.” She tried to make her tone firm even though a tiny, tiny voice in her mind told her being smuggled out with heads of cabbage wasn’t the most humiliating way her marriage could end. “While my time here hasn’t been as productive as I’d like, I’m making progress on several fronts.”
“Are you happy, though? I watched you for a bit as you worked and you didn’t look happy.”
Shanti swallowed hard and lifted her chin.
“Section twelve of the terms and agreements states that happiness is not guaranteed by Royal Match,” Shanti said. “So that’s nothing you need concern yourself with.”
The woman nodded sharply. “I knew you would read the fine print.”
“I’m very confused. Do you want to come sit down?” Shanti gestured toward the chair across from her.
“No, my cart is blocking traffic so I need to run before it’s towed—I won’t be reimbursed for the cabbages since this mission wasn’t exactly approved. But call or text me if you change your mind.” Beznaria tapped her heels together and then bowed. “Good luck with the remainder of your marriage trial—you’ll need it. I told the king to stop using the app to search for a new wife until you were officially divorced. Hope that helps! Oh, I loved your article on Thesolo’s matriarchy by the way. One of the best The Journal of Royal Studies has ever published.”
The woman ducked back into the stacks, leaving Shanti to digest what she’d just heard.
“I told the king to stop using the app to search for a new wife.”
Sanyu was already looking to replace her.
Despite the progress they were making for the kingdom, and the way he looked at her and touched her. She’d started to think maybe things would work out. Shanti stared at the scanned image in front of her, the words swimming as she tried to reconcile this new information with what she’d believed, and with the unlikely feelings the investigator’s questions had raised.
Who asks a total stranger if they’re happy? She was annoyed, but the truth was if she’d been able to say yes, there’d be no need for her annoyance.
The sound of tongue against teeth pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Head in the clouds again?” Josiane asked. “Can’t be bothered to do your work?”
Shanti stood abruptly and looked down at the old woman.
“Were you raised in a barn?” she asked, voice frigid. “No. No. Because I was raised in a barn, and when I milked the goats in the morning they knew to bleat a greeting at me before they snapped at my hand. Since you seem to require more instruction than a goat, here it is—your rudeness ends today. I will tolerate no more disrespect from you, Josiane. Not because I am your queen, but because I refuse to be treated badly anymore, by you or anyone else.”
Shanti braced for the woman’s fury, for a reminder that she had no power to wield against anyone because she was a false queen, but was instead met with an appraising look.
“Humph,” was all Josiane said before beginning to gather the papers spread across the table and put them back into the box.
“I wasn’t done yet,” Shanti said. “Asking for a peaceful work environment doesn’t mean I can’t finish my work.”
It was silly to argue since Shanti knew that she’d purposely been given inconsequential work and it didn’t matter whether she finished or not, but she wasn’t a quitter. She didn’t want to give Josiane the satisfaction.
“You are done,” Josiane said. “My archives, my rules—Your Highness. This project is complete for the time being. You know as well as I do that there are more important things to attend to.”
The old woman wasn’t even snapping anymore, and though Shanti had asked her to drop the rudeness, it made her feel like she just wasn’t worth the effort.
“Very well.”
She left the only place in the palace that had given her purpose, even if that purpose had been to spite Josiane.
When she reached the fork in her path and faced the narrow, shabby hallway that would take her the circuitous route to the queen’s wing, she paused.
Josiane had dismissed her. Sanyu was planning her future dismissal. Why should she relegate herself to the path where no one would see her? Why had she ever done it to begin with?
She imagined what Jendy would think of her skulking down the staff hallway, and pure pride made her turn away from her usual route. She wouldn’t let her friends down—she’d thought helping them was enough, that meeting with Sanyu was enough—but it hadn’t been. Sanyu wanted to use her as a sounding board for his policies while already checking out the queen who would be here to see them enacted? Fine.
But no more hiding, and not even a trace of making herself small. She was queen of Njaza for approximately two more weeks and she was going to make her presence known.
She took the main hallway, lined with gilded frames and fading frescoes, and instead of the reserved but regal stride that was her usual gait, she drew on her modeli
ng and dance lessons and switched into catwalk mode—head forward, hips swaying, queen bitch mode activated. Guards stationed along the hallway glanced at her, startling before nodding their acknowledgment. Rafiq’s mouth dropped open.
“Did you speak to the investigator from Royal Match, Your Highness?” he asked.
“I did,” she said, and lifted her chin even higher.
“Be careful, Your Highness. If you can’t see the floor—”
“I don’t need instruction on how to walk, Rafiq. Thank you.”
She kept going, not knowing where she was heading but knowing who she hoped to see.
As she passed by one of the many frescoes in the main corridor something caught her eye; she slowed to scan the scene from a battle similar to the one she’d shown Portia and realized what had jumped out at her. One of the warriors, crouched with a spear jabbing forward in protection of Omakuumi, was clearly painted in a different style. Several of the figures closest to the god-king had been, the difference in technique and even saturation of the paint clear once you had noticed. It was like someone had done the painting version of Photoshop copy and paste. What would they want to cover?
“Who are you and how did you get into the palace?”
Shanti looked at the guard who was jogging up to her, then behind her in the hallway to see who he was talking to.
No one was there.
“Mademoiselle.” The young guard approached, clad in the kente of yellow and green that signified the lowest rank in the guards corps, the guards stationed deep inside the palace amongst more seasoned comrades while the highest ranking guarded the outer areas. “No one but royal advisors and our mighty king himself are cleared to pass here. We’ve already had one attempted infiltration from an outsider today. Identify yourself.”
Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out except the last bit of her pride. She was so furious with embarrassment that her words left her, something that rarely happened. She’d been finally, finally stepping into her queenly stride, literally, only to be knocked down several pegs again. Why should she have to explain that—
“She is your queen,” a deep voice rumbled behind her. “Do you not know the face of the woman you’re sworn to protect?”
Shanti turned her angry gaze onto Sanyu as he approached, wearing one of the robes that made him look like he was sculpted by the goddess herself, trailed by two advisors.
“Queen?” The young soldier dropped to his knee and brought his fist to his chest. “I am sorry, Madame Your Highness. I meant no disrespect. I didn’t recognize you. In fact, I had forgotten . . . uh. I apologize.”
He was so flustered he spoke Njazan, though Sanyu had spoken English.
“It’s all right,” she responded calmly, speaking Njazan as well. “You have never seen me. You tried to stop a strange person walking around the palace and you did your job well.”
She just wanted this moment over and done with. She’d been grateful for her ability to blend into the crowd whenever she snuck out to the bookshop, but she could only imagine how people would laugh if they knew she was a queen who was literally unrecognized in her own castle. There was no peppy quote from her field guide to recover from that—it was the kind of humiliation that was hot-wired to every bad feeling she’d been pretending didn’t exist for months. The bad feelings that had just been verified by the strange woman who’d offered to save her.
“Are you happy?”
She didn’t need to be happy, damn it. But she needed something more than this.
“He will be reprimanded,” Sanyu said from behind her, his voice echoing in the hallway. “The guards have been on high alert this afternoon because of a strange guest.”
She turned to face him.
“Why should he be reprimanded?” she asked in a carefully measured tone. “Was I properly introduced to the palace guards? Does my photo hang anywhere? Have I been allowed in public since the wedding? If he doesn’t know who I am, it’s not his fault.”
She saw the confusion flash in Sanyu’s eyes before he answered.
“If I say he’s to be reprimanded, he will be,” Sanyu said, drawing his shoulders back. “Don’t question my authority.”
“In public,” she said. Angry tears pushed behind at her eyes, though they didn’t fall. She’d foolishly played the role of obedient wife-in-waiting, and then helpful advisor, but for what? He could come to her room at night, demanding her assistance. He could look into her eyes as he brought her to orgasm, his hunger for her nearly overwhelming. He would do both of those things, but he’d talk down to her in front of others, all while looking for a new wife?
“Why should your authority be above questioning?” she challenged. “You want to punish this man for not respecting his queen, but he hasn’t bothered to get to know me because I’ll soon be replaced. Aren’t you guilty of the same offense?”
“He’s meant to protect you,” Sanyu said, ignoring her second and more important question.
“There’s been one guard in the queen’s quarters this entire time, and she’s worked overtime to keep me safe. Of her own accord, not because she was directed to do so,” she replied. “Unless I passed them in the hallway or committed some cultural faux pas they needed to comment on, no other guard has paid me any mind. I don’t see why they should suddenly be punished for business as usual.”
A different kind of stiffness seized Sanyu—realization. Maybe he’d suddenly understood that Kenyatta had been working herself to the bone since Shanti’s arrival.
“Yes, having more than one guard is something to keep in mind when your next bride from Royal Match arrives,” she said. “As for me? I can protect myself.” She said the last sentence condescendingly, wanting to rattle these men who only seemed to pay her attention in order to aggravate her.
“You think yourself more capable than the royal guard?” the advisor just behind Sanyu asked, his amusement clear. It was the same man who had tasted her stew and spit it out during the visit a few weeks earlier. He’d chosen the wrong day to reintroduce himself.
“Yes,” she said, looking down her nose at him. “I know my strengths, just as I know your weaknesses.”
“Shanti.” Sanyu’s voice was low with warning, and she liked that she’d agitated him. Maybe his next wife would be truly obedient and not have to pretend like Shanti had.
The advisor scoffed. “Your confidence is—”
Shanti snatched the man’s spear with her left hand, flexing her wrist to spin it in a single-hand upward flower, flowing easily into a helicopter spin above her head and drawing into a downstrike. The blow stopped centimeters from the advisor’s face, but close enough to lash him with a band of wind that made his eyes pop wide open.
“My confidence is earned,” she said as she placed the spear shaft back into the man’s palm. He stood still, eyes bulging with anger. “As one of the advisors who selected me from Royal Match, you should know that I was an alternate on Thesolo’s bo staff junior Olympic team. I was only an alternate because my parents worried about me getting hit in the face and ruining my prospects. I was the best.” She looked at Sanyu. “Not everyone can handle the best.”
“Leave us,” Sanyu snapped out, and before she could respond he turned to the advisors. “Go. And take the guard with you. Make sure Rafiq is told that his men don’t know what their queen looks like.”
She stared at him as the slap of their shoes faded into the distance, preparing her counterarguments for whatever he had to say.
As the last footstep faded away, his lips twitched. Not with agitation. With laughter. His fist went to his mouth and his shoulders shook as he laughed quietly into his hand, hiding the sound as if it were illicit. The move seemed like a habit, not a conscious motion.
“Is this why you have that broomstick in your chambers?” he asked.
When his bright eyes met hers, her lips parted in a shocked smile. Sanyu had a face made for mirth. His long lashes were dark with tears of laughter and his brow wasn’t creased
by worry.
“Yes,” she said grudgingly. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice since I got here, too, unfortunately for that advisor.”
“Incredible!” he said, breaking into laughter again. “That man has critiqued my spear usage since I was a child, and you nearly took his head off!”
Shanti took a step closer, trying to hold on to her anger but losing her grip on it—shared laughter was a great lubricant. “I wasn’t trying to take off his head! I was demonstrating my skill. I’m not a murderer.”
“He’ll regret not checking your Royal Match profile more closely,” he said, still grinning.
Shanti sniffed. “I spoke to a woman today who said she was from Royal Match.”
“Ah. Ms. Chetchevaliere. She was quite interesting.”
“She was. She offered to smuggle me out of the country in her cabbage cart because you’re already searching for a new wife. Interesting, indeed.”
Her words dropped between them like a barrier, wiping the smile from his face as it settled into place.
“I don’t use the app, Shanti. I told you that the advisors made the selection. I wasn’t consulted on this decision either.”
“Should that make me feel better?” She almost winced—he’d told her not to expect anything from him the day she arrived, and she’d told him she didn’t want more, but here she was making a fool of herself like he’d promised her forever.
He brought his hands to her shoulders, his grip strong, and was silent until she looked up at him.
“I didn’t know they were searching for a new wife,” he said firmly, his gaze searching hers. “When Ms. Chetchevaliere mentioned it, I told them to stop the search.”
“Why?” She hated this feeling in her chest, so much like the anticipation she felt when she was close to achieving her goals. It confused her—she didn’t need her husband’s desire or his love to be a good queen. What was it she wanted from Sanyu, then? What was the right answer to her question?
“I don’t want another queen,” he said. “The reason doesn’t matter.”
