CHAPTER 185: CHAPTER 185 - THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN

The days folded into each other, blurring into one long watch.

The Shadows moved like ghosts, never seen. They took turns lying on rooftops, pressed into the dust, or crouched behind the half-fallen walls that overlooked the governor’s compound. From sunrise to nightfall, someone always had eyes on Lumingu. Someone always knew which cell Faizah was in, when the guards changed, and how the candles flickered in the hall outside her door.

She had not spoken once since the first interrogation. Not to curse, not to beg, not even to ask for water. The soldiers came with their taunts and insults, but they might as well have been shouting at stone. Every blow they struck against her silence only made that silence heavier.

At first, the Shadows who watched pitied her. Then they began to admire her.

By the third day, they whispered her name like a prayer. By the fourth, they spoke it like an oath. Her resilience is not something one can be taught, each one of them swore to be just as strong as her. No wonder Prince Khisa chose her, someone not originally from Nuri, rescued from Abyssinia showed such incredible resolve. Her name will be known throughout generations of Shadows.

On the fifth day, something shifted.

The compound felt... wrong.

The rhythm that Zara had memorized—the clatter of buckets, the lazy stride of guards, the echo of boots in the courtyard—was broken.

Servants moved quickly, heads bowed, hands trembling. The guards barked orders without knowing what to do with them. Even the air seemed tighter, like the sky had drawn in a sharp breath and refused to let it out.

"There," Joyi whispered, the word small and loud at once. He pointed across the yard where a covered carriage had pulled into the inner court and a broad man had stepped down with quiet ceremony.

Zara’s hand tightened on the edge of the tile until the knuckles whitened. The man moved with the slow confidence of someone who had never known fear— broad shoulders, a coat cut to military fashion, the posture of a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed. He wore a scar along one cheek and carried himself like a man who had looked into the worst of war and not flinched.

"That’s him. The puppet master." Zara whispered.

Zara watched him meet Lumingu in the walled office, saw the way Lumingu straightened like a dog before a master, the flicker of relief on his face that announced allegiance. The Portuguese did not laugh or slap a back; he moved in quick, exact gestures and Lumingu mirrored them with a servile eagerness that made Zara’s skin prickle.

"He’s afraid of him," Joyi murmured.

"No," Zara replied, eyes narrowing. "He is merely a dog running to his master."

She studied every movement—how Lumingu bowed too low, how the Portuguese’s gaze skimmed over the guards like he was counting weaknesses. His soldiers followed a step behind: hard men with scarred faces and rifles so polished they caught the sun like mirrors. They didn’t talk. They didn’t even look around. Their discipline was its own kind of arrogance.

"We need to report this," Zara said. "Go. Now. Tell Onyango. We can’t lose him from our sight."

Joyi nodded once and disappeared down the roof, his footsteps softer than the wind.

Zara stayed, her body stiff from hours of stillness, yet her heart thudded with a slow, steady beat. She wanted to move closer—to hear, to know—but every instinct warned her against it. So she waited, the roof beneath her radiating heat, watching the man who would decide how many more lives would be lost.

***

Inside, the governor’s office smelled of sweat, ink, and old tobacco. The shutters were half-closed against the light, giving everything a copper hue. Lumingu stood near the window, his hands restless, his face slick with nervous sheen.

Dom Alexandre Soares sat behind the desk like a man born to command—broad, still, and composed. Even seated, he gave the impression that the room was his territory and everyone in it a guest.

"So," Soares began, his accent thick but deliberate, every syllable weighed like a coin. "You’ve made quite a mess."

Lumingu swallowed hard. "Sir, I—I have the situation under control. The king might be missing now, but its only a matter of time until I find him."

Soares raised an eyebrow. "You said you captured a spy, a woman who will not speak. You have soldiers who cannot sleep for fear of ghosts. Your so called soldiers can’t even break one woman. You call this control?"

Lumingu’s voice cracked. "She’s from Nuri. They send spies now. They whisper the prince’s name like a curse. If we do not act, that name will become a flag—one the people will follow."

Soares leaned forward slightly. His eyes were the color of stormwater—cold, restless, deep. "The prince," he repeated. "A young one, yes? Portugal has its eyes set on Nuri, they have challenged us, if I crush the little rebellion here, my king will reward me."

Lumingu nodded quickly. "They say he’s building an army. That he’s coming here."

"Good."

Soares said it so quietly that Lumingu almost missed it.

"Good?" Lumingu asked, unsure.

"Yes," Soares replied, standing. His shadow fell long across the desk. "An enemy you can see is a gift. The unseen ones are the dangerous kind. Tell me, Governor—how many men do you command?"

"Two thousand, perhaps a little less."

"And what do they fight with?"

"Muskets. Spears. Blades. Whatever they can hold."

Soares let the silence draw out. "And against you," he said softly, "comes a prince who believes in destiny. You think he will bow when you raise your flag? No. He will burn you out. He will burn me out if we let him. We cannot allow that."

He turned away, staring out the narrow window at the compound below. "Portugal has invested too much in this coast to let one dreamer play at kingship."

Lumingu said nothing. His throat worked soundlessly.

"I will send you help," Soares continued. "Some of my men—the Restorers. You will march with them. You will crush this boy. His head will hang on your gates. Do you understand?"

Lumingu nodded, though his hands were trembling. "Yes, Dom Soares."

Soares turned back, expression unreadable. "You should smile when you speak of victory, Governor. Not tremble."

Lumingu forced a thin grin.

"That’s better," Soares murmured. Then, after a moment, his tone darkened. "But listen well. Fail me—and you will not die quickly. I’ve seen the way Portuguese blades dull when blood thickens on them. I assure you... they still cut."

He brushed past Lumingu and left the office. His soldiers fell into step behind him with mechanical precision. Outside, the compound returned to life, as if the world itself exhaled after holding its breath.

From her distant perch, Zara saw him walk out into the sun, coat glinting gold at the seams. He moved like a man with an empire in his chest. And she, watching him through the blur of heat, whispered to herself—

"Now we know what we’re up against."