ridiculed her for it. “What is the difference between advising and controlling?”
“That has nothing to do with anything,” the advisor she’d frightened with the spear called out from behind Musoke.
Shanti tried to gather her vocabulary words.
“People Amageez give gift are advisors because they use her gift to guide the king’s iron fist,” she said slowly. “But when advisor creates rules, and forces rules in the king, that is control, no? And control is not the house of Amageez. Another god exists who is in charge of such behavior?”
Musoke looked at her then, and there wasn’t just annoyance in his eyes, but fury. Perhaps she’d pushed too far, questioning his motivation. Perhaps he was going to tear her vocabulary and grammar apart and ridicule her in front of everyone.
“There are only Omakuumi and Amageez,” he spat. “To imply otherwise is sacrilege.”
“Pardon?” she asked. He seemed to have entirely missed the insult in her words. Maybe she hadn’t phrased it correctly.
“There are rules in this kingdom, rules written in the blood of those who fought for its freedom,” Musoke continued. “They exist for a reason, and those who try to change them threaten to make the sacrifices of the past all for nothing.”
“The Liechtienbourger magistrates did not want change to their rules either,” Shanti said, knowing she’d crossed a line but wanting her insult to be understandable despite her lack of fluency. “But sometimes things have to change for a kingdom to have a good future.”
Musoke’s eyes bulged as if he choked on his anger. “You compare me to colonizers? To the ones you tricked Sanyu into inviting here?”
Shanti switched back to English, her anger too great for her to hold onto her Njazan.
“Sanyu invited the diplomat here himself, and together they helped Njaza take the first steps toward a future where land mines no longer plague the kingdom. But you act like he is a child who was told what to do.” She pointed at Sanyu. “He is your king. Saying he can’t make decisions by himself undermines his leadership. Why would his head advisor do this?”
Musoke regarded her for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was that of a man truly sorry for something. “I can admit when I’ve made a mistake,” he said. “Sanyu was correct when he first refused to marry you. I shouldn’t have pushed him into it when he completely was against being joined with you. I should have let him choose someone else, someone who knows her place and doesn’t speak with the authority of a True Queen when she will never be one.”
Shanti felt the grate of Musoke’s words like the scales of a snake winding around her—she, who had spent her life not caring what people thought of her but had found herself creeping through the staff hallway rather than face Musoke. Who had hidden the accomplishment of speaking passable Njazan so he wouldn’t mock her. Who had made herself small with the hopes that if Musoke didn’t see her, it would make her life easier.
Sanyu had been subjected to this all of his life, she realized. Sanyu, who stood silently beside her now, who sat silently at meetings, who read Musoke’s words at royal speeches, but spoke his own in the privacy of her chambers, where Musoke never ventured.
The wrinkles on the advisor’s face bunched as he grinned, as if he thought his barb had found its mark.
Shanti responded with the same overly concerned condescension. “Oh, was that supposed to hurt my feelings? Sanyu told me we shouldn’t marry that night, too, so that’s not news to me.” Now she didn’t look at Musoke—she looked at the advisors and guards who watched the scene. “If he doesn’t want to remain married to me, he doesn’t have to. If he doesn’t want to abide by your outdated traditions, he can change them. He is king. Either you respect him, or you don’t. It has nothing to do with me.”
She felt Sanyu shift beside her.
“The queen didn’t intend to do harm,” he said, the usual harshness of his voice subdued. “She frightened an advisor, which wasn’t necessary, but it wasn’t an actual attack. She kills gods, not men.”
His expression was serious, but he glanced at Shanti from the corner of his eye and winked. It was an uncle move, but was such a playful contrast to his seriousness that it made her cheeks go hot.
“What are you talking about?” Musoke looked at Sanyu in complete confusion. “Did that Chetchevaliere woman rub