"My father is dead, my mother is dead, and now my brother.We cannot let grief drive us to madness.She will face justice, but we will do this as the law commands."
The chamber bristled, uncertain.Somadina was not loved, but he was the acting Igwe now, the only one who could lead until the succession was settled.His words carried weight.
They had no choice but to concede.
“My Lord,” the Elder of Justice raised his hand.“I took the liberty of questioning the girl’s closest maid; should I call her in?”
Somadina’s lips twitched downwards.“Send her in.”
Two guards dragged a small, broken figure—a girl, barely more than a child, her hair shaved in patches, her face bruised and swollen.
Nkiru.
"I have a confession," the Elder announced.He held up the parchment."Signed and witnessed.The Akwaugo's maid has spoken."
He read aloud.
The faces of the Elders went purple with anger; the more the child spoke, the more they cursed the Akwaugo’s name.
Somadina's hands gripped the arms of his seat so hard the wood creaked.His face remained calm.
She vowed to kill every member of the royal family.
Including him.
Somadina felt his pulse quicken.His skin flushed and his breath grew shallow.He forced himself to speak."Proof.She confessed under—" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully."We need proof that the Fourth Prince's death was her doing.Not just words."
The Elder of Justice nodded."I sent men to the well behind the shrine.The maid said the Akwaugo disposed of the murder weapon there.If we find it—"
The doors burst open.
A guard stumbled in, soaked with rain, his face ashen."Elder!”The room shifted their attention.“We found something!Please follow me.”
Confusion flickered through the Elder’s eyes; surely it was just a murder weapon; why did he need to see it for himself?Still, he and the other elders stood, heading to the Fourth Prince’s courtyard.
The night before, as the storm raged through Tarsyn, Enoch stood at the edge of the well behind the shrine, his injured arm screaming in protest, his good hand gripping a rope.The rain soaked through his robes, plastered his hair to his face, and turned the ground to mud beneath his feet.
He looked down into the darkness.
It took hours.Hours of hauling, of straining, of fighting against the weight and the dark and the horror of what he was doing.His injured arm screamed; his mind threatened to shut down entirely.
But he did not stop.
When the Fourth Wife's body finally emerged from the well, Enoch lifted it onto a large mat and dragged it.
The corpse was swollen, blue, and rotting in the water, but it had to be done.
The woman, said to have died at childbirth, was clearly still pregnant at the time of her death.
In her cell, Azul hummed.
A beautiful tune that mingled with the drip of water and the distant rumble of thunder.Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, and her fingers combed through her hair.
She had been humming for hours.
The guards who passed her cell glanced in, then quickly away.There was something unsettling about her calm—about the way she sat in darkness and damp and sang as if she were in a garden.
“How did it go?”She spoke as though to herself, as though she were mad.
