Nomvula groaned as she slid  off the side of the bed. Lightning crawled down her shoulders and touched the back of her knees. The afternoon was too bright and every sound scraped along her skull. 

This is what happens when someone else's' child disturbs your morning coffee.

"Ma," Khaya said, "you need to rest."

"I want to rest, there's a difference." Nomvula leaned on Asanda more heavily than she'd like. "Khaya, go to my study and fetch every tome on Inner Plains law."

"I'll help," Ndoda said.

"No," Nomvula said. "You're going to ride out to Seventh Hill and prepare for your duel."

Ndoda crossed his arms, muscles rippling on his wiry shoulders. "Seventh Hill? You want me train with Qaqamba?"

"Yes."

"She's retired."

"Then you'll beg."

"Ma--"

"And you'll take three cattle and two of our fattest lambs with you. They'll add moos and bleats to your grovelling." Nomvula raised a finger before Ndoda's mouth could fully open. "You'll humble yourself when you go to her. You'll tell her how silly you've been and say nothing if she laughs. Finally..."

Nomvula looked up at the ceiling, at a tiny smudge of clay hidden between the beams, so dark it reflected no light. "Anathi, he'll need an ivory bead to make it past Qaqamba's guards."

A pale bead pushed through the clay and struck Ndoda on his crown. He bent down to pick it up, muttering something unpleasant. To his credit, he squared his shoulders when he straightened.

"I'll make things right, Ma."

You think you will, but that's good enough for now. 

She nodded. "Then go. Khaya, escort your brother to the edge of the village, then start on the tomes. I'll buy us a fortnight to get through them."

Khaya cocked his head at Ndoda and smiled. "Ma, you think he can learn to beat Dumani in half a moon?"

"There's a reason your father gifted Qaqamba an entire hill when she retired." And why Ndlovu's failed to cross the Wayfarer in the decade since, even with his monster army. "She's worked miracles with less than a prince and a fortnight."

"You've got a big mouth for the baby of the family," Ndoda said.

Khaya shrugged. "At least it's in one piece."

"Khayelihle," Nomvula said, and that was that. She thumbed the cold spot between her eyes. "Ndoda, so help me if you aren't halfway to Seventh Hill by dusk..."

They bickered out the door, leaving Nomvula with a daughter to lean on, a sleeping Lifa, an ultimatum, a headache, and too many enemies expecting dinner. Asanda gently rubbed her back as they chewed over their own thoughts.

"Ma." Asanda pushed her thick locs back. "When you came back from the spirit plane, you were different."

Nomvula flinched. "I wasn't myself. I mean, in a way, it's a... I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, baby."

"You looked scared. Was it, you know," Asanda said, gesturing to Nomvula's liver, where her spirit sat -- a spirit sat.

"Yes." Nomvula frowned. "Well, no. Everything a person is, or, rather, a person's..." She sighed. "All facets of a gem make up the gem. I wish it wasn't so, but you can't choose how you're cut."

Asanda shook her head. "I suppose."

"It's hard to explain."

"Anket should tutor you in rhetoric and philosophy, then."

Nomvula laughed; Asanda's lip twitched.

"When I was pregnant with Ndoda, I massaged his feet to make him strong. With Khaya, I hummed and hoped he'd come out artistic."

"And what about me, your first?"

Nomvula stared off at a corner. "I was so grateful I just listened to you. I still do."

"You should've read so I'd have something good to say at times like this." Asanda bit her lip. "Ma, what happened in the spirit plane?"

At that moment, Lifa wheezed, pulling Asanda's attention. Nomvula let go of her daughter and made her way towards the door.

"Call me when he stirs."

"Where are you going?" Asanda was already tending to her patient.

"To make a proposal to a prince," Nomvula said, and the skin between her eyes burned at the thought.