"You can have my answer now," Nomvula said. "No."
Jabu scoffed. "You'd rather die than marry me?"
"If only to have a say in the matter." Nomvula stood and smoothed the creases on her apron. "You're more than welcome to join Ndlovu against me."
"You're thinking emotionally."
"I'm thinking about your long swim across the river. Would you like one of my ships to escort you?"
"Pride kills, Queen Nomvula."
"Indeed it does." She slipped both hands into her apron's pouch. "It killed the last man to make me feel threatened."
Jabu reclined in his chair. "Are you going to spill blood before we even get a proper welcome?"
"I'm not threatened by guests."
"You should—"
"Stand up, Jabulani. Let me teach you the game."
He reclined even further. "You don't intimidate me."
"No, I just stand over you."
The sunrise threw her shadow across his face, giving the illusion that she towered over him. Pride, anger, and inexperience pushed him to his feet, until he stood a whole head taller than her. Fine, at least it stopped him from lounging in her chair.
"See, that's how you use your height." She grabbed his upper arms, looked him over and nodded. He smelled like his politics up close, so she chose to face the Wayfarer instead. "Does your father know what you're doing here?"
"The King of the Inner Plains is ill."
Something snagged his voice, a bad note in a rising melody. Hesitation? No, that took awareness.
"My oldest son was his guest over the High Summer Festival. He said your father was in perfect health."
"Oh, he is," Jabu said, "but he will be ill, should I see fit."
Old Ones. Disgust crawled along her ribs, and sat in her throat like an itch. "Finally, a good threat."
Nomvula walked to the edge of the patio and looked over her land. Well, the land she was wedded to, not the one she called home.
Here, the hills were green, the snakes were lazy, and people were fat and fruitful.
The Sunlands was a leaner place, all desert and canyons, harsh soil and its red wounds. Even after twenty years in the Hundred Hills Valley, she was a weed among botanicals — responsible for their growth.
"I see now that your offer is generous, Prince."
Hesitation again, then, "More than generous."
"I would save many lives by giving over mine."
"It would be a richer life still."
"And I would marry a young, powerful, wily noble."
"You would."
Nomvula licked her teeth. "I still decline."
A scowl this time. "Why are you being so stubborn?"
"Because I am neither young, powerful, or wily." She rolled her shoulders until she heard a deep pop. "All I have are teeth to grit."
Jabu leaned over her shoulder, and did his best to look down at her. "Teeth break."
Everything breaks.
"Prince..." Nomvula sighed. "Go speak with Ndlovu if you want to. Tell him about your troubles finding a wife, I can help you propose to him." She started walking back to the study. "Or I can host you here for three days, as guest law dictates. That might give you time to write an apology long enough. Might."
"You're making a mistake, Queen Nomvula."
"Says the boy giving me ultimatums with only two armies."
As the floor changed from sandstone to the study's wood panels, Nomvula kept her stride easy — but not light. Jabu could sulk and seethe until he yawned; she knew the pattern from raising two sons. His uncles could be reasoned with, but not right now...
The prisoner inside her was restless, and it could sense the walls wearing thin. When most people walked away from conflict, their shadows didn't look back and sneer.
"Anathi," Nomvula said, stepping into a passageway that only looked empty, "get my mother and call the children. And tell the kitchens to keep Jabu's delegation full of salt, meat and our best beer. No, our strongest."