THE LADY OF THE TIDES

— Young scoundrel! Rotten-smelling codfish!  the governor barked at the sight of the young noble discreetly taking his place to his right. Even my very own cousin, in all his lifetime, was never honored with a meal in this hall, and yet you dare keep us waiting by arriving late?!  he continued.

Young YA Bêmba smiled faintly. He knew this was how his uncle showed affection. The filthier and more vulgar the insult, the more dearly he held you in his heart.

— My apologies, uncle… One of the impundulu from the aviary brought us news from the north. The Council is facing great difficulties… he said darkly.

The governor placed a hand upon his large belly, straightened himself against his cushion, and let out a displeased belch upon hearing his nephew’s words, the sound immediately swallowed by the uproar filling the hall.

— By the Eternals…  he grumbled while rinsing his hands in the small bowl of lemon water brought to him by one of the servants standing at his side.

Nearly sixty high-ranking sailors, clan chiefs, and duly appointed officials were gathered there, all seated side by side before low tables overflowing with seafood, grilled fish, and garlic bread. In the great hall, reserved exclusively for grand receptions, servants moved constantly between the guests, bowing as they poured and refilled cups of seaweed wine and dark Órelotarian ale for the honored attendees.
The hall itself, lavishly decorated, belonged to the Palace of Foamstone, where the governor of Ansãsiwa, YA Kubó Ogunge, held court. A lover of opulence and luxury, as any respectable Ogunge ought to be, he had ensured that every cushion upon which his guests rested was embroidered with threads of pure gold. The tables, meanwhile, had been carved from polished imported oak and sculpted from the blackwoods of the Lowlands. Rugs brought from Al'Têp and woven with the delicate craftsmanship of the White Elves covered the floors, while the walls were adorned with trophies of war, most of them purchased from the Three Moons and the Kagapian humans. Even the marble tableware prepared for the occasion was etched with golden engravings, skillfully fused into the veins of the stone by the finest artisans of the southern lands.

Governor YA Kubó Ogunge, though fond of pleasure, fine wines, and good flesh, having, like many before him, embraced polygamy by marrying no fewer than four elven women from different clans of the Water Tribe, was also known as one of the wealthiest Alkeb in the kingdom. Above all else, like every man of his clan, he adored gold. It could be seen even in the scepter carried by the servant standing behind him: a staff the size of a man, forged entirely of solid gold, crowned with an imposing carp sculpture, the emblem of the Ogunge crest, its shaft engraved with the faces of his illustrious ancestors.

He took a long swallow of his seaweed wine before speaking again.

— Then I no longer have a choice. I am forced to ask you once again, my boy, he said, leaning closer to the young noble as though sharing a secret. I know you will do what must be done. It is a man like you that we need!  he declared while picking at his teeth with the nail of his little finger, upon which sat an enormous gold ring crowned with a sapphire.

— But… uncle… At least grant me an orbée or two before I give you my answer… I am not certain this is truly what I want, nor even that I possess the shoulders for such a burden…  he replied politely, glancing discreetly toward the Lady of the Tides standing at the far end of the hall.

— We no longer have time to think, son. We must act swiftly. It is precisely because you believe yourself incapable that I know you will honor this duty. The others are nothing but incompetent arselickers. I know it, they know it, and you know it yourself. All they care about is stuffing their bellies, bedding human whores, and dipping their hands into the treasury while hoping I notice nothing… By the Moons, it has become rare to find an honest man one can truly rely on… You are not of my blood, but you were raised with my values  the values of the Ogunge. We did not rise to where we stand through strength or the sword, but through diplomacy, patience, and cunning. You possess all of these qualities. And I am certain you will make the right decisions for the entire Water Tribe while I journey north…  he said before slowly turning his gaze toward the Lady of the Tides at the opposite end of the hall, his brows narrowing.

— At least… once this ridiculous farce is over, and she finally returns to her island...

After thoroughly devouring the cider-glazed soles, the garlic-grilled squids, the gúos, and the shrimp from his platter, and after emptying nearly half a dozen cups of seaweed wine alongside them, the young noble began to feel the Lady of the Tides’ insistent stare weighing upon him. Her great onyx eyes, cold and piercing, sent a chill crawling down his spine.

Seated at the far end of the hall, nearly thirty meters away from where YA Bêmba and his companions sat, she had not stopped watching him since his arrival at the banquet. At last, he dared meet her gaze, and it did not waver.

Elevated upon her imposing marble throne, carved directly with sculptures of mermaids and other marine creatures, the Lady presided over the gathering like a sovereign spirit of the sea itself. Around her stood her four mūji, motionless and rigid as statues on either side of her seat.

And there she remained, silent, unmoving, her dark eyes still fixed upon him.

— She… she is still staring at me… he whispered nervously to the men surrounding him while pretending to raise his wine cup to his lips. Is it because I arrived after her?

— Without a doubt, my son… said one of the governor’s wives, richly dressed in turquoise fabrics adorned with a massive twisted gold chain, seated across from him.  Arriving after the Lady of the Tides is… considered improper. Surely you know that, don’t you?

As two other men turned as discreetly as half-drunk sailors possibly could, the Lady of the Tides finally raised her right hand.

At once, in perfect unison, the four mūji standing beside her struck the stone floor twice with their spears, the sound echoing throughout the hall.

Silence fell instantly.

Not a sound remained.

Every gaze turned toward the Lady of the Tides. And seeming to savor the attention granted to her, she extended her crystal goblet toward one of the servants, silently ordering him to refill it at once.

Despite the darkness in her eyes, the Lady of the Tides possessed an undeniable presence. Though she sat several meters away from the young noble’s table, he could feel the crushing, salt-laden aura radiating from her.

Her back perfectly straight, her legs elegantly crossed in the manner of the great ladies of the south, and her arms resting firmly upon the throne’s armrests, the Lady of the Tides wore a lavish sleeveless gown of black fabric that shimmered beneath the brilliant ornaments and asymmetrical decorations adorning it. A long cloak of fine cloth threaded with Lyr and trimmed at the collar with glossy black scales cascaded down her back.

For the occasion, she also wore, as tradition demanded of the women of the Southern Water Tribe, a crown of cowrie shells resting atop her braided hair, some of the braids themselves decorated with shells and golden rings.

Upon her right hand, the Lady of the Tides bore an imposing Lyr ring set with a massive emerald of deep, shifting reflections. Around her wrist stretched an intricate assembly of golden rings and bracelets linked together by a broad chain, forming a majestic ornament enhanced here and there with diamonds and sapphires that caught the light.

After a long contemplative silence, the Lady of the Tides slowly raised her crystal cup and declared in a clear, solemn voice:

— Where others drown…

Instantly, the entire hall answered in unison, their goblets raised beside their heads:

— We breathe!

Then, after swallowing a deep mouthful of seaweed wine, the Lady of the Tides extended a finger toward the assembly, seemingly pointing at random toward a man seated behind the young noble. The latter turned to see the man she had indicated, who slowly rose once the order was given: approach the throne.

The man obeyed.

A minor noble, YA Bêmba thought as he finally caught sight of his face, which meant nothing to him. Judging by the thick ivory-bead necklace around his neck and the five small blue stones swaying with each of his steps, the sanêlke was likely around two hundred and fifty cycles old, he estimated while watching the man make his embarrassed way toward the throne.

When he stood before the Lady of the Tides, she examined him from the full height of her imposing stature, gazing down from her elevated seat as the sanêlke lowered his head respectfully.

— Möara, what is your name?

— Möara, ZA Sauda. My name is YA Dêmbe, of Clan Mbãenge, he replied in a honeyed tone.

— Hmm… A Moss? asked the Lady of the Tides, raising an eyebrow upon hearing YA Dêmbe’s accent.

Though the familiar, almost vulgar, expression used to describe the inhabitants of the island of Mossiwa, unfairly reputed for their supposedly primitive intelligence north of Ansãsiwa, displeased him greatly, he nonetheless nodded politely and bowed once more.

— However, ZA Sauda, I am originally from the continental shore of Jêngu Bay, he clarified eloquently. It has been far too long since our beloved Lady of the Tides last graced one of our humble southern cities with such an extended stay. Oh, ZA Sauda, you honor us with your presence here.

As he spoke, he bent into yet another theatrical bow.

The Lady of the Tides smiled.

— An honor? Truly? I am flattered, Moss… However, you should choose your words more carefully. Assuming, of course, that you are capable of grasping their nuances.

— My Lady? asked the sanêlke, failing at first to understand the meaning behind her words.

— Very well… YA Dêmbe of Clan Mbãenge, is that correct?

— Yes, ZA Sauda.

— If I truly am your beloved Lady, as you have just claimed, and if my presence in this city is indeed welcomed… kneel and kiss my feet,  she said, extending one foot toward the man, whose eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

Quiet murmurs spread throughout the hall. Uneasy glances were exchanged.

— Forgive me, ZA Sauda,  the sanêlke began while staring at the foot stretched before him. But… I am not certain I understood correctly… He swallowed loudly.

— Perhaps I should translate it into Moss for you? the Lady of the Tides replied mockingly. She slowly licked her lips and displayed a disdainful half-smile.

The man, who was nearly five times the Lady of the Tides’ age, suddenly seemed tiny before her. Insignificant.

— Kneel. And kiss my feet, she repeated while staring directly into the eyes of the sanêlke standing five steps below her throne.

From where he stood, YA Dêmbe could make out a faint tremor of exhilarated excitement flicker through the Lady of the Tides’ right eye. A chill crawled down his spine.

— M… My… My Lady,  he stammered,  with all due respect, ZA Sauda… we are here in Ansãsiwa, land of the Water Tribe, and… this kind of… this kind of display has not been practiced for cycles… I… I mean…

But the Lady of the Tides interrupted him coldly, without even sparing him a glance. Raising her head, she addressed the crowd before her as though the sanêlke at the foot of her throne no longer existed.

— I am the ocean, the abyss, and the foam, YA Dêmbe of Clan Mbãenge of the Southern Water Tribe. The first wife of Admiral YA Kasimbe Balake, the Lord of the Seas. A Lord whom you are bound to honor and obey in the name of the great Yemãa. And I, ZA Sauda Balake, the Lady of the Tides, am his voice wherever he cannot be. To disobey me is to disobey your Lord. And to disobey your Lord is an act of rebellion against the King’s Council. And every act of rebellion, according to the customs of the Water Tribe, is punishable by death…

She lowered her gaze once more toward the man standing beneath her throne.

— Let the Eternal Yemãa bear witness. I repeat myself one final time, YA Dêmbe. Come forward. Kneel. And kiss my feet.

But the men of the Water Tribe, especially those of the south, were proud elves and sanêlke of tempestuous temperament. Sailors for the most part, pirates for others, often whale hunters or shark hunters, they were not inclined to humble themselves easily… especially not in public. And certainly not before a woman. Lady of the Tides or not.

For among the Southerners, even more than among their northern counterparts, traditions remained rigid and mentalities fiercely conservative.

And ZA Sauda knew it.

She reveled in it.

YA Dêmbe remained standing. He lifted his chin defiantly and answered simply:

— No. I will not do it, ZA Sauda…

Behind him, the men and women of the hall held their breath. It was the first time since the death of the former Lady of the Tides that ZA Sauda Balake had dared set foot in Órelota, and alone, no less, despite the lingering tribal tensions.

And yet, the reputation of the new Lady of the Tides throughout the kingdom, combined with her sudden and unannounced arrival a week earlier, inspired nothing reassuring. Everyone knew it. The entire city knew it. The rumors had not lied.

And at that very moment, she had just proven them right.

The Lady of the Tides drained the last of her wine in a single swallow before lowering her eyes toward the man still standing before her.

— Very well… she declared simply with a sigh.

With a brief glance, one of the mūji at her side stepped forward. In a fraction of a second, before anyone could understand what was happening, the guard slipped behind the sanêlke, drew a dagger from his belt, and slit his throat with a brutal motion so violent that the man’s head was nearly severed from his body.

A spray of blood splattered across the steps leading to the throne, while the Lady of the Tides let out a faint squeal of excitement at the spectacle.
The body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, the head hanging only by a thin strand of cartilage, as a crimson pool rapidly spread across the floor and carpets.

— By the Eternals!! screamed an elven woman who had unfortunately been seated in the front row of the scene, before fainting the very next instant.

A shudder of horror swept through the hall. The guests leapt to their feet in panic, shouting and screaming, some terrified, others in tears. Goblets and wine carafes crashed one after another, tables were trampled in the chaos as everyone rushed toward the great doors in an attempt to flee.

But the doors remained shut. Two mūji, spears in hand, broad and menacing, held the terrified crowd in check.

Meanwhile, YA Bubakar, the mūji well known to all for having slit, and nearly severed, YA Dêmbe’s throat, calmly returned to his place at the Lady of the Tides’ left side, as though nothing had happened.

After what felt like an eternity, the Lady of the Tides shouted:

— SILENCE!

Immediately, the four mūji beside her struck the stone floor twice with their spears. The sound cracked through the hall like a warning. Their threatening eyes glowed with an electric blue light, a clear sign that they were mirroring their endokã at that very moment.

— Return to your seats at once! Our banquet, venerable alkeb, has not yet reached its end… continued the Lady of the Tides in a tone that sounded far more like a threat than a request.

Voices of protest erupted everywhere in the hall, cries, outrage, and rumbling anger rising from every side. But the Lady of the Tides remained unmoved, scanning the crowd. Her gaze lingered upon each person, forcing them to lower their eyes and sit back down one by one, as though crushed beneath an invisible weight.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

No one dared look toward YA Dêmbe’s body, which still lay at the foot of the throne. The pool of blood had already reached the feet of the first row. And within that frozen terror, the Lady of the Tides raised her finger once more, sweeping it across the hall like a priestess selecting her next sacrifice.

— Hmm… You, over there, she said, pointing toward an old man seated two rows away from her. Stand and approach.

He was a seasoned Moon Elf. He too wore the traditional Tókökó of the Water Tribe: a necklace of green pearls and four ivory-bead necklaces hanging around his neck. He had lived one thousand and forty cycles…

Two servants hurried to drag YA Dêmbe’s bloodied corpse aside, pulling it to the left to clear the path. The elf approached, upright and dignified.

— Your name? asked the Lady of the Tides without transition.

— YA Obãomi, of Clan Mpênze, he answered coldly. His closed expression revealed a profound disgust that he made no effort to conceal at the sight of the Lady of the Tides’ face.

Her face had changed.

Her features, already severe despite a beauty that transcended youth, had sunk and withered. Purple, greenish, and crimson veins crawled along her right arm, the one bearing the emerald ring. The gemstone shone with an almost supernatural fluorescent glow. The veins climbed upward, coiling around her arm, slithering toward her neck, and seemed to infect her right eye.

It was no longer an onyx eye.

It was a pale, clouded globe, consumed by an unhealthy light. Blind. Dead.

— The sight of death must have unwillingly revealed the Lady of the Tides’ true nature… thought the young noble seated at the far end of the table, shivering with terror.

YA Kubó, meanwhile, remained silent, a powerless spectator within his own home. Though he was governor, the Lord of the Seas of Clan Balake wielded influence far greater than his throughout the Wal’Majil Sea and within the Council of Tides. Attempting to stop the Lady of the Tides, his dark and fearsome First Lady, even here beneath his own roof, would have been far too dangerous…

For a brief moment, Governor YA Kubó Ogunge doubted his own convictions. Perhaps, he thought, a strong Lady might indeed do the Southern Water Tribe some good, and perhaps the Lord of the Seas possessed a formidable weapon at his side, one he also happened to share his bed with. At least when she was not wearing that repulsive appearance…
A smile slowly spread across the Lady of the Tides’ cracked lips, as though every movement of her face caused unbearable pain. And the longer one stared, the more visible the fissures became, splitting the skin along the right side of her face, hollow crevices where suffering itself seemed to dwell.

Her left eye, still sharp and alive, remained fixed upon YA Obãomi. But her right eye, white, glassy, blind… stared at something else entirely.

A cat.

A cat with long silver, silky fur had appeared from nowhere, utterly unbothered, lapping at the still-warm blood of the corpse.

— Well then, YA Obãomi, she finally said. Kneel and kiss my feet…

And just as she had done minutes earlier, she extended her foot toward the man standing five steps below her throne.

The elf did not move.

Gruff, stubborn, rigid as the prow of a ship, he stared at the Lady of the Tides without the slightest trace of submission. He had fought pirates upon the Wal’Majil Sea, held the lines against the human colonists from the Far East and the Far West, aided the sanêlke of New Órelota during the Makênge rebellion of the Howling Isles. He had fought beside the Beast-Lord Prince YA Odón Mamake in the Lowlands. He had seen a king die, witnessed the passing of more than a dozen YĀME, and buried more soldiers and sailors than he cared to remember.

— Repulsive ghûl! You have no place here, you are not my Lady of the Tides. You are an abomination. A demonic whore who lies with the maxetani! A fratricidal harlot of low birth hiding behind the glory of your venerable sister and your new name. Without that crown, you are nothing. Without your sister, you would never have become the Lady of the Tides!

The hall froze.

Every word, every insult rang through the silence like a slap. Faces turned wide-eyed, paralyzed by the audacity. But the Lady of the Tides did not move… and kept her mocking smile. She listened in silence, motionless. Her face gradually regained smoother, more natural features, and the veins vanished without leaving a single scar or trace behind. The cat, too, disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

But her eyes remained the eyes of evil. Piercing, devoid of warmth or mercy.

When the old elf had finished hurling the words everyone secretly carried in their hearts but dared not speak aloud, panting with rage, she slowly straightened and briefly turned her gaze toward the hall.

— I am the ocean, the abyss, and the foam, YA Obãomi of the insignificant Clan Mpênze, she said, deliberately emphasizing the humiliating slight. The first wife of Admiral YA Kasimbe Balake, the Lord of the Seas. A Lord whom you are bound to honor and follow in the name of Yemãa. And I, ZA Sauda Balake, the Lady of the Tides, am his voice where he cannot be. To disobey me is to disobey your Lord. And to disobey the Lord… is an act of rebellion against the King’s Council. And every act of rebellion, according to the customs of the Water Tribe, is punishable by death…

At last, she fixed her eyes upon him again.

— So tell me, YA Obãomi of the insignificant Clan Mpênze… do you still refuse to honor me?

YA Obãomi stepped forward and spat upon one of the steps before her.

— Keishee! Never will I lower myself to kiss your feet, whore of the abyss! May the Eternals spare me from such disgrace! roared he. Never shall we, children of the sea, bow before a ghûl, and YA Kasimbe has lost all legitimacy to claim the title of Lord of the Seas since the day he took you into his bed!

— Very well… replied the Lady of the Tides calmly.

She slowly slipped her foot back into her sandal, then gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, to the same mūji as before.

And while YA Obãomi continued to shout insults, roaring and trying to rally the crowd in Moss, the mūji moved swiftly. He seized the elf by the chin, forced his head upward, and without the slightest hesitation slit his throat before violently shoving him to the ground.
Blood burst forth, splattering the throne steps, the Lady of the Tides’ feet, and the robe of an alkeb standing too close. YA Obãomi collapsed with a wet gargle, his eyes frozen wide in horror, his mouth twisted by the final insult he had not had time to utter.

As the crowd fell silent in sheer terror and the mūji calmly resumed his place beside the Lady of the Tides, she wasted no time and once again swept her gaze across the hall in search of her next victim.

YA Bêmba felt all the strength leave his body. His stomach tightened and a wave of heat rushed to his head when, to his horror, he realized that from the far end of the hall, the Lady of the Tides was staring directly at him.
Without saying a word. For long, unbearable seconds, savoring the terror she spread through the atmosphere.
With a motion of her finger, she summoned him and ordered him to approach.

— Son, you do exactly as she tells you! YA Kubó whispered under his breath, grabbing him by the arm. I forbid you to act like a fool…

— SILENCE! thundered the Lady of the Tides from the other end of the hall, immediately followed by the twin strikes of the mūji’s spears against the stone floor.

Once he stood before her, the young noble felt bile rise in his throat.
Just to his right, the dying elf choked in a hideous gurgling sound, blood bubbling from his opened throat. He gasped pitifully, weakly, like a fish torn from its ocean. His fingers clawed uselessly at the ground, pathetic and desperate.
The sight. The smell. The sounds… everything was unbearable.

— Mo… Mö… Möara, My Sauda… my… My Lady, the young man stammered in a trembling voice, his head lowered.
His legs shook with fear, and he had to summon every ounce of willpower not to soil himself. Yet despite the horror surrounding him, one thing struck him to the core. At this distance… the Lady of the Tides was even more beautiful.

— Möara. What is your name? she asked while pouring herself another goblet of wine. A plump servant with mismatched eyes presented her with a platter of pink shrimp, which she began eating with theatrical delicacy.

— I am YA Bêmba of Clan Makênge, my Lady, he answered, his voice still trembling. He desperately tried to ignore the wet rasp that persisted beside him, the final breaths of a man dying before his eyes.

The Lady of the Tides paused for a moment during her meal and regarded him with strange interest. She took a sip of wine alongside her mouthful of shrimp before speaking again.

— Oh? A Makênge? repeated the Lady of the Tides, raising an eyebrow. From the Howling Isles, I presume… That explains why you seem so familiar.
Her tone became almost warm. What are you doing here, so far from home?

The young noble cleared his throat and attempted to stand upright before continuing.

— After the end of the Howling Isles pirate rebellion, the children of Clan Makênge who were younger than six cycles were sent south among the tribes… my Lady. I have lived here since my earliest Moons alongside one of my cousins. YA Umaru Makênge, who, after proving himself as a boatman at the Port of Jengu Bay, is currently training at Crimson Point in the narrative arts under a djēle. We were both raised by the same adoptive father, treated with the utmost respect among the Ogunge, and spent most of our youth at sea. And… to be honest, as far as I am concerned, I love this country as much as I love the Órelotarian customs.

— I see… she murmured, setting down her goblet. Then I assume you are completely loyal to Clan Ogunge… aren’t you?

She then raised her eyes toward the back of the hall and, to better distinguish the faces in the distance, mirrored her endokã. Her onyx eyes immediately turned an electric blue.
There, seated among the frozen nobles, she clearly saw YA Kubó stiffen, anxiety clouding his face. He instantly understood that the softly spoken sentence was a trap, an invisible blade extended toward him by the Lady of the Tides.

Young YA Bêmba nodded gently. Too gently… Too late… he felt the trap tightening around him.

The Lady of the Tides’ gaze settled upon him once more, her irises still glowing with that electric blue. She carefully observed every movement and gesture of the boy standing before her. The mirroring of her endokã also caused the scaled filaments of her Lyr-fiber cloak to shimmer with the same vivid color.
A pure, noble blue, sharply contrasting with her arrogant bearing and cruel, domineering posture.
A satisfied smile spread across her face.

— And… tell me, YA Bêmba… to whom do you owe allegiance?

She let the silence grow heavier before continuing.

— To Clan Ogunge, who… she gestured lightly toward the two corpses lying at the foot of the throne, seems to delight in surrounding itself with traitors and rebels… Or to the Lord of the Seas, who works tirelessly to ensure our safety upon the waters and the prosperity of the Southern Water Tribe?

— Never would I disobey the commands of the Lord of the Seas, my Lady, he said as he lowered one knee to the floor.

The Lady of the Tides, who had resumed delicately picking from the seafood platter presented by her servant, turned toward YA Bêmba. With a lazy gesture, she slipped her foot from her ornate sandal and extended it toward the boy.

— Then let your actions align with your words, YA Bêmba.

Without even taking the time to think, he climbed the five steps separating him from the throne, collapsed to his knees as though struck by lightning, and then… delicately… took the Lady of the Tides’ foot into his hands and placed a first kiss upon the arch of it.

Satisfied, she released a soft sigh of pleasure and bit lightly at her lower lip. Her eyes shifted in color, wavering between blue and black as the young noble continued honoring her foot with his mouth.
A smile then formed upon her lips. Not the smile of cruelty this time. No, something more insidious. The smile of victorious pleasure.
And YA Bêmba, who briefly dared raise his eyes toward the Lady of the Tides, missed none of it.

And while the submissive young noble continued kissing her feet more fervently, brushing her skin with his lips, even sliding his tongue across it with animal-like obedience, the Lady of the Tides addressed the assembly frozen in silence and fear.

— It has reached my ears… that there are traitors among you. They will recognize themselves, she said in a softer voice while staring intently at the Governor of Ansãsiwa, who felt his stomach tighten. Several men scattered throughout the assembly exchanged discreet, meaningful glances.

— Since my arrival at Foamrock… I have observed each of you. I have listened to you speaking behind my back. You, venerable alkeb sailors, some of whom dream of seeing your Lord’s head, and mine, mounted upon a pike…

She paused, savoring the effect of her words… or perhaps the warm, wet tongue of the young man honoring her feet.

— Oh, know this: I did not come here to deceive you, nor to conquer you, and even less to destroy your cities. Some would have you believe that your enemy lies in the south. I, ZA Sauda, Lady of the Tides, rightful first wife of the Lord of the Seas, am not your enemy, and the Obsidian Citadel of the Three Moons, as well as the island of Anadë, shall forever remain open to you. So long as your loyalty to your rightful Lord remains unshaken.
Though Ansãsiwa is part of Órelota, regrettably, I might add, we are all part of one and the same family: the Southern Water Tribe. Remember this the next time you plot against your Lord.
From this orbée onward, I consider all of you, venerable alkeb, allies of Clan Balake.

She lowered her eyes once more toward YA Bêmba, still on all fours, his tongue between her toes, humiliated in the suffocating silence.

— And so, I dare hope I am not mistaken about our new understanding… she continued, her voice laden with barely veiled menace.
It would be most regrettable if I were forced to return here not as an ally, but as a declared enemy to punish a city as magnificently built as yours, now surrendered to hypocrisy and perjury… Do not forget… I am the ocean. I see all that happens upon, and beneath, the tides…

At those words, she slowly withdrew her foot from YA Bêmba’s mouth and slipped it back into her sandal. The Lady of the Tides and the boy exchanged an ambiguous glance. She smiled at him, then with a simple tilt of her head motioned for him to return to his seat. The young noble rose at once, bowed deeply and hurriedly, then returned to his place with his head lowered.

— Now that introductions have been made… she resumed, rising from her throne, I wish you all fair winds. It is time for me to take my leave, venerable alkeb.

Without another word, she descended from her seat. Her four mūji struck their spears twice more against the stone floor before surrounding her, forming a silent procession.
The alkeb in the hall, frozen with fear, held their breath as she walked down the steps, upright and sovereign, crossing the room without sparing a single glance toward anyone.
When she reached the great wooden doors at the far end of the chamber, two other mūji pulled them open. ZA Sauda Balake crossed the threshold and vanished into the corridors of Foamrock Palace.

When the heavy doors finally closed behind her, a shiver swept through the hall. Then, slowly, the tension began to ease. The first sighs escaped into the silence.
And the murmurs, timid at first, rose into a growing swell of indignation, fear… and restrained anger.