The King's bedroom was a tomb for the living. The curtains were drawn tight against the afternoon sun, and the air smelled of eucalyptus and failing organs.
King Amadi lay in the center of the massive bed, his breathing ragged. He reached out a hand, and Graham took it. Despite everything, Graham felt a twinge of guilt. This man had been the only father figure he had ever known, even if the relationship was built on a foundation of sand.
"Graham," the King wheezed. "The council... they are restless. Egeonu is demanding the test. He says the people need to know for certain."
"I know, Grandfather," Graham said softly.
"I told them... I told them I know my own blood," the King said, a tear leaking from the corner of his eye. "But I am tired, my boy. I am so tired of the fighting. If you take this test... if you prove them wrong... Egeonu will be exiled forever. We can finally have peace."
Graham felt a cold sweat break out on his back. The King wasn't asking out of suspicion; he was asking for a weapon to defeat his brother. He truly believed Graham was his.
"I will do what is necessary for the kingdom," Graham promised.
As he left the room, he ran into Egeonu in the hallway. The older man was smiling—a thin, triumphant expression that made Graham's blood run cold.
"The medical team arrives from Lagos tomorrow, 'Nephew,'" Egeonu whispered. "I've ensured they are the most prestigious, incorruptible team in the country. No bribes, no 'lost' samples. Just the truth. I hope you've enjoyed your stay in the palace. The eviction notice is being written as we speak."
Graham didn't respond. He walked past Egeonu, his face a mask of royal indifference. But as soon as he reached his study, he locked the door and picked up a burner phone.
"The council meets on Thursday," Graham said into the phone. "Everyone will be in the Great Hall. The King, the Chiefs, Egeonu. I want it handled cleanly. No witnesses left to ask for a second test."
"And the woman?" the voice on the other end asked.
Graham hesitated. He thought of Edna—the woman who had saved him from starvation, only to poison his soul with a crown.
"She stays," Graham said. "She's the only one who knows how to rule the ruins."
The DNA test was no longer the threat. The threat was the truth, and Graham had decided that the only way to bury the truth was to bury everyone who sought it.
The sky over Port Harcourt on that Thursday was the color of a bruised plum. A heavy, unseasonable thunderstorm was rolling in from the Atlantic, sending gusts of wind that rattled the mahogany window frames of the Gbaka-gbaka Palace. Inside the Great Hall, the air was electric, not just from the storm, but from the predatory silence of the assembled elite.
This was the day the blood would speak.