The pain was beyond anything he had known—blinding, stealing breath, thought and will.He looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, at his own blood spreading across his robes, at hands that reached up uselessly to push it away.
The sword withdrew.
Borji fell to his knees.His body was failing; his vision darkened at the edges as his mind clung to consciousness by the barest thread.
General Altansarnai walked around to face him, looking down with contempt.
"Did it truly not occur to you that negotiations are meaningless because you have already been betrayed by your own?"he asked."If we have men on the inside, what makes you think we won’t conquer you fools regardless?”
"At least, thanks to you, we could seal our alliance."Altansarnai crouched, bringing his face level with Borji's."Your death will only fuel the unrest in your court.When the chaos reaches its peak, we will walk in and take everything."
Borji's eyes found the familiar man—the one who had recognised him, who had been recognised in return.His lips moved again, and this time, sound emerged.
"Who...did she...nominate?"
Chukwuemeka stepped forward into the light.
"That is not your place to know," he said quietly.
Borji remained still, the scent of blood heightening his senses.His eyes flashed a deadly blue.And then, a terrible grin graced his features.
“I see.”
As expected.He thought.Idiots.
The Dowager paced through the palace corridors covered in white from head to toe—the colour of Borjigin mourning.Her face was hidden behind a veil, her steps soft yet firm, her maids flanking her, faces hidden beneath simpler, less expensive fabric.
The guards at the Igwe's door stepped aside without a word.
She entered alone.
The room was cold despite the heating stones in every corner.A bed dominated the space, its curtains drawn back, its occupant visible in the flickering light.Blood had splattered against the walls, the wood, and the paintings.
Her son lay in his bed.
Or what was left of him.
The top half of his body was gone, leaving bloodied, jagged-edged bite marks.The bones of his ribcage splintered outward, the flesh torn in ragged strips; there was no head to bury – it was gone.
The Dowager stood at the foot of the bed and looked at what remained.
And then she screamed.
Her voice carried through every room in that wing, her anguish causing the guards to bow their heads in shame.The Dowager's precious tears dampened the sheets, mixing with the blood that stained everything.She fell to her knees, tearing at her veil, at her hair, at her own face.Her maids rushed in, trying to lift her, but she fought them off, crawling toward the bed, toward the ruin of her son.
"The Oracle warned us!"she shrieked."She told us!A devil in our midst, and we did nothing!We let her walk among us, we let her poison our house, and now—" She broke down, sobbing."Now my son is dead!My son!Torn apart by the very evil we sheltered!"
The Elders arrived, drawn by the noise.They found the Dowager on her knees, her white robes stained with her son's blood, her face a visage of grief and rage.
"Take her out," the Elder of Justice ordered."This is no place for—"
"No!"The Dowager fought them, her strength surprising."You listen to me!The Oracle named a devil, and you did nothing!The Udamili warned us, and you did nothing!Now my son is dead, and still you hesitate?"She pointed a shaking finger at the Elders, at the guards, at everyone and no one."Execute the devil!"
The guards finally managed to lift her, carrying her from the room despite her struggles.Her screams echoed through the corridors long after she was gone.
But once the doors closed behind her, once the Elders' voices faded into murmurs, once she was alone with her maids in the privacy of her chambers, the Dowager's tears stopped.
Her face went cold.
