"If it is as you say, that the boy has been ill for a long time with that illness you mentioned.It could be that it was hidden," Borji suddenly said, crossing his arms as he looked at the children.
I see… Is having a child with a debilitating condition considered shameful here as well?Azul's lips pursed.I suppose a healthy prince is more loved than one with health issues.
"Do you still want me to tell the Third Wife?"Borji's question sat with her.And the more she considered, the more something akin to amusement rose in her.
"How interesting.Borji, does the Third Wife submit to the Iyom?"
He shook his head, braids swaying."She is neutral; her status is not too high and not too low.But she just has this one child.So it is understandable they wish to keep any issues he has under wraps."
Azul laughed, delight flooding in her.
This was it, the opening she had been waiting for.
"Tell her, explicitly, and tell her she must make sure to close his windows every night before he sleeps."
Borji raised a brow."What makes you think she will listen to you?"
Azul leaned back."Make sure you slip the information to the Iyom's people too."
Her brother's expression was not lost on her."You would use a child?"he asked.His tone was unreadable.
"A woman who has sworn to kill someone is not above using innocent people.Don't assume me a good person, First Prince."
What his reaction was, she could not tell, for she did not look.
Whether it was disgust or not, it mattered little.
The only way to confirm information received through unsure means was to test the hypothesis personally.
The Iyom hummed to herself, a melody from her village days when life had been simpler and her ambitions smaller.The melody echoed softly through her private chambers, a space adorned with the compensations that came with bearing the Igwe's beloved children.Plush cushions were scattered across low platforms.The air smelled heavily of the mingled scents of jasmine incense and sweet musk.Carved screens from Kemet divided the space into intimate alcoves, each constructed to her liking.But it was the window alcove she favoured most, raised to overlook the palace gardens, where she could survey her domain while appearing to do nothing more than enjoy the view.
She sat there, framed by muslin curtains that billowed gently in the evening breeze.Her fingers caressed the large white lilies' petals arranged in a crystal vase beside her—freshly cut that morning from the gardens, their white blooms tinged with pink at the edges.She leaned down to smell them, closing her eyes as the sweet, heady scent filled her lungs and soothed her nerves.
After admiring the flowers for a few more moments, she sat up from her cushioned seat and rolled her shoulders back, feeling the pleasant pull of slender muscles beneath smooth skin.She wore nothing but her undergarments—delicate silk that clung to her curves, embroidered with gold thread that always seemed to light her husband's heart on fire.Her loose curls hung behind her, cascading down her back like dark water.
The Igwe visited her chambers more often than any other wife's, and she made certain he never forgot why.Other women relied on sons, political connections or maternal family wealth.The Iyom had learned early that the most reliable power was the kind that made a man weak in the knees and loose with his coin.
She had him on a leash, and she kept it tight.
Padding barefoot across thick carpets, she retired to her sleeping chambers.The main room was for receiving, but the inner room was where power was negotiated in between silk sheets.
Behind her, a servant girl stepped forwards.Her eyes cut briefly to the Iyom's retreating back before she lifted the vase of lilies and left the chambers silently.
Azul woke to the sound of heavy rain drumming against the shrine's roof like spirits seeking entry.Thunder rolled across the sky while lightning kissed the heavens, illuminating her small room in sudden, violent bursts of white light.
In one of those flashes, she saw her.
A woman stood in the doorway, drenched from head to toe, water pooling around her bare feet.She was heaving, chest rising and falling.The exertion of someone who had run through a storm with swollen, red-rimmed eyes.In her arms, she clutched a large bundle of cloth close to her body, cradling it with the desperate tenderness of a mother protecting her most precious.She clearly did not have the strength to carry him, so his feet poked out from the covering by the floor.Her embroidered shawl clung to her thin frame like cobwebs, and she'd dragged mud across the threshold, leaving dark footsteps in her wake.
"Third Wife," Azul called, her voice emerging through the rain.A smile played at the corners of her lips.
Standing there soaked and shaking, Nnenna looked more like a beggar than royalty.She was younger than the Ugoeze and the Iyom—perhaps thirty at most—but compared to her competition, her face was fair and forgettable.Azul could understand why she had such a lukewarm presence in the harem.Nnenna managed to build her position while maintaining neutrality; she knew when to speak and when to remain silent.
But now, those ever-calm eyes held nothing but desperation.
Azul did not fail to notice the look—a lioness cornered by circumstances greater than she could control, forced to seek help from the only person she thought was harmless enough to trust.
It was delicious—the taste of fear that simmered beneath the concubine's gaze.
