Chapter 4 #2
Azul kept her spine straight. "You honour me, Mama."
The Iyom scoffed in disbelief, drawing the Dowager's ire. "Second Wife," the Dowager said, "why do you interrupt me?"
The Iyom stood. "My apologies, Mama; I just didn't think that woman would be so shameless as to bring in work she did not do."
The Dowager frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Mama, the girl is a common peasant from the backyard of the village. Her father is nothing but a local warrior; how could she possibly know how to write?"
Azul smirked. "You look down on the Igwe too much; do you truly think he would title an illiterate girl? Do you accuse him of being foolish?"
The Iyom's face paled; if there was one thing the Dowager loathed, it was someone looking down on her son.
"Mama, that's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" The old lady snapped, lips twisting in displeasure. "You overstep your bounds!"
"Mama, don't be angry," the Ugoeze spoke, her tone calming her mother-in-law. "Iyom is just worried for you; this is a simple matter, we should just get the girl to write to prove the Igwe's foresight and wisdom."
So the both of you set aside your differences to deal with me? What an honour. Azul mused. Their trap was truly cruel; if she couldn't write, wouldn't they have to drown her for dragging the Igwe's image? It was better that the evidence of his 'foolishness' disappear for his sake.
Quickly, servants brought parchment for her, and Azul stared at the watery ink and frizzled brush.
She said nothing. Since the ink was watery and the brush no good, she would simply have to use something else.
Bringing a finger to her teeth, she bit down hard, drawing blood.
The people around her watched in concern, but she didn't care; instead, she wrote as practice, forcing her weakened wrist steady as she drew on the paper.
She wrote a passage from the scriptures that stuck with her, the first one that resurfaced in her mind.
Ukhel, God of the Seven Hells, keeper of the gates of death, Lord, giver of life. No one loves without his permission; no one lives without his permission. And to all who worship him, he promises a life on the cusp of death.
No mortal has managed to escape his grasp, barring one.
Azul glanced up, her eyes meeting Borji's, who merely smiled at her, as if congratulating her for her inevitable victory.
The servant took the parchment, clearly perturbed by the words written in blood, and brought it to the Dowager, who looked at it. Her expression eased somewhat; at least her son picked a good enough daughter to buy.
"Are you trying to curse Mama? Why do you write in blood?" a wife, perhaps the fifth, asked from behind her.
Azul didn't waste her strength on minions; perhaps she was trying to curry favour with one of the more influential wives. "It is not necessary, but I trust my ichor to show the beauty of Ukhel's scriptures more than I trust ink."
"You have done well," the Dowager announced, stopping their squabble before dropping the parchment with the rest on her lap. "But skill in copying scripture does not absolve you of your crimes against this household."
The doors behind Azul creaked open.
She didn't need to turn to know who entered. The shift in the air told her everything—the sudden tension, the spark in the Iyom's eyes. The man who entered could only be the Igwe, or Somadina.
"Grandmother." His voice was grating to her ears. "I apologise for my lateness. The healers insisted I rest, but I could not miss seeing you this month."
Azul's jaw tightened. Of course they would bring him. She remained kneeling as he passed her; she noted the bandage wrapped around his head like a crown of victimhood. He looked pale and sickly—the very picture of a wounded prince.
"Okpalaeze," the Dowager acknowledged with a pained voice. "Look what has become of you. Stand before me."
The Dowager's eyes moved between her beloved grandson and the girl kneeling before her. "The matter before me is simple. The Akwaugo has completed her penance—the copying of Ukhel's scriptures. However, she has yet to address the harm done to the future Igwe."
Azul's hands curled into fists hidden within her sleeves.
"I am benevolent, so I will not request more than an apology," the Dowager continued, "from the offender to the offended. That is what custom demands. Apologise, girl," the Dowager commanded. "Bow before the Okpalaeze and beg his forgiveness for raising your hand against him."
Somadina's mouth curved into the barest hint of a smile.
If she knew what was good for her, she would apologise that instant.
But Azul was not someone who could stand even a thorn in her flesh.
"No."
The word dropped like a pebble in a still pool.
The Dowager's eyebrows rose. "No?"
Azul did not explain herself further. "For defending my life and virtue, I will accept any punishment you see fit to bestow upon me, Mama Igwe."
The Dowager's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in her unfeeling eyes.
"You dare defy me?"
"I dare many things." Even when it costs me.
Somadina's face darkened. "Grandmother, this insolence—"
The Dowager raised one hand, and he fell silent.
She studied the scriptures on her lap, and with a flick of her wrist, the papers scattered around the room, some catching alight on torches and burning to the ground.
Hours of work rendered meaningless in the blink of an eye.
"Good, very good. Chukwuemeka has raised such a precious daughter!
Too precious to observe the difference between elder and child!
Akwaugo, since you will not apologise, you will kneel. "
"Grandmother—" Somadina began.
"You will kneel," the Dowager continued, her voice shaking, "in the courtyard before my residence. For six hours. Where all who pass may see a woman who values her pride more than her senses. By the end, you will understand the price of defiance."
Azul bowed her head. "Thank you for your mercy."
"Your maid will kneel with you, as is proper for a servant who shares her mistress's disgrace."
Azul's lips pursed, but she did not retort.
"Now go. Your six hours begin when you take your place."
The courtyard stones were already warm from the morning sun.
Azul knelt, her knees pressing into the hard ground. Beside her, Nkiru lowered herself down, her small body rigid with fear.
Azul did not say anything to the girl, but she seemed to understand what her mistress was thinking.
"I chose to stay, Akwaugo," Nkiru said softly. "Do not worry for me."
The false princess's fists clenched at her sides as she remained upright.