The midday sun beat down on the compound, bleaching the reds
and ochres of the mud walls to a dusty gold.
I walked swiftly, the sound of the town crier's drum still
faintly echoing in my ears a persistent thrum of urgency. I left the similiar warmth
of Nana Afua's quarters behind, the scent of spices and roasting groundnuts
giving way to the dry, sun-baked air of the wider compound. The children
playing in the shade of the mango tree paused their games, their eyes wide with
curiosity as I hurried past, my usual playful demeanor replaced by a focused
stride.
A little distance Ahead lay the Palace. I hurried quickly,
crossing streets before appearing in front of it. Guards in the Askia's colours stood sentinel
at the gates, their spears gleaming. They dipped their heads respectfully as I
approached, their expressions giving nothing away. The courtyard beyond was
bustling with activity – courtiers in vibrant robes, servants carrying
platters, scholars with scrolls tucked under their arms. But beneath the
surface, I sensed a tension, a subtle quickening in the air that mirrored the
unease growing in my own chest.
I was led towards the audience hall, the heart of the palace
where my father, Askia Ishaq II, held court. The heavy wooden doors,
intricately carved with symbols of Uzazzu and drawings of the leopard, our
symbol of strength were pushed open, and I stepped inside.
The hall was large and airy, designed to impress and
intimidate. The inner palace complex, a more formal, imposing structure than
the residential quarters, the Light filtered through high, narrow windows,
illuminating the thick dust motes dancing in the air. My father sat on his
raised throne, a figure of authority in his richly embroidered babanriga.
Around him stood his trusted advisors – the pragmatic Makama, the stern Sarkin
Sojoji, the wise Waziri. The air here was different from Nana's hut; heavy with
the scent of burning incense, polished wood, and the quiet weight of
responsibility.
The Askia was listening intently to a man who stood before
him, gesturing with impassioned hands. I quietly took my place among the other
courtiers, my gaze sweeping across the familiar faces. I quietly listened for a
moment, catching fragments of the discussion – a dispute over grazing land near
the northern border, complaints of livestock raids. Simple matters, it seemed,
but the voices were tight with worry.
I felt a prickle of awareness; these weren't just common bandits the villagers feared. There had been hushed talks for weeks, rumors carried on the wind of trouble brewing on the frontiers, of neighboring powers growing bolder, their shadows lengthening
towards Uzazzu's borders. The 'whispers of iron' Nana spoke of, perhaps?
My eyes continued to scan the assembly, then paused. There, among the cluster of advisors near the throne, was a figure who did not belong.
He was tall, imposing, his skin a shade darker than most in the court, his
presence radiating an unfamiliar stillness. But it was his clothing that truly
set him apart. He wore a robe of deep, shimmering blue, the colour of a
midnight sky, embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread that seemed to
capture and hold the light. His head wrap was also blue, coiled neatly, secured
by a silver pin crafted in the shape of a crescent moon. Around his neck, heavy
gold chains lay against his chest, and on his fingers, multiple rings glinted.
His sandals were of finely worked leather, edged with brass. This was not the
attire of an Uzazzu noble, or even a visiting merchant. This was the regalia of
someone from a different land, a land of significant wealth and status.
Who was this man?
I subtly glanced at the faces of my father's courtiers. They avoided his gaze, a mix of deference and perhaps a hint of apprehension on their faces. He stood silent, observing the court proceedings with an unnerving intensity, his eyes, dark and piercing, missing nothing.
The King concluded the land dispute, offering a Wise judgment that seemed to satisfy both parties, albeit grudgingly. A wave of relief washed through the hall as the
immediate tension eased. Then, my father shifted his gaze, his eyes finding me.
"Gimbiya Amira," his voice boomed, carrying across the hall. "Approach."
I straightened my back and walked forward, my heart giving a nervous lurch. I stopped right before the throne, bowing respectfully.
"My daughter," the King said, his tone softening
slightly, though his eyes remained serious. He gestured towards the stranger.
"This is a most honoured guest. The great Sarkin Kano, ruler of our esteemed neighbor, the kingdom of Kano "
And my breath hitched. The King of Kano? The powerful ruler my father had been negotiating with? I decided to throw a risky glance at the man introduced as Sarkin Kano. He inclined his head in a gesture that was regal, yet held a strange, almost predatory grace. A faint smile touched his lips, but
it did not reach his eyes, which held a chilling calculating glint. An
inexplicable shiver traced a path down my spine. An unease settled deep in my gut,
a feeling that had nothing to do with royal protocol and everything to do with
the man himself.
Father continued,
unaware of the tremor that had just occured
"The Sarkin Kano has graced us with his presence to formalize a most important alliance between our kingdoms. An alliance that will ensure the prosperity and security of both Uzazzu and Kano in these... uncertain times." His gaze flickered towards
the Waziri, a silent acknowledgment of the brewing troubles.
He turned back to me, his expression softening further, a father speaking to his child, yet the weight of the crown was heavy in his words. "You, my daughter, will be the cornerstone of this alliance. You
are to be married to the Sarkin Kano."
The words hung in the air like dust, visible and suffocating.
Married? To the Sarkin Kano? The air seemed to have left my
lungs. My mind reeled, fighting to process the impossible. I was to be a
bargain, a price, exchanged for a treaty I knew nothing about. All my life, I
had been allowed a unique freedom, a life of simple duties and personal
pursuits, shielded from the machinations of court. Now, in a single breath, it
was stripped away, my entire future laid out before me like a predetermined
path and I had no say in. A deep, cold anger simmered inside me.
I forced myself to meet my father's gaze, a silent question
burning in my eyes. How could he? How could he condemn me to this fate without
even a word of warning, a moment to prepare? But King Askia merely looked away,
his silence a heavy answer. He was the King first, a father second. The
realization was a bitter pill to swallow.
"A banquet will be held this evening," the Askia concluded, his voice regaining its formal cadence, "to celebrate this
union. Prepare yourself, Amira. You are dismissed."
I managed a stiff bow, even though my thoughts were in a chaotic storm. I stole one last glance at the Sarkin Kano and wasn't surprised that He was still watching me, the calculative glint in his eyes now seeming
almost... assessing. The unease intensified, twisting into a cold dread. This
was not just a marriage; it felt like... something else entirely.
As I turned and walked away, the rustle of my robes a small
sound in the vast hall, my head pounded, still trying to make do of this
impromptu information or rather, decree The Askia had finalized.
Unbeknownst to her...
Her father watched her go. His gaze was troubled, but resolute. An alliance with Kano, he thought,
the weight of the decision settling heavily on his shoulders. Their armies
combined with ours... it is the only way to face the threats gathering on the
borders. The Oracle spoke of war, of a warrior... but Amira is my daughter, my
heir. This is the path. A political union, not a bloody battlefield. He had
chosen this for her, chosen this for Uzazzu. It is what is right. What is right
for Uzazzu. What is right for my daughter. He hardened his heart against the
faint echo of the prophecy and the unsettling chill he had seen flash in the
eyes of the Kano king, focusing only on the strategic necessity of it all.