“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” James asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time as he followed Henry into the two-bedroom luxury suite that had been reserved for them at the palace guest lodge.
It had been a week since Henry’s birthday party in Lagos, and they were both in Katsina visiting the Emir.
“Of course, you should be here. This meeting is about you.” His brother pivoted so he could look James in the eye.
James should have been reassured. Yes, they were in Katsina because of him, to discuss how to resolve the issue around his paternity.
But James had only been here twice before.
Firstly, as moral support for Gloria when the feud between brothers—Henry and Jibril—had turned violent.
Secondly, when Gloria and Henry had gotten married. James had stayed for two days and returned to Lagos at the earliest opportunity.
He was persona non grata in these parts, and had been before he’d been born.
If his mother hadn’t escaped her violent husband, James wouldn’t be alive today. Neither would his mother.
Being here made his skin itch and set his teeth on edge.
“Can I help with anything else?” asked the uniformed servant who had brought in their travelling bags.
“No. That will be all.” James reached in his back pocket and took out his wallet. He was about to pull out some naira notes when the man held up his hand.
“There’s no need for that, sir. Thank you.” The servant dipped his head in a deep bow and retreated, shutting the door behind him.
“Was that just for my benefit, or do they all turn down tips?” James said as he turned to take in the view of the guest suite.
“Don’t get paranoid. None of them have ever taken a tip from me since I’ve been visiting.”
“That’s impressive. I don’t think I’ve seen service staff reject tips before,” James said.
Henry was a regular visitor to these parts since he’d re-established contact with his Danladi relatives and started work on several construction projects in the region. He was easily up in Katsina once every quarter.
“Musa always assigns the best of his staff to take care of me, and by extension, you. They provide excellent service every time,” Henry said as he headed towards the bedroom. “I’m going to freshen up. Musa invited us to lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll do the same.”
James strode to the opposite bedroom where his luggage was waiting. He unpacked first, stowing away his clothing and shoes neatly. Then he undressed and stepped into the adjoining bathroom for a shower.
An hour later, James and Henry strode through the maze of colourful manicured gardens, around the tranquillity of a circular fountain, and across a courtyard shaded with palm trees and semi-circular arches carved into the surrounding castle walls leading into a grand entryway. He stared in awe at the detailing of the architecture and the rich colours.
Servants in blue linen jalabias bowed and greeted them in Hausa.
Henry’s regal fluid stride and benevolent smile showed a man confident about his position amongst these people.
In stark contrast, anxiety knotted James’s gut at what was coming, even as amazement made his eyes widen at the magnificent blend of modern and antique.
He’d always had an eye for design, which was part of the reason he’d studied architecture. The other being that he’d wanted to study something that would help his brother and his business.
Although it was his third time visiting the palace, the place left him excited with its architectural beauty.
It was at times like this that he envied his brother. Henry had grown up with the palace as his backdrop. Although he had lived the last twenty years away from Katsina, these days he could visit any time he wanted.
A privilege not accorded to James.
“Barka da zuwa, Sir.” A man stepped up to Henry from the entrance of the grand hall and said a few more words in Hausa that James didn’t catch.
Another disadvantage. He couldn’t understand Hausa, which Henry spoke fluently.
James recognised Musa’s butler but couldn’t remember his name.
“Na gode, Hassan. It’s good to be here.” Henry spoke in English for James’s benefit. “You remember my brother, James?”
Henry tilted his body so that James could step beside him.
“Of course. Welcome to the palace, sir.” Hassan bowed deep.
“Thank you,” James said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the bowing. He wasn’t a prince, unlike Henry, whose royal bloodline was confirmed.
“His Highness requested that you meet him in his private quarters, if you will follow me,” Hassan said.
“Sure. Lead the way,” Henry replied.
Hassan swivelled and headed down an airy corridor with walls covered in intricately woven rugs depicting geometrical Fulani art intersected with archways and alcoves.
At a large carved dark wood door, he tapped twice with the staff in his hand, pushed the door, stepped inside and bowed. “Your Highness.”
Then he held the door.
Henry crossed the threshold and James followed him.
“Omar, welcome.” Musa rose in a flurry of babanriga silk organza fabrics. “It’s always good to see you, brother.”
“And you too, Musa,” Henry replied as they embraced.
This was only the second time James had been within close proximity to the Emir.
The royal wasn’t as tall as Henry. With a cream turban around his head and an embroidered purple caftan covering the rest of his body, only his face was visible—ebony skin, brown eyes, and a salt and pepper moustache and beard around full lips.
Although they were in his private quarters, the opulence of the palace extended in here with the intricate murals, gilded furniture, and luxurious rugs.
“James,” Musa turned to him with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, for inviting me.” James stuck out his hand for a shake.
Musa took his hand and tugged him in for a hug similar to the one he’d given Henry. “There are no formalities in here. Private quarters and all.” Musa grinned as he pulled back. “So, you can call me Musa or Brother, whichever you’re comfortable with.”
Wondering whether Musa was teasing him, James glanced at Henry. Surely the man couldn’t expect him to address him as either. He was the Emir, traditional ruler of Katsina. James wasn’t even a Danladi, so he couldn’t claim to be related to him.
Henry just grinned and shrugged as if to say, ‘you heard him.’
James swallowed and bowed. “Sure, Your Highness.”
Musa raised his brow.
“I beg your pardon. Musa.”
“That’s better. Now, make yourselves comfortable.” Musa waved at the low cream sofas and embroidered burgundy cushions.
As soon as they were seated, servants appeared with trays of iced tea and soft drinks.
James accepted the spicy sweet iced tea served in Dakhla-designed glasses.
Once the stewards dispersed, Musa said, “Omar tells me that you are the new Director of Design for Coker Constructions.”
Surprised, James swallowed down the drink in his mouth. He glanced at Henry with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected his brother to discuss him with Musa.
Henry lifted his shoulders in another enigmatic shrug.
“Yes,” James turned to Musa. “I started the role a few months ago.”
“Congratulations, James. It is great to see you two doing so well. I am proud of you.”
“Really?” James couldn’t help the cynicism. He’d never thought any Danladi cared about his success. Cared about him, period.
“Of course. You are my cousin.”
James stiffened, and his hand clenched around the glass as a flash of annoyance went through him. He didn’t care to be patronised by empty words that weren’t genuine, and he certainly hadn’t expected it from Musa. But the man was related to Jibril, who was as deceitful as the devil.
“Your High—sorry.” He let out a breath. “Musa, Henry is the one who is related to you. According to the Danladi family history, I’m not one of you. I was rejected and nearly killed because I’m supposed to be a bastard child.”
James’s throat felt raw, and the words came out rough as the pain of his childhood returned.
“James, that wasn’t necessary,” Henry said in a chiding voice.
“Omar, it’s okay. He’s allowed to express himself.” Musa shifted forward in his seat. “James, I’m sorry if I upset you. You’re right. No one in this family did anything to stop what happened to you and your mother, even though many of us didn’t agree with it.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Nevertheless, by keeping quiet, we were complicit in what happened to you. I cannot change what has happened, but I can make sure that we repair some of the inflicted damage. This is why I asked for us to meet and discuss how to settle this matter, once and for all.”
James puffed out a heavy breath. “I appreciate your efforts in making this meeting happen.”
“You’re welcome, James. But I need you to know that regardless of what has gone on in the past, or what the outcome of the meeting will be, I consider you to be part of my family.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Omar is my cousin. I consider him to be more. He is my brother. You are his brother. This means that by default, blood and law, you are my brother also. I apologise that I have not been there for you in the past. But I will endeavour to be there for you always, in the future.”
James’s throat clogged as he fought back tears. Damn it, he wasn’t going to cry in front of his brother and Musa. The man’s words touched his heart. He hadn’t thought anyone in the Danladi clan would ever acknowledge him.
“This means so much to me. Thank you,” James managed to speak.
Henry squeezed his arm.
“Now, let’s eat.” Musa stood, and they were ushered into the dining room where they had lunch with Musa’s wife, Aisha, and their two young daughters.
Afterwards, they moved to Musa’s drawing room where the meeting would be held.
Malik Danladi arrived first. He was the youngest of Isa Danladi’s three sons. Ebony-skinned and good-looking, he had a cocky swagger, and his embroidered grey two-piece tunic and trouser set was stylish, if not formal. James first met him at Henry’s wedding when they both served as groomsmen.
“It’s great to see you again, James,” Malik said as he pulled James into a hug.
Second time today someone surprised James. He hadn’t been expecting such a warm welcome considering the purpose of this meeting.
“Yeah. Same here, Malik. How are you?” James asked in a casual tone.
“I’m doing great. Thanks.”
Just then Jibril walked in, second son of Isa Danladi.
James stiffened. If James hadn’t already been in the room with Henry, he would have thought his brother had changed his outfit.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Barring the different attire, Jibril walked with a slight limp. He greeted Musa warmly, nodded at Henry, but didn’t acknowledge James as he lowered his body onto one of the sofas. Malik sat next to him.
Henry sat on the opposite chair and James sat next to him.
Musa settled on a gilded armchair on a wooden dais covered in intricately carved art. It wasn’t as grand as the one in his formal reception room.
When everyone had settled and the servants were dismissed, Musa spoke. “Thank you all for honouring my invitation. This matter is of a delicate nature, and I hope we will treat it with the sensitivity it deserves. Before this meeting ends, I want us to reach a satisfactory decision as to how to resolve the issue.”
James’s unease returned, and his gut churned. This was the bit he dreaded. A part of him wished he wasn’t here, that these Danladi men would talk and agree on an outcome in his absence with the information passed on to him via Henry.
By inviting him here today, Musa was making a statement. James wasn’t quite sure if it would stand or backfire.
Jibril spoke next. “Thank you for calling this meeting and inviting us. I was under the impression that this was a family affair. In this room, I see at least one person who is not family. I mean, I am Danladi, and so are Malik and yourself. But...” He let his words trail off.
Musa sighed. “Jibril, I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, aside from stirring trouble. Are you saying that Omar is not your brother? Are you starting another feud?”
Henry gave Jibril a challenging glare.
Jibril frowned and shifted. “No. Of course I’m not starting another feud. Omar and I are blood brothers. I can’t deny that. But the other person I do not recognise. He is not my brother and shouldn’t be here.”
“That’s the reason we’re here. We need to establish once and for all whether he shares our blood.”
“I don’t need any clarifications. Our father rejected him before he was born. That is all the proof I need that he isn’t one of us.”
“But we all know that our fathers can be wrong. Can we really stand with a clear conscience and not check this? Omar? Malik?” Musa glanced from one man to the other.
“You know my opinion already,” Henry said. “I’ve never doubted that James was my full brother. And I welcome any plans to prove it.”
“I agree,” Malik said.
“What? Are you on their side?” Jibril glared at his younger brother.
“Only as far as proving James’s paternity one way or the other.” Malik raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Can’t you see that while it is unresolved, it hangs over our family and gives it a bad reputation? It fuels the scandal surrounding us. We have young sisters and cousins who have struggled to get married. Clearing this up will help everyone. At least we will all know for certain if he is one of us or not.”
Silence settled on the room after Malik’s speech.
It shone a new light on the man. He’d always seen Malik as a player without substance. But it seemed the man hid another layer under his cocky exterior.
“So how are we going to prove his paternity?”
“One suggestion is to exhume Uncle Isa’s body and carry out DNA testing.”
“That is never going to happen. I’m not going to allow anyone to desecrate our father’s resting place for him,” Jibril sneered.
James stiffened, glaring at Jibril. Enough of the man’s provocation already. “There is another option—”
“You are not permitted to speak here,” Jibril cut him off.
James’s temper flashed, and he spoke before he could think it through. “What is your problem, Jibril? Are you afraid of me, or are you just picking on me to hide your inadequacies?”
There was a stunned silence in the room, and James thought he would be kicked out for offending Musa. He opened his mouth to apologise to the Emir.
“Afraid of you? You have to be kidding me. You are nothing to me,” Jibril retorted.
“Then prove it. Prove that I’m nothing to you. Take the siblings test,” James challenged.
“The what test?”
“The siblings DNA test will prove whether we have the same biological father. You don’t need to exhume a dead body for the test, just the male members of the family trying to prove paternity.”
A week ago, he’d received an anonymous email that had offered him the options for proving paternity and the siblings test was one of them. At the time, he’d thought that an adware must have picked up his search about DNA tests.
“Malik, you’re the medical doctor. Is that really an option?” Musa asked.
“Yes,” Malik replied. “Siblings DNA testing is very accurate and can prove once and for all if we all have the same biological father.”
“That’s perfect. No exhumation,” Musa said. “Jibril, are we agreed? You, Malik, Omar and James will undergo the siblings test.”
“I’ll do the test on one condition. Once we prove that he is not a member of this family, he will not be permitted into the palace ever again.”
“You can’t do that,” Musa cut in. “James has committed no crimes to warrant exclusion from the palace.”
“That’s my condition. Unless he’s afraid.” Jibril glared in James’s direction.
He sat up straight. He wasn’t afraid of Jibril. He’d fallen in love with this palace on his visits, and if he never came here again, he would miss it.
But proving his paternity had been hanging over him since he was born. He had to grab this chance while it was here.
“I accept your condition.” His stomach knotted as he said the words and saw the smirk on Jibril’s face.
Worse than not ever visiting the palace again was the thought that he had probably just given Jibril the biggest ammunition over him, the impending proof that he was not a member of the Danladi clan.