Chapter 215: Chapter 215 - Wounds Seen and Unseen
Lusimba had changed.
Khisa could see it even from the veranda where he sat, cane resting against his knee, the morning sun warming his shoulders. Fields stretched farther than they ever had before, neat rows of grain bending gently in the wind, irrigation channels catching light like thin silver veins across the earth.
Farmers moved steadily, confidently, not in the hurried desperation of survival, but with the rhythm of people planning for seasons yet to come.
This land had once been a village.
Barely three hundred souls, scraping by on stubborn hope and shared labor. No walls. No banners. No future certain enough to name.
Now it was the backbone of Nuri.
Khisa exhaled slowly, letting the memory settle. Every stone laid, every harvest secured... it had been built by hands that believed when belief was the only currency they had.
He shifted, leaning a little heavier on the cane than he liked.
His body was healing. Slowly. The pain had dulled, but it lingered, a reminder that even iron bends when struck often enough. The healers assured him he would recover fully, and he trusted them... mostly.
Still, strength had never frightened him the way fragility now did.
A sudden commotion rose from the outer gates, voices raised, hooves stamping, the unmistakable sound of urgency.
Khisa frowned and pushed himself to his feet just as a palace guard hurried across the courtyard.
"My lord," the guard said, breathless. "A carriage has arrived. Bearing the Abyssinian crest.
Khisa froze.
For just a moment, he didn’t need to ask who it was.
The carriage rolled through the gates moments later, polished wood catching the sun, gold trim gleaming. The Abyssinian lion stood proudly on its side... unchanged, unmistakable.
The door opened.
Princess Azenet barely waited for the steps.
She descended quickly, skirts gathered in her hands, eyes already searching. When she saw him... standing, thinner than she remembered, cane visible at his side, her breath caught.
Then she ran.
Khisa barely had time to brace himself before she reached him, arms wrapping tightly around his chest. He hissed softly at the pressure, but didn’t pull away.
Her shoulders shook.
"Still as beautiful as ever," he said gently, voice warm despite the ache. "You haven’t changed at all."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, tears pooling in her eyes.
Seeing him like this—no armor, no commanding posture, no unshakable certainty—broke something in her.
"There’s no need to cry, my dear," Khisa said with a faint chuckle. "I’m perfectly fine. Just a few days of rest and I’ll be good as new."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"Is now really the time to joke?" she demanded, voice cracking. "When I received the letter about your injuries, I couldn’t breathe. I thought..."
She stopped herself, wiping at her cheeks angrily.
"I was so worried."
Before Khisa could respond, a familiar amused voice spoke from behind her.
"That’s true," the man said lightly. "She nearly bolted in her nightwear when the messenger arrived."
Azenet spun around. "Tadesse!"
Prince Tadesse grinned, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. "Father insisted I come along. Mostly to make sure this one doesn’t run the horses into the ground."
Khisa laughed softly and stepped forward, offering his hand. "Tadesse. I didn’t expect to see you here."
"Neither did the horses," Tadesse replied dryly, shaking his hand. "But here we are."
Khisa gestured toward the palace. "Welcome to Lusimba. Rest first. I’ll give you the full tour later."
He signaled to a palace maid, who bowed and led them toward the guest chambers.
The rest of the day passed in a way Khisa hadn’t experienced in a long time—slow, personal, unguarded.
Azenet barely left his side.
She fussed over him relentlessly—adjusting cushions, scolding him when he stood too quickly, insisting he eat more than he wanted. Khisa endured it all with quiet amusement.
He didn’t mind.
They had barely spent time together since her last visit, and though they were promised to each other, duty had kept them apart. Until marriage, there were limits neither wished to cross, but closeness like this felt just as intimate.
As the sun dipped lower, Azenet studied him with narrowed eyes.
"So," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. "How did you even get hurt? Let me guess... you meddled again."
Khisa sighed. "It couldn’t be helped this time."
Her teasing faded.
"People were dying," he continued quietly. "It was bad. Faizah was hurt... tortured. She’s still recovering."
Azenet’s hand tightened around his.
"I thought I could manage it all," Khisa admitted. "But this time... I think I bit off more than I could chew."
He didn’t say that to anyone else. He never did.
Azenet reached up, cupping his face gently, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"The man I met in Abyssinia," she said softly, "was just as brave as the one sitting before me now."
Khisa didn’t interrupt.
"Your people follow you because they trust you. Because your presence gives them courage. You rebuilt a fallen navy. You gave our kingdom a fighting chance."
Her voice steadied.
"Today, our people no longer fear Adal soldiers dragging them from their homes. Our army stands again. That only happened because you chose to intervene."
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but her gaze never wavered.
"I will always worry," she whispered. "But never stop. What you did in Kongo saved that country. Even though I almost lost you... I know you would have regretted it forever if you hadn’t acted."
Khisa closed his eyes briefly, resting his forehead against hers.
Night fell gently over Lusimba.
Queen Nanjala hosted a formal dinner in their honor, warm, dignified, filled with shared laughter and careful conversation. They spoke of current affairs late into the evening.
Abyssinia, they reported, was holding strong. Continuous raids had disrupted Ottoman supply lines, weapons meant for Adal redirected instead. Ports had been reclaimed, though fighting to secure them still continued.
Internally, the rot had been cut away.
The traitors were hanged.
Even the emperor’s brother.
The currency was stabilizing, slowly, steadily spreading among merchants. It would take time, but the foundation was firm.
Khisa shared Nuri’s own burdens.
Buganda’s plague. Nuri’s intervention. The revelation that it had been man-made.
"A noble in Kongo," Khisa explained. "They planned to turn Buganda into a puppet. When we stopped them... we became the next target."
"So you had no choice," Tadesse said quietly.
"No," Khisa replied. "We didn’t."
The candles burned low as the night deepened.
Outside, the fields of Lusimba slept peacefully, unaware of the storms still gathering beyond its borders.
For now, Khisa allowed himself this moment.
Tomorrow would demand strength again.
