The Wrath of the Unchained

The air in Lusimba was fresh and cool, carried from the great lake that bordered the western reaches of the Nuri Kingdom. Queen Nanjala walked calmly through the settlement, her regal presence bringing a sense of ease to those she passed. The market bustled with activity, children played in the shade of wide acacia trees, and elders shared stories on carved wooden benches. But Nanjala’s mind was focused. She had mediated three land disputes, arranged food for a caravan of newcomers, and was now working with her advisors to finalize irrigation plans for the coming dry season.

As she crossed the threshold into the shaded community court, two young women—Kaya and Nyaruai—fell into step beside her. They were junior advisors, brilliant and bold, and never missed a chance to tease their queen.

"So," Kaya said lightly, "which was worse—convincing Kifworo to share his mango tree or listening to old Mama Koto pretend she didn’t plant maize on her neighbor’s plot?"

"I’d say the mango tree," Nanjala said dryly. "But only because Kifworo cries when he’s angry."

Nyaruai snorted. "Next time, we should arm you with honey cakes and a stick."

"Maybe both," Nanjala replied. "Diplomacy works best with options."

Then came the Watcher—barely out of breath but clearly agitated.

"My Queen," he said, bowing. "There are visitors at our gates. Strangers, not from Nuri. They crossed the lake to get here. They are... distressed."

Nanjala’s brows narrowed with concern. "Are they foreigners? Dutch? Portuguese?"