listening, and—
Sanyu laughed, a low, rough sound that surprised her—she’d heard bitter laughter from him, and mocking, but never actual amusement. He seemed different now that they were alone, and that stoked the vague annoyance she felt. She’d spent the last few months trying to figure out what his deal was, and here he was now laughing and making small talk.
“Musoke has always been difficult. I was difficult, too,” he said. “As a child, I had a colorful blanket I carried everywhere with me, supposedly knit by my mother when she was pregnant with me, that I refused to give up. My father allowed this, but the day I turned six, I walked into my martial arts lesson and saw it strung between two poles. Musoke had me use it as a target during spear jabbing practice.”
“That’s awful,” Shanti gasped, her annoyance slipping as she imagined Sanyu, small and wide-eyed, holding tight to comfort only for it to be ripped away. “It’s cruel. If you’re trying to make me like him, that really didn’t help.”
Sanyu shrugged, as if he’d told a normal heartwarming childhood story. “He was trying to toughen me up for an unforgiving job in an unforgiving world, where attachment is a weakness. Helping me. He probably thinks he’s doing the same with you.”
She pressed her lips together as she darned this story into the threadbare tapestry of what she knew about Sanyu and Musoke—she hadn’t realized the man had been part of Sanyu’s life for so long. Had exerted control over him for so long.
“His method needs refinement,” she finally said.
“Perhaps.”
“The world is unforgiving, but your home should have been the place where you felt safe from that world,” she added gently. “Even if he was trying to help.”
Sanyu went very still. He didn’t continue speaking, didn’t tell her he was here to send her away. The moment dragged on well past the point of discomfort, but she sat as if such long pauses were totally normal.
“Is there anything else?” she asked eventually.
“Yes. There is.” His brows drew together, as if he’d been unaware of that until she’d asked. “What you said at the meeting. It was intelligent. You’re well-spoken, and that surprised me.”
Shanti’s head dropped to the side in affront, then she righted it. “I am well-spoken. Thank you for finally noticing.”
Sanyu blinked a few times, then scratched at his beard and then stood and began pacing in the small seating area.
“You seem to have definitive . . . ideas. Good ones.”
His gaze was still serious, but there was that frustration in his eyes that occasionally reached her from across the room or dining table.
Was he frustrated at her? Her annoyance surged again.
“How do you know what my ideas are and whether they’re good?” She realized that this irritation that pricked like a hornet in a head wrap was anger.
She’d never really allowed herself to be mad about her situation—their situation—because despite her attraction to her husband, she hadn’t expected love or affection from him. Respect and cooperation were the only things a good royal marriage needed. In her research, weddings undertaken out of love were generally disastrous when mixed with duty to kingdom and country. But Sanyu had done the absolute least, and now a few weeks before the end of their marriage he thought he could show up acting like he knew something about her?
“My thoughts should be a mystery to you, just as my actions should be to Musoke,” she pushed, keeping her voice pleasant even if her words were not. “We’ve barely spoken since the wedding. You’ve paid less attention to me than a pet hermit crab. You haven’t checked on my comfort or even if my water bowl was filled! You haven’t included me in any aspect of the running of the kingdom either.”
He stopped and looked down at her.
“Why would I include you in running the kingdom?” he asked, completely straight-faced.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
“Because I’m your queen,” she said.
He continued to stare, the divot on his forehead deepening.
Was it possible that Sanyu didn’t understand this? While it was true that Njaza was a type of absolute monarchy, Sanyu should know how partnerships worked in general. Then again, Shanti had seen many, many couples where one or both partners didn’t understand those basic things she’d asked for: respect and cooperation. She thought about Musoke, and his rigid point of view. Of a little boy who watched queen after queen arrive and be sent away, and what kind of man