The city breathed as if nothing were wrong.
M'banza-Kongo's temples stood serene in the rising sun, their stone facades kissed by early morning prayers and the slow clang of copper bells. Children still played in narrow alleys, merchants still opened their stalls, and incense curled lazily from the inner courtyards of shrines. But for Zara and the others, the illusion of peace was unbearable.
They moved with care.
The search for a trustworthy priest had begun two days ago. And already, it was clear—most had chosen their side.
Sarai kept a rotating watch near the central cathedral, where gold-trimmed robes passed too easily between Portuguese soldiers and senior clergy. Taban observed smaller parishes tucked between the merchant compounds, while Faizah and Kiprop spent hours posing as devout pilgrims, offering alms and watching reactions. Mwinyi worked the back streets, listening for names whispered with respect—or caution.
