locked them away. Sanyu would be going to the palace dinner to feel Musoke out about the meeting the following day, and would come over later than usual for a final run-through of their plan.
She messily wrapped her hair and then tied her head wrap, leaving on the simple patterned shift she’d been wearing—it was something she’d picked up at the market and was commonly worn in the capital. She had to get to Liberation Books to check in—and to ask if anyone knew more about the first queen, Anise. It made no sense that she’d never heard of her—no sense that no one spoke of her. Or of Okwagalena.
She’d go ask Marie, who was sure to know something, and then she’d go to Sanyu—she doubted he knew anything, unless he’d lied when she asked him about Okwagalena. That seemed unlikely. Maybe it was silly to trust him, but she didn’t think he’d keep something from her in this way—as she had from him.
She slipped into the secret tunnel, phone in her hand, and began heading out. She was used to moving through the dark space and when she reached the end and opened the door that led to the garden, she was momentarily confused as to why it was still totally dark.
“Going somewhere?”
Oh. Her massive husband was blocking out the light from outside.
“Sanyu? What are you doing here?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest as she tried to figure the odds that he just happened to be passing by this exact spot at this exact time.
“You’re asking me this?” His voice was tight with frustration, and the shadow of his form moved as he stepped inside the passageway. “If you must know, I’m following up on a report that my wife has been sneaking out at night and sowing discontent amongst my citizens. Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
She stepped back into the passage, and he followed. “Don’t use that tone with me,” she said. “Like we’re back to when you didn’t know me at all.”
Or care about me.
He rolled his eyes. “What tone should I use with the woman who lied to me? Went behind my back and humiliated me?”
What? He had this all wrong. “I didn’t humiliate you. I didn’t mean to, at least.”
“But you did, despite all your talk of teamwork,” he said. “Explain yourself. Now.”
The door closed, plunging them into true darkness, and she heard Sanyu’s robe rustle and his hand moved somewhere near her head. A dim light came on, showing his expression. She expected it to be furious, but there was nothing. Just the bland expression he’d worn for most of their marriage, when he’d blocked her out.
“A couple of months ago, when I was absolutely dejected at being left alone and ignored by my husband and not allowed to carry out my duties as a queen, I decided to try to help Njaza in other ways. I was looking for volunteer programs when I discovered the website for Njaza Rise Up, and I snuck out and went to a meeting.” She released a shaky breath and tried to pull herself together—why should she cower? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “They had no idea who I was and still don’t know. I didn’t give them any information apart from help with organizing and how to make their voices heard.”
Sanyu made a sound almost like a growl, though his face remained impassive. “How to make their voices heard? By heckling me?”
“No,” Shanti said. She could understand his anger to some degree, maybe. She’d snuck around and organized with people who, from his perspective, might want to undermine the kingdom. “I didn’t know they were going to confront you like that because I wasn’t in constant contact with them. But I don’t disagree with what they did. They weren’t being heard, and then they were. After that, you knew who they were and had to consider what they were saying. If the kingdom worked as it should, their needs would already have been part of the conversation and they wouldn’t have resorted to desperate measures.”
He made as if to contradict her, but she raised her hand. “No. You talk about this tight turtleneck you were born into, that chokes you. What of your people? What of everyone who isn’t an advisor that bows and scrapes to Musoke? Your citizens are entirely dependent on their king and his advisors, and they’re treated like annoying gnats when they tell you what they need.”
“You speak of