Azul pulled back the cloth just enough to peer inside; the smell was rancid.
In the dim light, she saw it—sleek, white-scaled, and coiled at the bottom of the jar in a small pool of blood and bones.Other snake skulls, some rotting pieces and a few deflated eyeballs could also be seen.Its six eyes gleamed like cuts of emeralds as it watched her.
The other snakes she had stuffed with this one were gone.Only the victor remained.
"Good," Azul whispered."You'll do nicely."
If she starved it for a few more days, it would be more compliant.
She covered the jar again and pushed it back under the bed.Just as she tried to stand, a voice rang in her head.
Host, can you… hear me?
Azul straightened—too quickly.The room spun, and she had to catch herself against the wooden frame.Just as the voice slithered into her mind, it vanished, leaving her with a strange confusion from her hallucinations.
Right.Still recovering,she reminded herself.
Chapter 7
Withasmallbasketunder her arm, Azul hopped over the narrow stream.Machete in hand, she reached to cut down the long stalks of sugarcane.The blade sliced clean through the fibrous plant with a satisfying thunk, and she caught the stalk before it could fall into the water.
The stream bubbled pleasantly beside her, its banks lined with smooth river stones and wild grass that swayed in the breeze.It looked natural enough, but Azul knew better.This entire grove was artificial.
According to village gossip, when the Iyom was young and newly arrived at the palace, she had wept for her village, lamenting that she missed fetching water from the streams near her father's compound.The Igwe, besotted with his new bride and the son she'd borne him, had ordered this area cultivated specifically for her comfort.Streams were diverted, forests transplanted, and rocks arranged just so.
An entire ecosystem built to soothe one woman's homesickness.
Azul found it absurd.The water here didn't even flow to the kitchens—it was purely ornamental, a living monument to the Iyom's privilege.Meanwhile, servants walked half a mile to the actual wells every morning.
Still, she couldn't deny the convenience it brought to someone as isolated as her.It had been a week since she'd last seen Borji, and no one had bothered her about paying greetings to the Ugoeze; so she minded her own business and kept herself busy.
Adding another stalk of sugarcane to her basket, she moved deeper into the grove, her eyes scanning for anything else useful.Anything that would supplement what Nkiru bought from the market.
The sound of crying stopped her mid-step.
Azul paused, lowering the machete, listening for the source.It was a high-pitched, hiccupping sob coming from somewhere to her left.
She hesitated.Palace children were not her concern.Getting involved with royal offspring, even unloved ones, when she was still not ready was a recipe for trouble.
The crying intensified, dissolving into genuine wails of distress.
Azul sighed and followed the sound, if only to make sure it wasn't an Ogbanje.
She found him in a small clearing, a boy no more than ten or eleven dressed in fine silks now muddied.His face was blotchy and tear-streaked, and he clutched his arm where angry red scratches marked his dark skin.
"Why are you crying?"Azul asked crudely.
The boy jumped, startled, then looked up at her with wide, frightened eyes."I—I lost Mama's cat," he sobbed."She's going to be so angry.Obi ran away and I can't find him and—" He dissolved into tears, leaving her exasperated.
It seems he's one of the lesser wives' children; he must be unfavoured, or they wouldn't let him wander around alone.
"What does the cat look like?"she heard herself ask.
The boy sniffled."He's grey.With white paws.And he has a torn ear because he fights with the kitchen cats all the time."
"Alright.I'll help you look.But first, let me see that arm."
The scratches weren't deep, but they needed cleaning.Azul tore a strip of cloth from her skirt and dampened it in the stream.
