Chapter 4
Being back home hurt. It hurt more than she was ever prepared for. At first, everything was a flurry of action and talks and greetings and arrangements. She hadn’t had the time to process the feelings that came with being home again. But now she’d been settled for a week and the empty echoes of the palace brought her nothing but pain. Black greeted her as she stared up from her bed, unable to sleep with all the memories haunting her.
The Elders had insisted she go to each of their tribes in person and interact with her people before they would hold their meeting with her, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was just a way to delay her departure and keep her trapped as a figurehead in the palace. She loved her people, she’d do anything for them, but the past week had only cemented in her mind just how different she was from them.
She greeted families, couples, and children. The whole time she had to smile and answer questions and be the good and diplomatic princess she was expected to be. She tried to relate to them, really she did. She truly cared for and wished to protect everyone she met, but there was a disconnect between her and them. Many of them had never faced war or battle. They hadn’t been brought up with royal duties. They didn’t hold the power of the Black Panther in their fingertips. She could barely relate to any of the daily troubles and triumphs they told her about.
It reminded her of one of her earliest memories with her brother. T’Challa had found her crying in her room and had run to hold her. “Sister, what is wrong? Are you hurt?” It was the first day she’d gone to present her invention at school for their end-of-year projects. She’d created a bracelet that doubled as a tracker and communication device, the earliest prototype of her kimoyo beads. She’d been so excited to show her classmates her device, and even more so to show the science guild, since it was the one time a year where they came freely to the schools.
After she’d finished with her speech and showing off the colorful bracelet, she’d finally looked up from her wrist only to be met with disdain and confusion. Her classmates didn’t seem to understand a word she’d said, and her teacher and the guild representative were exchanging unreadable glances with each other. Her teacher had pulled her aside and told her that it wasn’t fair to the other students for her to build something with palace resources for a school project. When she tried to protest and say that she’d only used what she’d found lying around, she was silenced with an open hand and a sigh. She’d looked to M’Juraba of the science guild for something, anything, to tell her where she’d gone wrong, but all she received was a calm sentence about how inventing wasn’t really befitting the station of Princess, but that “the bracelet looks very nice”.
She’d run home crying, not waiting for T’Challa to come pick her up the way she usually did. But, of course, her brother had come and found her anyway. He’d held her in this very room, rocking her back and forth as she told him through tears what had happened. She was only six at the time, and it was all so scary and confusing to her. She remembers asking him what she did wrong, and the kind look in his eyes as he told her “You did nothing wrong Shuri, they are just jealous of how cool you are.” He’d taken the bracelet from her with a toothy smile and slid it easily onto his wrist, proclaiming “See? Who else is cool enough to make a prince wear a bracelet?”
Her eyes watered as she remembered her brother on that day. Soon after, her Baba had found out and had demanded that she be given her own lab space to build whatever she wanted. Her mama had implemented more intensive education programs throughout all of the tribes, and her brother proudly wore any invention she made for him, claiming he had the smartest sister in all the lands. A teary laugh escaped her as she thought of those years. It was just the four of them against the world, all so happy and free.
Sitting up, she pushed her palms against her eyes, giving up on rest for the night. Getting up, she padded out of her room and to the one place she had tried to avoid since coming here. Mother would not want me wallowing in my room.
Standing before the doors to the throne room had never before been so ominous. The Dora that guarded the room thankfully did not say a word as they opened the great wooden doors and allowed her inside.
Immediately, flashes of the last time she was here burst behind her eyes and her knees shook under her weight. Forcing steel into her limbs, she walked as quickly as she dared to the throne, now upright, in the center of the room. Everything had been repaired, as though nothing had ever happened here.
She stared unblinking at the throne before her, not wanting to even touch it. She’d have to sit here tomorrow. M’Baku had insisted as much when she’d talked with him today. “I may be King for now, but that is not my throne to have. Besides, it’s so stiff and uncomfortable, I much prefer the seat of Jabariland.” It was obvious that he was doing it for her sake, but she was grateful nonetheless. The only problem was, she wanted nothing to do with the seat before her. Once she sat in it, even if only for a meeting, it would become final.
Each member of her family had sat on the throne differently. Baba had sat leaning on the left arm rest. T’Challa had sat firmly in the middle, his hands lightly resting on the edge of the arms. Her mother had sat on the edge, hands folded firmly in her lap. And then there was N’Jadaka.
Killmonger had lounged on the throne as though it were a luxury armchair. He’d done so when he’d stolen the throne from T’Challa, and again in the ancestral plane. Thinking of him on the throne sent shivers of fear down her spine. The heat of the flames and the cool of the water had been unbearable as he’d lain out his offer to her.
“Do you want to be noble, like your brother? Or do you wanna take care of business, like me?”
Her eyes fell closed as that familiar anger tried to rush through her again. No. I am not him. I will not allow him to sway me again. Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes and stared at the damned chair in front of her. She was not her father, or her brother, or her cousin, or her mother. She was Shuri. The Black Panther. This was her throne, even if she had left the title to the gorilla. Turning around, she lowered herself to sit on the cool vibranium. The rigid posture she’d been taught to hold at meetings was the only thing that kept her upright. How was she meant to sit? What kind of ruler would she be? Even if she didn’t hold the title, she knew that she still ruled Wakanda through M’Baku. He would give the seat back to her in an instant if she ever voiced the want to him. What kind of protector did she want to be?
The air in the room felt stifling even though she was alone. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, reaching yet again for her mother, for anyone. A warm presence seemed to envelop her in response and for a brief moment she saw a flash of purple skies. The presence seemed to intensify, and she knew that somehow, some way, Bast was giving her the gift of her family’s comfort once more. Arms of warmth wrapped around her from all sides and for once she didn’t try to rationalize it. The logical side of her brain was silenced as three pairs of arms reached through all barriers of life to hold her tight.
Silent tears ran down her face as she sat, basking in this sacred moment. Slowly, the warmth faded, and the firm presence dissipated. She wanted to reach out and stop it, stop them from leaving her, but she didn’t. Something told her that wasn’t what they wanted. She opened her eyes to find herself bent forward, arms on her legs and eyes to the floor. So, this is how I sit. Very well. She’d been given the answers she wanted.
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A long groan escaped her lips as she finally sat down on the riverbank. Bast, those people are ruthless. The Elders had taken a whole week to deliberate on the arrangement between her and M’Baku before eventually deciding they were fine with it after all. But of course, they had to grill the pair the whole time and lay out needless terms and formalities in writing. She’d said nothing of Toussaint but had nearly choked when they specified that “if an heir to the throne were to arise, they would have to pass trial with Princess Shuri through ritual combat”. They’d meant any heirs of hers, not her brother’s, but it still scared her shitless thinking she’d slipped up and they’d figured it out. Nakia would’ve killed her, sister or not.
Truthfully, she wouldn’t have made it through the chaos of the Elder council without M’Baku, and yet again she was reminded to make him something as a gift. She snorted as she imagined the look on his face if she gifted him the dancing gorilla figure that had been sitting in her blueprints for years. He pretended to hate her technology, but more than once, she’d found him reading up on nanotechnology and the advancements implemented into Wakandan streets in his library. It warmed her heart that he seemed willing to give her a chance to change his mind on tradition.
Problem was, now that the council was pleased that M’Baku could legally rule as King Regent, their focus had shifted to the battle of Talokan and King Namor’s surrender. That, she had few answers for. She’d spent the last two days dictating all of the events of her interactions with Talokan, as well as her own perspective on the nation and its people. They’d grilled her over and over for every single detail of every day after Namor showed himself to her and her mother demanding the American scientist and an alliance. Now, they wanted to know what the specifics were of the truce she struck with him on the beach.
She’d avoided thinking about that man as anything other than the King of Talokan in her recollections to the council, but now she was faced with the fact that she had to find a way to get in touch with him again. She could probably try to go to Talokan directly, but something told her that would be taken as an act of war instead of peace. Whatever happened to the shell he gave Mother? A frown pursed her lips. Nakia had said something about the Queen Mother using it to lure him out during her rescue, but nothing of what had happened to it after. Did he take it back? Or was it in the palace somewhere?
Cold splashed her feet and she jumped into a crouch instinctively. The spikes on her neck reminded her of her suit if she needed it, but as she looked around, there were no threats to be found. What? She looked down and slumped in something akin to disappointment in herself when she saw that it was just the river. She’d forgotten that it had tides just like the ocean and had sat too close to it. Sighing, she looked at the water in thought. Aside from bathing, she hadn’t touched water since dragging Namor to it after his surrender.
There was the one time, in Haiti a few weeks after everything had settled, but she hadn’t gone in deliberately. Nakia had told her to go fetch Toussaint for dinner, and the boy had insisted on running through the waves in an impromptu game of tag. Her heart had seized in her chest with panic, and she’d rushed into the water to sweep him up in her arms, terrified of him being taken or drowned. His giggling had snapped her out of her fear, and she’d played it off as part of the game, but she couldn’t deny her anxiety when it came to the ocean.
She stared at the water lapping at the riverbank’s edge and carefully reached a hand out to it. Cool, clear liquid rushed between her fingertips. It was fascinating how versatile it was. Necessary for all known life on Earth, but also the driving force behind many natural disasters. Beautiful and dangerous. Sounds a lot like a certain god-king I know.
Standing up, her gaze lingered on the water at her feet. I should probably get back to the palace for lunch. The council will just have to deal without me today. She knew she couldn’t face them until she had answers, so she considered locking herself away in her labs and improving her suit to kill time until she found a way to contact him.
As she pondered her options, a strange phenomenon took place all around her. The quiet that she’d stood in was overtaken by the sounds of the brushlands all around her. That was a new development since she had consumed the heart-shaped herb. T’Challa had told her of how his senses were enhanced, but she’d never studied anything besides his strength in order to build his equipment. It wasn’t just her hearing, either.
She could hear crickets hopping between blades of grass, the wind whistling between the branches of the trees, and the splashing sounds of wildlife drinking somewhere upriver. She could smell the metallic tang of the suit stored in her necklace, the sharp scent of wild berry bushes, and the faint wafts of firewood being burned somewhere in the distance. Her body became acutely aware of every type of fabric and texture making contact with it. Her eyes were overcome with the details of the grains of sand at her feet. All at once, each one of her senses was overcome with the world around her and she had to sit down again, not caring about the water splashing around her as she did.
Right, she’d felt some of this when she’d first taken the herb, but not all at once. What was it her brother had said he’d done once when he was panicked? Something about picking out the pieces? She can’t recall the exact answer he gave, or even the question she had asked him, but it had something to do with focusing on one thing at a time. Okay Shuri, new problem. Just approach it like any other.
Air filled her lungs with a scratching persistence, so she forced deeper, longer breaths until the feeling faded. Smells of the wildlife around her were making her nose itch and burn, so she concentrated on the familiar smell of the vibranium in her necklace and on her kimoyo beads. Her eyes squeezed shut against the brightness of the noon sun, and she resolved to fix her sight last.
Taste was hard to fix. She hadn’t eaten anything today, so there were no lingering flavors to deal with, but she was still overly aware of the taste of her own mouth. She didn’t think mouths had a taste. I guess I was wrong. She decided to cup her hands in the river around her and bring them to her mouth to drink. She held the water in her mouth and focused on only its clean, smooth taste until it dulled back to being just water. Swallowing, she was pleased to find the sensation didn’t bruise her throat the way she feared it might.
The sounds of the river were near deafening, but manageable to sort through. She settled on the rushing water and let it lull her into a daze until all other sounds drifted away. After she felt sure that the rest of her senses had calmed down, she slowly opened her eyes and winced at the pain that lanced through them. Forcing herself to focus only on the line of the horizon in front of her, she zoned out and let her mind wander once more.
The Panther’s blessings felt more like curses right now, but she was already planning ways to incorporate these intense senses into her suit for a tactical advantage in future battles. I don’t remember T’Challa or Baba really dealing with this kind of overstimulation. Her brain reached for reasons for the disparities while her eyes gradually adjusted to the light of the sun. Eventually she decided that it must have been because her herb was synthesized. What was the confidence Griot had indicated? 99.8% or something like that? That still left 0.2% of wiggle room for unprecedented side effects.
Her sight was mercifully adjusted by now, with only a slight headache in its wake as she blinked at the horizon. The light on the plains was beautiful and golden and she sat a little longer, just taking in the natural essence of it all. Her gaze shifted down and to the water in front of her and she startled when she found a pair of eyes staring back at her. Namor.
How long had he been there? How long had she been sitting here? Her eyes darted to her surroundings. When did it become afternoon? It appeared he came alone, but just to be sure she focused her sight on the currents in the river. No other bodies could be seen under the rushing water. His smooth voice broke her out of her quick observations.
“It’s just me, princess. I come alone.” He stood a few feet away from her, when did he come out of the water?, and she scrambled to stand to her feet. Him being here on Wakanda’s shores did not bode well for her people. A buzzing filled her veins as he stood there looking at her. Without meaning to, her eyes raked over his form. He didn’t carry his spear with him, and the wound in her stomach flared slightly at the realization. That must be a good sign, right? She took in his broad shoulders and the water cascading freely from his hair and chestpiece. Even just standing there, he was the picture of power and command. He looked healthy and didn’t appear aggressive, but she held her suspicions. His dark eyes met her gaze evenly. Clearing her throat, she spoke.
“What are you doing here Namor?” Saying his name aloud again made a small storm of emotions flood her heart. They were technically allies now, but that didn’t stop a bitter part of her from feeling every negative emotion known to man in his company. A small grin flashed across his face before he responded.
“What? You did not want a rematch with me?” Her teeth bared and her fists clenched before she’d even fully processed what he’d said. She took a step towards him, intent on… doing something violent to him, but no. She couldn’t. Despite the buzz in her body increasing to a dull roar, she shouldn’t be so quick to violence. He agreed to a truce, even if the meaning of that had yet to be determined. Stopping herself in her tracks, she closed her eyes and forced the tension from her body. She could do this. Without fighting him again.
She looked at him with as neutral of an expression as she could muster. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re here. The Elders are demanding I give them the exact terms of our agreement. Sit. We might as well hash them out here.” Anxiety coiled in her at bossing him around so directly. He was a king who was likely used to never being told what to do, a king that- was sitting down?
“Of course. What are your terms?”, came the honeyed words from his mouth. For a moment she stood in shock. That was easy. Shouldn’t he be arguing with her? A king like him didn’t take orders from foreign princesses. At least, that was the impression he had given off. Snapping out of her shock, she cleared her throat again, hoping she didn’t appear as awkward as she felt.
She lowered herself to the sands and sat cross-legged a few feet from him. There was a moment of silent tension while she collected her thoughts enough to start these improvised negotiations. Maybe I should’ve asked the Elders what they wanted our terms to be. To his credit, he waited patiently as she thought, not moving an inch or pressing her for time. He did come to me, maybe he’s got the free time to kill.
“It goes without saying that in your surrender, you swear not to bring harm to any Wakandan lives from this point on. The same will be said for us and the Talokanil people.” Starting simple was the best way to approach this man and his very direct way of thinking.
He nodded and gestured between them as he spoke, “Of course, that was the whole point of yielding mid-battle, was it not?” She swallowed and nodded. So far, so good.
“I assume then that you are fine with Talokan and Wakanda being considered allies? Nations that would protect each other as their own if the need ever came up?” For once, she was glad T’Challa had forced her to stay in the room for some of his diplomacy lessons when they were young, otherwise she wouldn’t know where to go from here.
Namor nodded again and surprisingly did not interject with his own terms or comments. The feathered serpent was being unusually gracious, but she wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth. Taking a deep breath, she pushed on to the more difficult topics. “We will not demand you reveal yourselves if you do not wish to, it would be hypocritical of a nation once in the same position as yours. However, we must be assured that you will stand by our side in battle even if it could potentially reveal your people to the surface world.” She averted her eyes to the sand between them as she spoke, unable to match his intense gaze.
He was quiet, but she didn’t push, figuring that giving him the same patience that he’d given her was only fair. She chanced a look up at his face and found a frown underneath his jade nosepiece. The sun was almost at the horizon now, and the glow reflected off his body and jewelry with a godly shine that tried its best to blind her.
“The kingdom of Talokan swears to stand by Wakanda even if it means revealing ourselves to the surface. Know that this means any time you may call on us must only be as the last possible resort.” His tone brokered no argument, and she found herself nodding in agreement. She thinks her people are still sensitive to the ocean warriors and it’d be best for both of their nations to not interact until peace can be settled amongst the citizens.
Taking a deep breath, she let her heart settle. This was going well. She was doing well. “Good, that’s the most obvious demands out of the way. The next few terms are conditional, feel free to accept or deny them as you wish.” He tilted his head at her, his drying hair shifting with the breeze. Still, he said nothing, so she took it as her cue to continue. Her palms were sweaty, and she tried to ignore the pounding of her heart as she spoke the next few terms she thought the council would want established.
“We’d like to exchange information with Talokan. Data about our culture for data about yours. We have a science guild here, and many of its members would like to see a cooperation between us to improve our technology and understanding of the world.” She tried not to let any sourness show on her face as she spoke of the science guild. Though she had become the chief engineer of Wakanda, many of its members did not like her, and her experiences in her youth did not endear them much to her.
The serpent god picked up on her distaste. “Ah, something tells me you are not happy to be asking this.” His eyes were narrowed as he spoke, like he could see through her and straight into her thoughts. She shrugged, hoping he would drop it. His hands clasped in front of him, and he bit his lip. Her eyes were drawn to the motion before she could stop them. How are his teeth so white? How did you brush your teeth underwater?
His words drew her out of her distracted musings. “How do you propose we exchange this information? I imagine the systems we use for record-keeping are very different.” He made a good point; it seemed the two countries were on opposite ends of a technology spectrum.
“We’ll figure that out when it becomes a problem. Do you accept or deny?” Please just pick one, I don’t know how long I can argue these things. His eyebrows shot up, and to her amusement, it appeared as though his ears moved back in surprise as well. I wondered if they were different from our ears beyond their elfish resemblance.
“Very well. I accept to a trade of cultural information. I cannot speak to my own nation’s willingness to share technology with yours, but I will propose it to them upon my return.” Nodding again, she prepared to speak her next terms, but he beat her to it. “However, there is another term I wish to add to this exchange.”
Her mouth opened and closed in surprise, but she swallowed and nodded, waiting for him to continue. This was more like the Namor she met in the caverns above Talokan.
“Art is very important to my people. We value it as much as we do any technology or craftsmanship. If you agree to share your art with us as well as your science, then I accept the terms.” Remembering the murals in his office, that made a lot more sense. She had yet to fully research Mayan culture as the western world knew it, but she knew art was a form of storytelling as well as record keeping. In Wakanda, it came in many forms as a way of forming a connection between people and their ancestors.
“Yeah, we can do that.” Words slipped from her lips, and she cursed their lack of formality. She’d been caught off-guard, and her training had completely dropped for a moment. A shark’s grin pulled across his face and she flustered, trying to regain her control of the situation.
“Anyways, the last term I can think of right now is about combat.” He tensed up and the smile slid from his face into a more serious expression. She took a deep breath as subtly as she could before continuing. “If Wakanda is to help Talokan in the future, it would be best if our warriors knew how to fight underwater. That would also mean us teaching your warriors about the best ways to fight on land.”
The king before her bristled. “My warriors are more than capable on land. They do not need your training.”
“I never said they weren’t. It would just do both our peoples some good to get practice in with different opponents than from within their own nation.” He seemed to mull it over in his head, his features visibly morphing from offense to consideration.
“As you wish, princess. That raises another question for me, however,” he looked to her before continuing, almost like he was seeking her permission. “Would my people be free to walk amongst your lands? Or would yours come to Talokan and use our masks? A neutral ground, though ideal for training, would not help to build trust amongst our subjects.”
That gave her pause. She did not want to let the Talokanil army walk freely on the streets they flooded. But she also did not want to send her own soldiers to an underwater city where they could not function without heavy suits. She stared at Namor as she thought. He was truly the only one of them that could actually pull off the transition between land and water without assistance. He started to fidget under her gaze. Finally, she settled on a compromise that should help to slowly build trust between the warriors of each nation.
“We wait on the training exercises until each of our kingdoms have built a designated area for it. If you’d like we could alternate periods of training with periods of leisure. That way our people could become familiar with each other in between sparring with each other. I’ll get started on building flexible high-pressure suits for Wakandan soldiers so that they can join you underwater when the time comes. How does that sound?”
A smile slowly crept across his face, and she found herself shifting where she sat. Why are all of his expressions so intense? “You truly have the mind of a Queen, princess. I accept your terms. I am sure both of our councils will find something to complain about, but for now I am content to leave the negotiations here. They can argue about the specifics once we’ve established a communication system.” At the mention of the word Queen, Shuri tensed up. Fighting back the rageful voice that sounded disturbingly like her late cousin, she swallowed and stood up.
“Fine by me. Should we shake on it?” She held out her hand to him. He looked up at her puzzled for a moment before rising to his feet and making his way toward her. Each step closer to her sent an electric current zipping through her veins, and she tried to keep the anxiety from eating her alive. He came to a stop less than a foot from her, forcing her hand back against her body unless she wanted to be touching his chest. He stared at her hand, seemingly confused, for a moment longer before coming to a conclusion and grasping it firmly with his own.
What he did next froze her like an antelope in headlights. Though his right hand gripped hers, his left hand came up to lightly cup the back of her neck as he pressed their foreheads together. What's happening? Her wide eyes stared up at him only inches away.
“Our truce is sealed, Black Panther. I will return to my people with the terms of our agreement. Once you have settled things with your council, stand in the water and I will come to work out the specifics of our communication. Though our history may be written in blood, may our future be written in jade. You have my friendship, from one god to another.”
With that, he let go and stepped away. He gave her a final nod before diving into the river and swimming away. Shuri stood there dumbfounded with her hand in the air as the sun set. What?