The air in my quarters felt stifling, thick with the cloying
scent of expensive oils and the heavy weight of unshed tears.
collapsing onto the cushions, the silk of my gown cool against my burning skin. The ornate patterns on the ceiling swam before my eyes as the tears finally came, hot and fast, tracing wet paths through the dust on
her cheeks.
Married. To him. The King of Kano. The man with the chilling
gaze and the smile that promised nothing but unease.
A soft rustle at the entrance announced Nala. My friend hesitated, then knelt beside me, her voice a low murmur of concern.
"Gimbiya? Are you well? What is it?"
I flinched away violently, the raw pain inside making me lash out. "Well? Does it look
like I am well, Nala? Just... get out! Leave me alone!" My voice was
harsh, ragged with misery.
Nala recoiled, her face a mask of shock and hurt. She scrambled back slightly, her usual gentle demeanor faltering under the
unexpected cruelty. "But, Gimbiya, the banquet... you must prepare. They
will be waiting—"
"I don't care what they are waiting for!" I cut
her off, turning my back to her, the gesture final and dismissive. " As your Gimbiya I order you to get out! Just go! Now!" Even though I didn't mean to lash out on her, I just needed to be alone and I know she wouldn't
leave if I didn't command it.
Understanding, laced with wounded confusion, dawned in Nala's eyes. She hesitated for a moment longer, then quietly rose and withdrew, the silence she left behind heavier than her presence. I buried my face in my hands, the tears still flowing, a torrent of grief and disbelief.
The mats rustled again, more confidently this time.
A familiar voice called from outside. "Gimbiya? It is me Idris, I request an audience"
I turned towards the door, with no strength to go out I muttered "Come"
A figure entered. My brother, Prince Idris. A year younger than I was, he was already immersed in the world of military advisors and court politics, his path different from my own. While he learned the strategies of
war closer to our father's side, I on the other hand, had grown under Nana Afua's care, largely shielded from such matters. There was the undeniable bond
of blood between us, but not the easy familiarity of shared childhoods.
He didn't approach immediately, standing near the entrance, his gaze steady and serious. "Amira."
I didn't look up. "Go away, Idris. I want to be
alone."
"I heard," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
"About Kano. Everyone has heard."
The simple acknowledgement broke something in me. I lowered my
hands, my eyes red-rimmed. "They are sending me away," I whispered,
the word "tribute" unspoken this time, but heavy in the air.
Idris finally walked forward, kneeling beside me, his expression grave. "It is... a difficult decision. For all of us. Father
believes it is necessary."
"Necessary?" I questioned, the word a choked sound.
"To marry me to a man I've never met? To that... that king?" The image of the Sarkin Kano's calculating eyes flashed in my mind,
cold and predatory.
Idris sighed, a sound of weary resignation that seemed too old for his years. "I do not agree with father's method. Or the choice of
man. There are whispers about the Sarkin Kano, stories of cruelty, of alliances
broken as easily as they are made. He is powerful, yes, but unstable. He could
well turn on Uzazzu once he has what he wants from this... arrangement."
I looked at him, a desperate plea in my eyes. "Then talk to father, Idris! Make him see!"
He shook his head, regret etched on his face. "I have tried, Amira. The Waziri has tried. Father sees only the immediate strength Kano's alliance brings, the shield they offer against the threats gathering. He
is convinced this is the only way to protect Uzazzu... and to keep you from..." He trailed off, the shadow of the Oracle's prophecy falling over them. He knew, as I was beginning to understand, that our father was trying to steer me away from the warrior's path, offering me as a political consort instead.
Idris placed a hand gently on my arm. "Amira, I understand your fear, your anger. Believe me. But father has made his decision.
And in these times, the kingdom needs stability, needs this alliance, however
precarious. Sometimes... sometimes the needs of Uzazzu must come before our own
desires, our own fears." He looked me in the eye, a spitting image of our father, his expression solemn and earnest despite his youth. "Do what is
best for the kingdom, Amira. Accept what must be done."
His words, spoken with a quiet conviction that belied his age, resonated deep within me.
It wasn't about me anymore. It was about Uzazzu, the land, my people. The prophecy, whether true or not, spoke of saving the kingdom. And perhaps, this dreadful marriage was the first, bitter step on that fated path.
I nodded slowly, the weight of the decision settling upon me like a heavy mantle. The tears stopped, replaced by a cold resolve that hardened my gaze.
"I understand," I said, my voice steady, hollow.
"I will prepare."
Later that evening…
The hours leading up to the banquet blurred into a suffocating whirlwind. Servants, bustling with nervous energy, dressed me in
the finest silk bubu, the fabric soft against my skin but feeling like shackles. A headwrap adorned with silver cowery shells. Jewels gleamed around my
throat and wrists, heavy and cold. They applied kohl to my eyes and henna to my
hands, transforming me into a stranger – a bride, a political pawn. Each touch,
each adornment, felt like a further layer of detachment, separating me from myself.
Nala hovered nearby, her face a mask of worried concern, her usual lively
chatter silenced by the gravity of the situation.
My face was a mask of composure, carefully constructed to hide the turmoil within as we approached
The banquet hall was a riot of colour and sound. Courtiers mingled, their voices a low hum against the rhythmic beat of the talking drums and the melodic tunes from stringed instruments. Platters piled high with
roasted meats, fragrant stews, and vibrant fruits were laid out on low tables.
Dancers, adorned with beads and feathers, moved with fluid grace in the center
of the hall.
I was guided to the main table, where my father sat. And next to him, the Sarkin Kano. His robe tonight was crimson, just as opulent as the blue one from earlier. He rose slightly as I approached, a wide, unsettling
smile on his face. The air around him seemed thicker, pungent with the smell of
palm wine. His eyes, when they met mine, were heavy-lidded, yet the calculating
glint was still there, softened but not extinguished by drink. I paid my
respects to both kings as He gestured for me to sit beside him.
I sat, the distance between us quite negligible. As the evening wore on, the conversations around us ebbed and flowed, the music grew louder, the dancers more energetic. I could only eat a little, my stomach was a tight knot. The Sarkin Kano, however, ate and drank with hearty abandon, his laughter booming occasionally, cutting through the din.
But his gaze kept returning to me, lingering on my face, my neck, my hands It felt less like admiration and more like ownership, like his eyes were physically tracing the
lines of property. An intense unease crawledover my skin that made me want to
shrink away.
I was nineteen. He was nearly forty. The thought of being his second wife, a political bride added to his collection, was a fresh wave of nausea.
I wondered
Could I really put my happiness aside for my kingdom?