Chapter 1

Joon-seo hated the rain. He hated everything about it.

He hated the incessant banging of the droplets against the giwa-tiled roofs of his estate. He hated how the once warm ivory walls of his garden seemed gray whenever they were soaked through. He hated how the rich smell of pine disappeared, replaced by wet stone and mud.

Going outside meant being drenched and caked in filth.

Staying inside meant suffocating under the strict, critical eye of his father as he recited Neo-Confucian classics for the hundredth time.

Every single day, it was the same routine.

Before dawn, came calligraphy. Before breakfast, came the Classics. Before sleep, came memorization.

He had recited passages from the Analects so many times, he was convinced he could remember them in his sleep. If the dead could retain memories, he would probably even recite them long after he was gone.

That day was a rainy day like no other.

Joon-seo woke, dressed himself in his blue and gray hanbok, and tied his hair into the neat style expected of an unmarried yangban youth. With a quiet sigh, he picked up the scroll he had been working on the previous evening, rolled it with practiced hands, tucked it beneath his arm, and stepped out of his bedchamber into the long wooden corridors of the Gwon estate.

He internally cringed at the creaks the floors made with every step.

Surely, the entire estate knew where he was at all times. If not by the sound of his footsteps, then by the incessant sounds of the floorboards announcing his arrival.

I utterly regret getting up today, I should have just feigned ill…

Though his father would undoubtedly not take a liking to that excuse, he could probably finesse his mother into giving him the day off… or at least a few hours.

The rain pounded over the estate, the wind flowing frigid air throughout. He knew it would be painful to grab his brush that day, but he would do so, regardless. He had decided the time had come to take the Gwageo exams soon and had given himself until the upcoming year, and till then, he would spend every waking moment preparing himself.

Soon he arrived at the main hall. His father raised an eyebrow at him acknowledging his presence. He gracefully bowed to his father and mother then took a seat at the table. An assortment of food had been spread out, a servant hustled out of the room carrying a tray of fresh fruit, bowing at him as she passed his seat.

“Let me see what you have worked on, Joon-seo,” his father said.

“Of course, Minister Gwon.” he said as he passed him the scroll.

With a stern face, his father gave it a glance. Smirking slightly then looking at his son.

“As expected, your calligraphy is a work of art. I expect that soon you will be prepared for the exams.”

Joon-seo smiled slightly, nodding at his father and grabbing his chopsticks, ready to eat.

His mother let out a huge exaggerated sigh.

“Exams this, exams that! I care nothing for these exams, you have our son locked up inside this house studying so much, he will never meet a decent noble woman, and I will never have grandchildren!”

Annoyance tinged his father’s features.

“He needs to study in order to ensure our dynasty’s legacy is not broken, woman! Not once have we had an heir that failed this exam! By passing the Gwageo, our Gwon family will hold prestige and he will honor our bloodline. ”

“Tell me, Gwon Min-jae! How is it you suppose we continue to honor our bloodline if it dies with him? Twenty-six years of age. No wife. No children. Not even a suitable match under consideration. We have utterly failed our son!”

Joon-seo awkwardly lifted the steamed fish to his mouth and ate in silence as he watched the entire interaction unfold. Soon his eyes were fixated on his plate, at least the food never told him what to do.

“He will have plenty of time to find a decent wife, Hye-rin, he is a dashing young fellow. I am sure plenty of the young ladies will fall at his feet.”

His mom let out an exasperated sigh as she sat regally at the table, in a concealed angry tone she glared at his father.

“Dashing? He resembles you, you were lucky we were wed at a young age, those dashing features soon fade.”

Joon-seo nearly choked on his vegetables as his father gasped.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” they said in unison.

But his mother was not having it. She angrily left the table with her head held high, leaving Joon-seo in shock as his father’s stern demeanor immediately melted. Minister Gwon hurried after his wife, practically groveling at her feet as she stormed away, ignoring him completely.

Joon-seo let out a sigh as he left the hall.

Everyday was the same, his father only seemed to care about his studies, his mother only cared about marrying him off to some noble woman. They argued constantly.

He shivered…

If this is what marriage looks like–constant bickering, then surely this is not the life I want for myself.

He truly could not imagine the stress of dealing with women and children, they were so foreign to him, unlike books, they were not easy for him to understand.

He sat down in his private study room, prepared to start reading the classics once again.

It was a nerve-wracking feeling, being prepared yet constantly feeling like it would never be enough…

Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever be truly ready…

Meanwhile…

The Indian Ocean’s breeze swept through the royal coastal compounds of Cabo Delgado. The streets were alive, sounds of bustling merchants, trade vessels and lively storytellers and showmen. One would believe that silence was non-existent under this sun-kissed land so many had learned to call home. And they would be absolutely right.

Overlooking the lush fields, nestled amongst not large intimidating walls, but mahogany brown wooden fences and groves of fruit, lay the Nammarai compound. There stood the Mkuu Nammarari residence at the center, surrounded by the homes of relatives, honored elders, humble servants and trusted retainers. And inside the largest of the homes, sat Zawadi in a room, surrounded by her beloved tribe of women.

She squinted as they tugged and pulled at her hair, chattering amongst each other in Makua, gossiping about every topic they could possibly think of as they braided her locks.

“Your hair is so long and beautiful, it’s already down to your waist, my lovely daughter,” her aunt Mandisa said.

Zawadi felt her cheeks heat up at the compliment.

She tried to remain still and quiet while they patiently worked, adorning her hair with cowrie shells and golden intricate decals to finish.

Once done she met her father in the entrance hall. Woven reed walls, with polished wood pillars. The hall was cool, despite the heat from outside, sunlight filtered through the woven screens casting golden intricate patterns on the packed earthen floor.

“Father!” she said with a bright smile on her face. Chief Jabari’s face brightened as he laid eyes on his daughter. She was the spitting image of her mother at her age and she carried herself just as regally. With her head held high, she did a little spin and curtseyed like she had learned to do in her international relations lessons.

“This might be my favorite design yet, my child, he said.

She smiled as she played with the cowrie shells woven into her hair, shells that had once belonged to her dear mother.

“Will you take me out to the village? I am out of n’siro.”

“Why must you always wait until the last minute, Zawadi, I have told you multiple times to let me know of what you need, before they run out.”

“I am sorry, dear father. I have been spending so much time on my language and music lessons that it slipped my mind. Surely you will not hold it against me?” she said, batting her eyes at her father.

This is utter emotional manipulation… Her father thought as he let out a sigh and nodded. He held out his arm and she looped it through his as he led her to the compounds accompanied by two Makua warriors.

Zawadi contained her excitement as they arrived at the markets. Making sure she kept up with her noble appearance. Her father had earned his spot as chief through hard work, knowledge, and respect, and she would make sure to maintain his image intact.

Makua villagers and Portuguese merchants alike greeted Zawadi and her father as they passed. She returned every greeting with a warm smile.

“Mocheleliwa” she said to greet her people.

“Bom dia,” she said to the Portuguese.

Soon they arrived at their favorite merchant.

“Bom dia, Joao y Daniela.”

They both greeted her in return. Daniela was a well known merchant who had lived in the village since she remembered, and her brother Joao, a famous trader and diplomat.

“I trust that you have completed your tasks in French and Korean, Zawadi?” Joao asked.

Zawadi’s lips raised in a slightly smug teasing smirk.

“Je ne parle pas français, Joao.” she said, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue. Causing both Joao and Daniela to start laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to. On another note, I have come here because I need to fix a crisis and I believe you can help me!” she said.

The siblings looked at her with genuine concern. She grabbed Daniela’s hands and placed them over her chest theatrically.

“My dear friend, look at my face, do you see what is wrong?”

Daniela examined her but could not figure out what seemed to be amiss.

“It’s my mask, Daniela! I had so little n’siro this morning that I could barely cover my eyes!”

Daniela let out a groan.

“You made me worried, Zawadi! You should not scare your elders like that!”

“What elder, you’re only two years more of age than I,” she said.

“We just got a new shipment from the jungles of roots and bark, come with me. I will crush them for you. Also, we got a new shipment of threads and linens from Portugal, come help me design a new dress for you.”

Zawadi’s eyes shined at the mention of a new dress, she had already owned 7 and she loved to rotate between traditional wear and the beautiful dresses.

She turned to her father.

“Will you be accompanying us? Maybe you can design some clothing, also.”

Her father looked to be genuinely considering it before he shook his head.

“That sounds like something that would make my head hurt, run along my child, these activities are not fit for me. Be sure to design something nice for this old man.”

She kissed his cheek and left with Daniela.

Inside her work room, Daniela got to work on crushing the roots and bark for Zawadi to make her mussiro mask as Zawadi eyed the fabrics she had laid out across the table. White with gold woven patterns, silk and lace from overseas. She had never seen a fabric so fine. She ran her fingers over the soft silk with a grace that Daniela was sure was given to her by God himself.

Even Daniela sometimes was amazed by her composure.

“What kind of gown have you got in mind?”

Daniela’s smile faltered for only a moment before returning. Had Zawadi not known her for nearly her entire life, she might have missed it.

“Well, your father requested we have these specific fabrics shipped in.”

Zawadi raised a curious eyebrow.

“What is the occasion?”

“You are meant to wear them on your upcoming travels.”

Zawadi let out a sigh of relief, she was meant to travel to Nagasaki alongside her father as his diplomatic apprentice.

Years and years she had spent studying international trade, politics, language, and arts. She vividly remembered staying up over countless nights, tirelessly practicing international customs. She had played the piano until her fingers wept, and had corrected her posture until her neck was sore.

“All this training will finally be of use to my father…”

Daniela nodded and said nothing else.

“Why are you so quiet today, Daniela?”

Daniela opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, but decided not to.

“Erm-no reason, I feel a little faint today.”

A sharp look of concern painted Zawadi’s face.

“How dare my father send for you to make a gown whilst you are ill, I’ll have to exchange words with him later. The n’siro will be enough for today, dear friend. We shall continue with dress plans after you have had your rest.”

Outside the cabin, the air was thick.

“Are you sure we should bring Zawadi on this trip? It’s not customary for us to travel with women to diplomatic events.”

“Customary for whom? Zawadi is my descendant, she will take over my place one day.”

Joao scratched the back of his head.

“I understand, but are you sure she is ready? She will be surrounded by men. Surely such a place is not secure for a woman of her petite stature.”

Chief Jabari walked over to Joao until he was towering over him.

“Then I suggest you take very good care of my daughter, and ensure she is guarded properly.”

Joao gulped and nodded.

Zawadi soon left the tent and turned to her father and Joao.

“I will see you in a moment for our lessons, Joao.” and with a small curtsy she grabbed onto her father’s arm, pulling him away without another word.

Back in the Gwon Estate…

“I seek her and cannot find her.

Waking and sleeping, I think of her.”

— Guan Ju

Joon-seo frowned.

Surely the poet exaggerated.

No woman could possibly occupy a man’s thoughts so completely.

If she did, it was likely because he lacked discipline.

He resisted the urge to let out a bitter laugh as he pondered the meaning of the poem. No matter how hard he tried to comprehend this passage, he simply could not figure it out.

How is it that a man could have been so consumed by a woman that he neglected what was truly important? Studies, duty, honor, surely this holds more importance when it comes to being a head of a dynasty?

Sometimes, he considered it impossible to truly understand some of the lessons he had no experience with. To him, his mother and father’s relationship was a vivid depiction of how two spouses worked together to instill nobility and prestige within their offspring.

Marriage and love should never distract a man from his duties. It is meant to maintain honor in your bloodline.

Never had it occurred to him to ask his father, he was capable enough to properly assess a marriage dynamic. Still he found it curious how his father never bore to see his mother upset, even when he was the sole cause of her disdain.

What will come of me after I complete the exams? Will my mother force me to settle down with a noble woman, will my father expect me to continue my studies or become a diplomat?

So much of his attention had been consumed by this exam that he had barely even taken the time to consider what would come next until this moment.

He let out a sigh as a servant came into his study and with a polite bow, she said, “Young master, your evening meal has been prepared. Will you be eating in your study again?”

The petite servant did not look him in the eye as she spoke, her head kept down, her posture remained in a weak bow.

Evening meal? How long have I been here?

“Will my father and mother be dining in the hall tonight?”

“Madam has left to attend a gathering, and your father received an urgent summons from the State Council. ”

A gathering? Hmpf, surely another attempt to find a woman she deemed fit to be his wife.

“What do you know about the summons?” He asked, inclined to ask the servant to stand straight and look him in the eye. He knew the ache of remaining in the same position for such a prolonged time and the lack of eye contact, made it harder for him to read her lips, as she was so soft-spoken, her words seemed to be barely above a whisper. But alas, that would not be proper.

“I have limited information on the matter, young master. Upon receiving the summons the Master assembled his men and immediately rode off.”

Curious… I will have to ask my father upon his return.

He nodded.

“Just bring the food here. You may be on your way.”

“I will send for your meal to be brought in at once, young master.”

After his meal, Joon-seo returned to his quarters, as he lay in his bed, he couldn’t help but feel a weight in his chest, as if something big were to happen.

Of course, it was not every day a minister was summoned so suddenly by the State Council.

Whatever business required his father’s immediate presence, it could not be ordinary.

Joon-seo closed his eyes.

By this time tomorrow, he would learn just how much his life was about to change…