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Once her funeral garbs are burnt, Nakia invites Shuri into her abode, but she declines, wishing to stay just for a moment longer in the lingering smoke, in the remnants of her anguish and grief.
Nakia only smiles in understanding and grips her hands, offering comfort, before leaving. Her darling nephew bashfully ducks in for a hug, and Shuri laughs wetly, squeezing him back before planting a kiss on the crown of his precious head.
Nakia's smile is watery as she says, "Come in when you're ready but don't take too long." With that, she stands, but not without casting a furtive glance at the water. Shuri can only smile reassuringly at her concern, touching a hand to the Black Panther pendant hidden under her shirt. Nakia nods and finally takes her stance, saluting her farewell, and takes Toussaint's hand as they walk away.
Shuri turns back toward the crashing water once her sister-in-law and nephew fade from sight. She's not as wary of the sea as her fellow Wakandans. Despite all her loss and grief, despite the anger and hurt, Shuri still vividly remembers the child who greeted her in that underwater world, a beautiful, innocent smile on her lips. She remembers the sophisticated civilization, the rich culture, the food, and the garbs. She remembers that radiant, otherworldly palace made from vibranium and the bargain of a man who played at being a God. She remembers his greeting smile, his tender touch looping around her wrist, and the lulling cadence of his voice when he offered to burn the world with her.
But that was before.
That was when she offered to stay, fascinated by the rich history and cultures, enraptured by the possibility of hope, of a peaceful alliance, of bonding over shared losses and finding common ground, enchanted by his soft eyes and his welcoming smile, and his warm touch. That was when she thought that his intentions towards her were truthful and loyal. That was when she was naive and foolish, when she thought he was just a desperate man trying to protect his people.
And then he proved himself to be a cruel, vengeful God.
He made her queen and took her mother and terrorize her nation and- and-
-and he yielded.
He yielded.
Shuri is unafraid because he yielded,, because she defeated him but spared him, spared his people. She did what was honorable, what was right. Because that is who she is, hopeful, merciful—
-naive-
-so that there can be peace for their kingdoms.
And, in turn, he swore to no longer raise a hand nor a thumb against her, to never let anyone raise a hand nor a thumb against her while he still stands.
Shuri knows him to be one who keeps his promises, the good-
-we could burn the world together-
-and the ugly-
-Wakanda will be the first to fall-
-you are queen now-
-all of them ugly and wretched and cruel, a betrayal, but he kept them.
She's confident he'll keep this one as well.
-
Shuri touches a tentative hand to her belly, to the singular scar that she allowed to scab over and ruin her body. A reminder of her weakness and her strength, of her pain and anguish, of her honor and generosity, of her love for her people-
-of her love for his people
-for him, even if it was senseless and ephemeral
-transformative, informative, life-changing, life-ruining
It's a phantom ache, this wound, a hurt that haunts her every step even though the injury has already healed.
-
This aching inside her; it's not love.
It's just a thoughtless, fleeting infatuation borne from a time of fear and fascination, made all-consuming by anger and grief-
-by a torn abdomen and shredded wings.
A promise.
It is not love.
-
The waves crashing ashore assembles into a soothing cacophony, a melody that lulls her mind to rest. In that solemn moment, Shuri casts her mind to celestial shores, seeking the ancestral plane, seeking her beloved brother, and the comfort of her mother.
She thinks she can feel the ghost of her brother's fingers on her shoulders, the whisper of her mother's lips against her temple, the sound of the sea is the accompaniment to her reverie and bereavements.
-
When Shuri opens her eyes, the sun has already set. The night is as inky as the first time Shuri's eyes met his.
Her dearest nephew is shaking her awake.
"Tata," he says, "maman said to bring you inside; it's already past dinnertime."
"Mm," Shuri hums, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She takes her time stretching her arms and legs, cracking her joints, savoring the impatience on her nephew's face. It's such an endearing feature, so reminiscent of her brother.
She's endlessly fascinated to think of her brother as being this small and fragile. He had always been her protector; wise words accompanied by a compassionate soul, the hero who shielded her from all the burdens of the world. But now, Shuri must be the protector, not just for her nephew but for her nation.
Her nation.
Shuri is meant to be a ruler now, even though she’s not suited for ruling; this she knows. It's a role she's ill-equipped to fulfill, a duty she has little interest in fulfilling, an inevitability she can only avoid for so long. It was why she made a regency arrangement with M'Baku in the first place.
But, perhaps, she doesn't have to rule. Toussaint is here now. Perhaps he’s not her heir but the king, and she is just his regent. Or, well, M’Baku is his regent. It's a conversation she should have with Nakia and M'Baku very, very soon. A conversation the Elders, the Dora, will subject her to as soon as they track her down to this peaceful shore of Haiti.
Once Toussaint starts pouting at her stalling, she takes his hand and pulls him close, looping an affectionate arm around his birdy shoulders. They walk back to the house together, her adamantly not casting a glance at the tumultuous ocean.
Shuri squeezes his hand tight one last time before they enter the house. Toussaint's smile is blinding.
"You were taking too long," Nakia says, jaw tense, as soon as she sees Shuri enter the kitchen. Shuri just shrugs, and that response must be too blasé for Nakia’s liking because she admonishes, “the water is not safe. I worry for you.”
“You’re the one living by the sea,” Shuri raises a brow pointedly as she dries her hands.
“I’m not the ruler of Wakanda.”
That gives her pause. She debates starting a conversation about her precarious situation, Toussaint’s princehood but she knows it’s too soon, too raw still. Nakia had loved, still loves, her brother so, so much. So, instead, she just pulls out a chair and reminds Nakia, "We have an alliance; he swore an oath."
"I don't trust him," Nakia insists, loudly plating the food.
Shuri's dinner is placed so precisely on the table mat, she's certain this is a form of passive-aggressiveness at this point. She says, begs, "Trust me."
Shuri does not know what to do, what is right and honorable and true. She could barely untangle the jumble of emotions within her, could only understand grief and longing and hurt, could only know what she has in her heart is an atrocity, a betrayal to her country, to Nakia, her brother, to her mother.
She needs time, needs love and understanding and support. She needs a great many things but does not know how to ask for it.
Nakia's mouth is pursed in disapproval, "You shouldn't even be here without a Dora."
"I have you," Shuri says, taking one of Nakia's hands into hers. Her own hands are shaking and Shuri squeezes Nakia's hands desperately. Nakia deflates at that, her eyes go soft around the edges, lips flatlining into compassion. Shuri continues, "I trust you with my life."
You've saved my life, you are my tether to life, she doesn't say but the meaning sits heavily in the air.
Nakia comes close and leans down to rest her forehead against the side of Shuri's crown. "Oh, Shuri," she says, voice thick with feelings, love pouring from between the gape of her teeth as she presses a tender kiss to Shuri's temple.
She kisses like Shuri's mother and Shuri turns to hold her in her arms, face seeking comfort in her warm bosom like the child that she still is at heart. Toussaint comes to join them mere seconds later, letting out a squeal of delightful laughter as Shuri pulls him onto her laps, smothering him with love.
This is love, Shuri thinks as she sinks into the cocoon of protection and warmth, the air glowing with ardor. This is what love should be like: soft and kind and gentle, given freely with no ulterior motives.
This is love; spreading joy, sharing pain, not inflicting them.
This is love.
-
Shuri does not think of the tenderness of his hands that hold her up by the waist when she collapsed over him in the aftermath of their battle. She does not think of the reverence in his eyes and the veneration on his lips when he says, "An oath, sworn from one God to another," when he utters, "A promise from I to you," does not think of the sturdy fervency of his body as he gathers her into a commiserating embrace nor the warmth of his skin against her lips as she wept for her brother, and her mother, and her country in the crook of his dried and ruined neck.
She does not think about how her sorrow and his sea tasted the same, how her anguish and his briny skin tasted the same-
-how she and him are the same, cut from the same cloth, damaged and broken, hurt and alone-
-impossibly in love despite every betrayal and treachery,
Shuri does not think of him.
She does not.
-
Shuri couldn't sleep that night and finds herself by the sea once more, her bare feet leaving imprints on the wet shore. The clumpy sand clings to her soles every step she takes, weighing her down with sorrow and guilt, remorse and shame. The ocean water lapping at her feet reminds her of the flickering ember of sentiment she felt, still foolishly feels, for a broken man playing at a vengeful God.
The water is warm when she enters it, turbid waves swirling around her waist like a lost lover, a would-be lover. She doesn't know why she expected the water to be cold. He has always been warm, burning hot like a furnace, roaring vehemently with zest and zeal.
Shuri thinks she can see the bobbing of a gleaming head in the distant sea.
He is inevitable.
She goes back ashore without a backward glance.
-
Shuri still does not know what to call him; K'uk'ulkan or Namor?
Lover or enemy.