The princess, Adanna, sat beneath a flowering udala tree, her wrapper so fine it seemed to catch every breeze like rippling water. She barely glanced up as Rimi approached and prostrated herself.

"So you're the one causing all this commotion in my father's court," Adanna said, her voice cool as morning dew. "The common girl who weaves stories into cloth."

Rimi remained prostrate, but her voice carried clearly. "Stories are like birds, Your Highness. They belong to the air, not to any one person's hands. I simply catch their shadows in my threads."

There was a pause, then: "Look at me when you speak."

Rimi raised her head to find the princess studying her intently. The royal woman's fingers were tracing the pattern of her own expensive wrapper – imported from the coastal kingdoms.

"This wrapper," Adanna said, "was woven by the best hands in Kalabari. Yet I hear whispers that your work tells tales that make women weep and warriors remember their mothers' lullabies." A challenge glinted in her eyes. "How does a village girl learn such magic?"

"By listening, Your Highness." Rimi sat up properly now, emboldened by the princess's direct gaze. "Every morning, I watch how the sun weaves shadows through the trees. Every evening, I see how the wind patterns the grass. And in between..." She smiled slightly. "In between, I listen to the stories our people tell. The old ones about why the tortoise has a cracked shell. The new ones about last season's war with the northern kingdoms. The secret ones about love and loss that women whisper at the stream."

Something shifted in Adanna's expression – a softening around the eyes, a slight parting of lips. "And you weave all these into cloth?"

"Not just the stories, Your Highness. The feelings they carry. When I weave a warrior's wrapper, I include the pattern of his mother's favorite lullaby in the border, so subtle only he would know it's there. When I make a bride's cloth, I weave in the pattern of rain because every marriage needs fertility and growth."

"Show me," Adanna commanded, but her voice had lost its edge. She gestured to a bundle near her feet – Rimi's latest work, which had caught the court's attention.

As Rimi began unfolding the cloth, explaining the intricate patterns and their meanings, the princess moved closer, her royal reserve forgotten in her fascination. She gasped softly at certain revelations, leaned in to trace patterns with her finger, and began asking eager questions about techniques and symbols.

"This is why the gods gave us fingers," Rimi explained, demonstrating a particularly complex weave. "To catch beauty and give it form."

"To catch beauty..." Adanna repeated softly, then laughed – a real laugh, not the practiced royal titter. "You speak like a poet, not a weaver."

"My grandmother always said fingers were made to catch things—beauty, stories, stray threads. Some just weave words instead of cloth."

It was at this moment that Nkili glided into the courtyard, her arrival announced by the musical chiming of her anklets. She stopped short at the unexpected sight of the princess sitting so closely with a common girl, their heads bent together over cloth like sisters sharing secrets.

"Nkili!" Adanna's face lit up. "Come see what Rimi has shown me. Did you know our ancestors hid entire stories in the patterns of their clothes? Look here – this line represents the path of a shooting star, but if you follow it, it becomes the tail of a diving kingfisher..."

Nkili moved forward with practiced grace, but Rimi noticed how the other woman's fingers clenched briefly in her wrapper before relaxing. "How... fascinating," Nkili said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Though surely, Your Highness, such common crafts are beneath your interest?"

"Common?" Adanna looked up, surprised. "No, Nkili, this is art of the highest order. See how she's woven moonlight into cotton? Even the royal weavers of Kalabari don't attempt such things." She turned back to Rimi eagerly. "You must teach me. Not the weaving itself – a princess doesn't weave, of course – but the stories. The meanings. I want to know all of them."

"It would be my honor, Your Highness," Rimi replied, acutely aware of how Nkili's expression had hardened into a mask of polite interest.

"Excellent! You shall come every afternoon. Nkili, you'll join us too, won't you? You who love beautiful things so much?"

"Nothing would please me more," Nkili said smoothly, but her eyes when they met Rimi's held the same deadly beauty they'd shown in the courtyard earlier. "Nothing at all."

"Wonderful!" Adanna beamed.

"Oh, that is wonderful indeed." Nkili's smile was perfect, practiced, poisonous. "Such an occasion calls for a celebration, doesn't it?" Her eyes flicked to where her lady-in-waiting, Ehime, stood in the shadows. The servant girl immediately stepped forward, bearing a clay platter with three intricately carved cups, the palm wine inside them catching the afternoon light.

"Your Highness," Nkili's voice was honey-sweet, "I had Ojokwu prepare this specially. You know him – the finest wine tapper east of Nri. His palms produce wine so sweet, they say even the gods become jealous." She laughed musically. "I'd been saving it as a gift for you, and what better moment than now, when we're welcoming new... friendships?"

Ehime moved with deliberate grace, her eyes downcast as she served. First to Princess Adanna, the cup with the lion pattern – a symbol of royalty. Then to her mistress Nkili, the cup bearing a fish. Finally, to Rimi, a cup decorated with simple lines. Nkili's eyes never left Rimi's face.

"A toast," Nkili raised her cup, her coral beads catching the light like drops of blood. "To new beginnings. To art. To stories woven in thread." Her gaze locked with Rimi's. "To the surprising ways the gods bring people together... and separate them."

The princess sipped her wine first, sighing with pleasure at its sweetness. Nkili took a small sip from her own cup, her eyes still fixed on Rimi over the rim. Something in that unwavering stare made Rimi's neck prickle, but under the princess's eager gaze, she couldn't refuse. She raised the cup to her lips.

The wine was indeed sweet – impossibly sweet, with an undertone of something bitter that the sweetness almost masked. Almost.

Nkili watched her drink with the intensity of a hawk tracking a garden snake.

As Rimi stepped out of the cool, shadowed corridors into the waning sunlight, she hesitated for a moment. The palace gates loomed behind her, and she could still feel the weight of Nkili's gaze, lingering like a dark thread tangled in her thoughts. She took a deep breath, letting the scents of frangipani and earth ground her, before catching sight of Amadi leaning against the old iroko tree, his eyes bright with relief. Only then did she allow herself to smile. He straightened immediately, eyes searching her face.

"You waited all this time?" Rimi asked as she reached him, her heart skipping at the concern in his gaze.

"I carved three small birds," he said, showing her the tiny wooden figures in his palm. "It helped pass the time." But his eyes never left her face. "How was it?"

They fell into step together on the winding path that led away from the palace, the evening air heavy with the scent of frangipani blossoms.

"The princess..." Rimi shook her head, still amazed. "She's nothing like what I expected. There's a hunger in her for stories, for understanding. She wants me to come back, to teach her about the patterns and their meanings."

"Teach her?" Amadi's voice was careful, but his eyes were darker than usual. "Rimi, the palace... it's a place where even the simplest things can twist into something dangerous. You know how the knots in your cloth hold everything together? Here, those knots can choke you if you're not watching closely." He hesitated, then added, almost as if to himself, "I've seen it happen."

She knowing she had served in the Waziri's court, touched his arm lightly. "I know. I saw it today. There was this noble woman, Nkili—"

"Ah." Something shifted in Amadi's expression. "I met her too."

"Did you?" Rimi tried to keep her voice casual, but something in his tone made her glance at him sharply. "She's apparently the princess's closest friend. But when she looked at me..." Rimi shivered despite the warm evening.

They walked in silence for a moment, passing through the shadow of a massive achi tree. Finally, Amadi spoke: "My father used to say that the palace is like a beautiful tapestry. The front shows all the rich colors and patterns, but it's the knots and tangles on the back that hold it together."

"And those knots can strangle you if you're not careful?" Rimi finished.

"Yes." He caught her hand, stopping them both. "Rimi, you don't have to do this. Your weaving is beautiful, but it's beautiful because it's free. In the palace—"

"In the palace, it could make me more credible. I really like it here," she said softly. "You didn't see how the princess responded to the stories in the cloth. If she understands our people's hearts through these patterns..." She squeezed his hand. "Besides, I have you to warn me about the knots and tangles, don't I?"

Amadi's face softened. He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of braided hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment. "Always."

They resumed walking, their hands slowly joking and swinging gently between them. The setting sun painted the path ahead in shades of gold and shadow, while behind them, in the palace they'd left, Nkili sat with Adanna in the princess's chambers, sipping more palm wine and smiling to herself.

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