"I'm coming with you," Ndoda said.
Asanda set the golden ring she had been tinkering with down on the table. Ndoda stood in front of the roof garden's trap door, dangerously close to the hanging vines of a boneivy. Not that it would have done anything to him; from the neck down, he was coated in Wayfarer clay. His loinskin was black cloth, dyed deep with charcoal oil, but the colour seemed poor and off against his pure black skin. Only his face kept any colour, that characteristic deep red-brown that came alive against the runelights in the garden.
"You can't." Asanda glanced at the moons. Near midnight. She needed rest for tomorrow. "You weren't even expected back before the whole thing was done."
"Well, I'm here now." He swallowed, frowned, then squared his shoulders. "I should have never left."
"You should have never broken Lifa's leg, but yes, here we are now."
"Don't do that. Please."
He didn't keep his voice low for proprieties sake. Asanda sensed the loss in him, of something deep and personal and bold. This was a sure man suddenly lost, desperately clutching at whatever purpose drifted past.
"I'm not mad at you, Ndoda, not anymore, but it's the truth." Asanda sighed. "In any case, Khaya and I were preparing to do this without you. You need not worry -- we'll be fine."
"You were preparing, but you are not prepared," Ndoda said, some life sparking into his voice. "You will be walking into the Elephant Plains."
"Yes, as guests."
"You will be surrounded by hundreds of enemies at all times."
"Enemies who are under the command of our host."
"Exactly." Ndoda strode towards the table, ghosting between the many plants without so much as looking at them. "Under Ndlovu's command."
"We'll perform the appropriate guestrite rituals," Asanda said. "For all there is to hate about Ndlovu, he loves his ancestors and honours all vows he makes before them."
Ndoda sat opposite her, a tall and lean figure draped in darkness. "And what was his foremost vow, big sister?"
Asanda winced at big sister. There was venom in it, as much as she had put in little brother when she had chastised him. But for all that, he brought up the one shard of glass in this plan that she could not smooth the jagged edges off. It would feel good to trick the Great Elephant, but before that, she would need to drink beer and commune with him as though she did not hate the very weight of his name in her mind. As though he had not vowed...
"That he would kill Papa," she said softly.
Ndoda shook his head. "His vow was that he would crush our father's skull with his bare hands. I know this because when they fought, he felled Papa and had a chance to stab him. Instead, he sat on his chest and wrapped those big hands--"
"Enough." Asanda put a whip in her voice, and Ndoda actually recoiled.
He stared at his own hands, twin shadows laid flat on the table. "They fought at the foot of First Hill. Mama tried to keep us hidden at home, but I told Anathi to help me escape the manse. I went and watched." That old twitch in his jaw again. "I saw him... I saw him."
Papa forgive me. "Which is why we'll do the ritual on the ship, in the middle of the river. Khaya and I will be safest there, and once guestrite is locked in, we will be safe."
"Until you steal away his daughter, at which point guestrite will be void, and you will be fair game stuck in the heart of his territory."
"That's why we have Athi helping us." Asanda took up the ring and the mortar of milkwater clay to give her hands something to do. She scooped a small blob and pushed it through the ring's tiny pressure holes. "He's arguably a more accomplished Long Walker than you."
To Ndoda's credit, the comment didn't seem to offend him. "I've stalked through the Elephant Plains eight times with Athi. Forgetting blood, he is my brother, and I'd trust him with my life. But remembering blood, I am your brother. If life must be risked for yours, it will be mine."
"Bakhonto. For once, Ndoda, just think. If the plan goes awry and Ndlovu captures Khaya and I, at least you will be here. If all three children to the Queen are trapped in enemy territory, this whole thing comes to nought."
"That's where you're wrong. Ma insists Athi and I cover your tracks from the shadows. She says we are the last two she trusts to take care of you. We will stay unseen. Athi is the better Long Walker but if it comes to worst, you will want me in a fight." His gaze pierced hers, then it drifted down to her cheek. "In that regard, Athi has already failed you."
Asanda was glad for the ring in her hand. It stopped her from slapping Ndoda. "You would speak that much ill against your brother?"
Ndoda had shrunk back into himself, but that final thread of resolution was clearly unbreakable. He was a man lost, but with a point to prove... to someone. "As a brother, I would speak of Athi's failings with both pragmatism and love, as you do with mine. I'm also insisting he come along, so he can make amends for his failures. I'd like the same, Asanda."
And with that, Ndoda stood and left. He didn't wait for an answer, but by the ancestors, the king-in-waiting hadn't made a request.
"Hale or broken, that boy will die fighting his own reflection," Anket said from the shadows.
"If that is the only enemy left to him, then I've done my duty." Asanda looked down at the half-complete ring in her hand, set it down on the table, and rested her head on her forearm. "I need to rest, Anket, but I want these rings done before I leave tomorrow."
"Of course, Princess. I'll finish up here."
**
Dew formed on Anathi's bald scalp as she watched the mist slowly drift back towards the Wayfarer. Though she had been standing here since pre-dawn, stone-still, her focus had drifted to every crevice of the hill it could touch. She had checked on the holding cell deep in the bowels of the hill, still locked. The Inner Plainers in the guest quarters were groggy and queazy and tired from drinking questionable beer during the hottest day of the year. The grave at the foot of First Hill was still empty, and so were the manses at the top of First, Second, and Fourth. There was no need to check on the Princess or the youngest Prince, because they stood next to her now.
The Princess -- Asanda, the name was clearer out here, where it wasn't mingled with the two hundred others in the manse -- kept squinting through the mist. Every now and then, one of the warships would ghost between two hillocks and flash its storm lights through the haze, but Anathi didn't need eyes to see. After all, her body was made of the clay at the bottom of the river. Her essense was eternally tied to the Wayfarer, perhaps more than Third Hill.
On a normal day, there would be two ships patrolling this section of the river at all times. There were four today. Unnecessary, given that each ship kept ten longspears at all times, but a good enough show of force to keep the Elephants from trying anything especially bold. But there would be time enough later to worry about that.
Anathi reined in her spirit and focused instead on the siblings' conversation. They spoke as though she was not standing directly behind them, which was fine. The Queen might want her to relay their words later.
"So, Ndoda," said the younger Prince. Khaya. Ah, a name of good omens, though as a house spirit she was biased.
Anathi could feel their heartbeats through the earth. Asanda's quickened, though her body was still.
"He went ahead with Athi. They'll shadow us and keep well out of sight."
Khaya tore a piece of meat from the riblets on his bowl. "You know, I'll never understand how one person can make such a level-headed stalker and such a pig-headed prince."
"He chooses his moments, just poorly."
"Do you trust him?"
"With the mission?"
Khaya licked his fingers. "With our lives."
"If we keep him well out of earshot of any barbs Ndlovu tries to provoke us with."
"Asi." A pause. "We're going to break bread with Papa's killer."
"Little brother, Ndoda already gave me the speech of wanting reven--"
"Would he be proud of us right now?"
Asanda sighed. "Not this morning, no. By evening, maybe."
"Well," said Khaya, crunching the knuckle of a rib between his teeth, "may we live long enough to make him a little less disappointed."
"Hmm."
Anathi sensed Nomvula coming down the hill long before her dress flitted through the mist. The person with her was harder to sess, since it (she? No) he was not of Third Hill, but she made him out soon enough. The Desert Prince. No. She searched deeper for his name. Jabulani. He walked slightly behind Nomvula. Asanda and Khaya watched them all the way down.
Nomvula stood before her son, and they were of a height. She handed him a parcel wrapped in cloth, warm enough to steam in the cold morning air. "That's for you, freshly baked."
Khaya sniffed the parcel. A smile creased his smooth cheeks. "Your special bread?"
"Stuffed with olives and wine-soaked pepperdews." Nomvula glared hard at her son. "That's for you and your sister. When you break bread with Ndlovu, you use this." She pushed a second parcel into his arms, this one poorly-wrapped and cold.
"Ma, this is wonderful but I'm not a child, I'll be fine."
Nomvula licked her thumb then wiped a glob of sauce from her son's chin.
"No, Ma, that's not how this works." Relenting, he sighed. "Thank you. And thanks for lunch."
Jabulani, whose early arrogance was halfway to the surface again, mustered a smirk. Anathi didn't know exactly what he had to be smug about; she could sense the fear in him, the urge to look back as though his uncle were standing over his shoulder. Weakling.
With Khaya's arms laden with bread, Nomvula took the bowl of meat out of his hand. "Your grandmother will be hungry when she wakes up."
"Ma--"
"Eat the bread." Nomvula walked to her daughter, who was still staring at the mist. "Are all your preparations made."
"Hmm."
"Asanda."
"They are, Ma."
"Good. You're still upset about Ndoda."
"He should be home, just in case."
"He's coming with you so that there is no just in case. Just... trust me."
Asanda's shoulders hunched as she hugged herself. "If you say so, Ma."
Nomvula said nothing for a few heartbeats. Then, "Go well."
"You're not going to walk us to the ships?" Asanda asked. Oh? Was that the crack in her voice?
"No, it's easier this way. Anathi will walk you to the ships."
Asanda turned to Anathi's avatar then, which hadn't moved since predawn. "Anathi's spirit can't leave the hill."
Nomvula touched her daughter's shoulder, then stuffed both hands in her pockets. "True. But there's a lot about this place you don't know about. I'll tell you all about it when you return, I promise."
There was a long conversation between mother and daughter that happened without words, then Asanda turned back to the hazy ship light winking in the mist. "Khaya, Jabulani, let's go." She looked at Anathi again. "How are..."
Anathi reached deep into the earth and found the bridge. Without moving, she yanked it to the surface. The earth trembled slightly as a thin trail of clay split the grass. It started at her feet, would through the hills, and ended at the riverbank. If she wanted, she could have just transferred her body across it at near-instant speed, but as a token gesture to her human wards, she hopped on the trail and started walking.
She heard Asanda sigh behind her then follow.
The Queen did not turn back towards the hill, not until her children were well out of sight.