Chapter 4: Night of Tears, Night of Judgment

The night old Oba die, small harmattan just dey blow.

That night, dry wind waka for corridor, whistle enter every crack. Early dry season breeze no dey last, e just dey tap from roof, dey tell palace secrets.

The cold air touch my neck, run my back, body cold.

I kneel with other wives wey dey cry, dey watch as doors open, close, chiefs just dey waka up and down.

Crying nor even get power, na just sound. For evening, one palace attendant come out, dey look us like say we no matter.

E carry long paper, dey read name one by one.

Bury with Oba, go guard tomb, lock for palace till dem die...

My name no dey.

So how about me? Dem wan cut my head for public, or tear me scatter?

My body dey tremble, but face still dey blank. All the women wey gather before, dem just carry dem go their own, till na only me remain.

The attendant look me, face serious.

E voice calm, no pity. "Aunty Ronke, new Oba dey call you."

This time, the comments slow before dem show.

[E don happen—the main prince no dey waste time, e go give am sharp death.]

[Queen suppose scatter her before, now na only main prince fit kill her. E no too sweet.]

[Why e be like say something no balance? Why e call am alone?]

I swallow spit, follow attendant, my leg nor steady. Palace corridor cold, candle for wall dey flicker.

God, no let enemy use my head do sacrifice.

[Abi na now real wahala go land?]