The gates of Lusimba opened at dawn, the mist still clinging to the earth like a veil. Trumpets sounded softly from the palace walls as a column of riders approached from the east. Their banners blue, gold and crimson, the colors of Nuri’s crown — swayed against the rising sun.
King Lusweti rode at the head, his cloak lined with dark fur, his armor dusted from the long journey. Though his hair had begun to show streaks of grey, his posture remained proud and commanding. Behind him rode three of his ministers, Minister Amadi of Health, a calm man with a healer’s poise; Minister Juma of Diplomacy, sharp-eyed and soft-spoken; and Minister Achieng of Trade, whose calculating mind was said to rival the rchants of the coasts.
Queen Nanjala and her attendants awaited them in the courtyard. The air was filled with the scent of fresh rain and flowering acacia trees. Nanjala stepped forward as the royal escort dismounted, her robe flowing in shades of ivory and blue.
"Welco ho, my King," she said, bowing her head slightly.
"And blessed be this ho that stands," Lusweti replied warmly, taking her hand and brushing a kiss upon it. His gaze swept over the gathered servants and soldiers, then back to her. "It seems you’ve kept our kingdom standing tall in my absence."
Nanjala smiled faintly. "Barely. But we managed."
Lusweti’s smile faded as his eyes shifted toward the palace doors. "Show where he is."
The Queen nodded, leading the way through the quiet halls. The ministers followed silently, their faces solemn. Incense hung in the air, faintly sweet, masking the scent of herbs and dicine that lingered from the healers’ quarters.
When they entered Khisa’s chamber, the room was dim, the curtains drawn against the harsh morning light. A single lamp burned near the bedside. Khisa lay pale beneath white linens, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
Lusweti’s steps slowed. He dismissed the attendants with a quiet wave and knelt beside the bed, his heavy hand resting over his son’s.
"Always the stubborn one," he murmured with a half-smile. "Even as a boy, you’d climb trees twice your height just to prove you could. I told you you’d break your neck one day, and you said—"
He paused, his throat tightening.
Khisa stirred faintly, as if hearing the echo of his father’s voice through the haze of fever. Lusweti’s smile returned, softer this ti.
"You said, ’Then I’ll learn to fly.’" He chuckled under his breath. "And look at you now — still trying to fly when the world would rather keep you grounded."
Nanjala stood nearby, her hands clasped tightly together, watching in silence.
Lusweti brushed his thumb across Khisa’s hand. "Rest now, my son. You’ve done enough. The kingdom stands because of you. It’s my turn to carry the weight for a while."
He lingered for a few more monts, murmuring words only Khisa could hear, quiet reassurances, small jokes, fragnts of old stories. Then he rose, his voice steady again.
"Prepare the council room," he said to the attendants at the door. "We have much to discuss."
The eting chamber was soon filled with the low hum of conversation. Scrolls, maps, and clay tablets marked with reports lined the central table. Ole Samoei, Zara, Kiprop, and Onyango stood on one side, their travel-worn uniforms still bearing the marks of battle. On the other side sat the three ministers, their expressions a blend of respect and curiosity.
King Lusweti entered last, his cloak trailing lightly across the polished stone floor.
"Let’s begin," he said simply, taking his seat. "I want a full report."
Zara stood and bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, the mission was a success. Lumingu was defeated and executed by King Nzinga himself. A temporary treaty has been ford between Kongo and Buganda, with Nuri appointed as diator in their negotiations."
Minister Juma leaned forward, hands clasped. "That’s no small feat. It puts Nuri at the center of regional diplomacy. Our word now carries weight across the western coast."
"True," Lusweti said. "But that kind of power attracts enemies. Go on."
Ole Samoei took over. "Our soldiers fought well, but our lines were strained. We lost good n. Coordination was difficult without a faster relay system, we’ll need to invest in communication towers between cities. Taban and Onyango are drafting designs. We will need sothing to allow communication inside the battlefield."
Minister Achieng nodded approvingly. "A smart move. Trade networks could use those towers too, for sending caravan routes and supply reports."
Minister Amadi spoke next, his tone grave. "And what of our wounded? The soldiers who survived, how many are fit to return to service?"
"Less than half, for now," Ole Samoei replied. "The rest are recovering in Buganda or on their way back. But morale is strong. The n believe in what we’re building."
Lusweti steepled his fingers, eyes sharp. "Good. We’ll need that strength. Zara, tell about the Portuguese commander in the reports, Soares."
Zara’s jaw tightened. "He’s dead. But his docunts and maps were left in Kongo. We didn’t have ti to retrieve them before retreating, with our mission accomplished, staying longer would have ruined any trust Kongo had with us."
"So those secrets are in Nzinga’s hands," Lusweti said. "Let’s hope he keeps his word."
Minister Juma frowned. "And if he doesn’t?"
Lusweti’s lips curved in a wry smile. "Then we’ll remind him why alliances with Nuri are worth keeping."
Laughter rippled faintly across the room, the kind born of tension, not humor.
The King leaned back in his chair, eyes thoughtful. "For now, we’ll focus on recovery. Strengthen our borders, build those towers, and increase dical training in the garrisons. I want Nuri to stand ready for anything."
He rose, placing a hand on Ole Samoei’s shoulder. "You’ve done well. All of you have. Rest for now, the next dawn will bring new duties."
Later that evening, in the quiet of their private chamber, Lusweti sat beside Nanjala by the window. The moonlight painted her face silver, her expression weary.
"He looks so frail," she whispered. "He’s always been so strong, but this ti..."
Lusweti reached for her hand. "He’s made of iron, Nanjala. He’ll rise again. He always does. Don’t let the sight of weakness fool you, it only ans he’s human."
She smiled faintly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "He gets that stubbornness from you."
"Of course," Lusweti said with a grin. "But the heart, that’s yours."
The next morning, the palace gardens were alive with laughter. Little Princess Ayuma ran across the courtyard, clutching a wooden sword almost as tall as she was.
"Papa! Look!" she shouted, swinging at an imaginary foe. "I’m protecting the palace!"
Lusweti burst into laughter, catching her mid-swing and lifting her high into the air. "Ah, my little warrior! You’ve got more courage than half my generals!"
Ayuma giggled as he spun her around. "When Khisa wakes up, I’ll show him how strong I am!"
Lusweti smiled, pressing his forehead to hers. "He’ll be very proud. We all will."
He set her down and watched her run off toward the fountain, the sound of her laughter echoing across the courtyard, a lody of hope after long months of war.
For the first ti in weeks, the palace of Lusimba felt alive again.
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