Chapter 5: Zainab’s Embrace, Zainab’s Threat

The inner room warm, incense full everywhere, but blood still dey smell.

For ground, one dead body dey, head and body no dey together.

Zainab back face me, e dey clean cold, shiny sword.

Her wrapper na pure white, but blood stain dey for tip. I pause, no sure if I go kneel.

As I face death, the small pride wey I get begin show again.

For my last moment—me, stepmother, go kneel for small girl?

I just stand gidigba.

Zainab hand stop, then e talk something wey I no too understand.

Her voice carry weight, but still soft. "That day for Hall of Wisdom, you say I good. Aunty Ronke, you really believe say I good?"

I stammer, "Your Highness, you wise, you brave, you get sense—of course, you good."

E put sword for sheath, I just sigh small.

E turn face me, our eye jam.

For her face, I see Oba own—pride, pain, fear, but also something like hunger. Under im sharp eyebrow, im eye black like burnt pot—deep, no dey show anything. I no fit breathe well.

I no fit hold myself, step back, leg enter blood.

Blood soak my wrapper, but I nor talk. Zainab, slow and steady, use hand hold my waist, pull me near, almost press me for chest.

Im body get that royal scent wey I know well.

Before, na im papa get am—now na im own.

[Wait, na hug be this?]

[Abeg, make demon consort shift from main prince o.]

[Main prince just drag am—why she dey rush enter im body?]

Her grip nor be like child, nor be like enemy. Na something new. "You go gree?" Zainab ask sharp.

My whole life—enter palace, dey struggle for love, dey fight for heir—na so dem dey push me up and down. When I take get choice?

But I still put humble smile, answer, "Papa die, pikin succeed; eldest pikin take over—na as e suppose be. I no dey expect anything again."

Zainab gently pinch my chin, im eye dey look my face, dey reason: "Not bad. Papa die, pikin succeed."

She smile small, no joy for the smile—just calculation. "That time wey you dey use that pity face dey catch Oba, fit run am for me too?"

Her hand cold like river stone, but her voice sweet like promise. For this palace, na only those wey sabi twist survive.

[Abi na now Ronke go really show her jazz?]