Nomvula

12 - A Reprieve of Sorts

With the prince secured in Ndoda's now vacant bedroom, Nomvula let her thoughts wander a little. She crossed a courtyard lit by a fat moon and faint stars. Amber marbles sparkled at the bottom of every pond, their runelights illuminating the garden with a buttery warmth.

Asanda had spent the first three months of her alchemy training carving random runes all over the manse, making the place an active battlefield. When her brothers triggered a dreamtether that trapped them in a shared nightmare, they took it as an act of war. To keep the peace, Nomvula gave Asanda full creative freedom over her private courtyard.

The result was art: lush islands of green and gold, pathways tiled with glistening quartz, heavy wooden arches varnished black... a shallow stream connected the outer ponds like points on a compass, cycling fresh water under little walkways.

Ever the long-thinker, Asanda had curated everything down to the arrangement of crawling wall plants by native soil, shared traits, and mineral habits. At least that was the title on one of her thick journals. Paper tables, Nomvula called them.

That journal made a home in her daughter's arms for a year, each word carefully laid and jealously guarded. Nothing shocked Nomvula like the day she found it shelved in the town library, every page inked to the corners, so heavy it tilted the floor.

"Knowledge is a shared meal," her tutor often said. For Asanda, sharing what she knew was easy. Telling her something she didn't know was an occasion. Explaining something you didn't know either was a crime with no amnesty.

Longthinkers could pour years into solving complex problems, but Nomvula was yet to see one in polite conversation with what Asanda called "an answer with no question."

Ma had a few names for know-it-alls too, "puppet-throated gossips" being the shortest. No one had ever accused Nomvula's mother of being a scholar, though, not even a bad one.

And yet, in another life, a midwife might've asked how a newborn had such a clear stoneiris. Later, a teacher might've laughed off their most stubborn pupil's backtalk, or at least noted how — for all the back and forth — they rarely needed to repeat an explanation.

A genius could rise out of any tribe, but Nomvula only learned about longthinkers after moving to the Hundred Hills Valley. Sunlanders didn't really have a term for talent that couldn't keep you alive or hold a border.

In another life, someone would have put her clever, curious daughter in charge of lives on a battlefield — as many as she could bare to let die.

Nomvula left the courtyard as if the thought would poison the water.

The manse's hallways were full of familiar faces in loose linen shifts, hauling buckets of hot water in their arms and rolls of grass mats balanced on their headscarfs. Children and their voices bounced off the walls, and the air smelled of firewood.

It should have been a pleasant evening, the kind that closes the door on a good day's work.

She left the busy hallway for an empty one that led straight to her study.

When she opened the double doors, a high, sweet laugh burst out, followed by a deeper chuckle. 

Khaya sat on one of the plush reading chairs, looking out a large window to the village below. A girl sat in the chair next to his, her feet drawn up with a lengthy scroll draped over her lap. A dozen books lay on the table between them, unopened.

"Having fun, are we?"

Luyanda jumped to her feet quicker than Khaya, but she was careful not to drop the scroll. At sixteen, she was almost as tall as him, taller when she bound up her thick braids. This evening, they cascaded down a slender neck, dark and rich with scented oils.

Nomvula caught a hint of rosemary, a herb Khaya had taken an interest in recently.

Luyanda bowed low and spoke first. "Good evening, Queen of the Hundred Hills."

"Good evening, Lukhanya." Nomvula closed the door gently. "How's your mother?"

"There was a lot of beer and meat today," Lukhanya said, pinching the folds of her white shift. "So she's happy and probably asleep."

Nomvula smiled warily as she leaned on her desk. "Good. Did Khaya ask you to help him with my little task?"

"You sounded like you wanted your information in a hurry," Khaya said.

Hmm, and if I had given you a year, you would have said Lukhanya could help you find it a day quicker. 

Nomvula fell into the soft armchair behind her desk, resting a chin in her palm. "I do, so what did you find?"

"Five translations of the cultural laws of the Inner Land tribes," Khaya said proudly. "Oh, and three other books left by the Nubian recorder that visited us last year, but they're untranslated."

"Asanda can take a look at those in the morning," Nomvula said. "Which ones deal with guest law?"

Luyanda held up her scroll. "This one's a collection of bylaws for disputes on the road, Queen."

"What do they say about conflicts between guests and hosts?"

"Nothing peaceful, Queen."

Nomvula waved her over. As Luyanda set the book down, Nomvula caught the scent of almond butter on glowing skin. Runelights on the ceiling painted her shoulders in gold touches. Khaya didn't stand a chance.

"Ah, thank you, dear."

Lukhanya nodded curtly.

"Ma," Khaya said with an obvious bounce, "it's been such a long day... don't you want me to bring some applewood to your room, light a fire so you can read in the comfort of your bed?"

"That sounds lovely baba, but aren't you too old for bedtime stories?" Nomvula said, scanning the scroll in front of her. Her smile found its way to both corners for the first time that day. "Besides, we're all here now. Why don't you make us some buna while me and Luyanda get started?"