Ugegbe woke up on her recently assigned bamboo bed, surprisingly refreshed. Throughout the short night, she'd tossed and turned and troubled herself by thinking of him, recalling every single detail of their encounter.

She forced herself to wonder how everything could have gone, to ponder if there would have been any difference in the playout of events if she had not made that condition. It was indeed what one could deem a harrowing ordeal.

Would he have kissed her? Would she have become tethered to him since he'd have taken the liberty he ought not to have? Would he have been compelled to marry her in the mind of not making her a second choice? Ugegbe had the greatest itch to know. To know how it felt to be his. She imagined his love to be sweet like sugarcane and honey, and would not have minded mighty morsels of it filling her up.

Was it so wrong of her to wish that life had dealt her a different spoon and that she could have tasted instead of speculating what it would be to be the prized subject of his affections? She wondered who the woman was. Who was it that had captured his heart? Why couldn't it have been her? Why did it happen so that the first man who had caught her attention after her escapade with Muoneke was unavailable, out of her reach?

Yet, she finalised that it was no worthy matter she should worry her head over. What was meant to be would be. She would continue to persistently work for what she wanted, but she was no fool. It was obvious that a greater force than mere mortal might was at play in humanity's existence. If she was meant to be loved by him, she was confident that she would have been. But alas, it was not to be so. Another woman had pillaged his heart into her clutches. Ugegbe had nothing to demand.

Rising from the soft fowl fillings, she stretched her hands above her head, locking them in a clasp as she let out a ginormous yawn. Despite her anxieties and unrequited desires, it was a good day to be alive. She had slept in a bed that had gently lulled her to sleep and not a mat on the hard floor—her reward for tending to the queen mother.

The older woman had ordered that she be given the best accommodations after hearing that she had taken home in the servant's quarters. Ugegbe had received the news of her newly exalted position only after returning to the dowager queen's dwelling after the incident with Onochie. Kamalu had been the one to break the news to her, and she'd had no doubt that he somehow had a hand in the provisions she was now enjoying. His jovial, almost gleeful smile had been all too telling.

Her joy had known no bounds, and she had been beyond delighted to discover that she had someone like him watching out for her. It was a miracle that for the first time in years, she would be sleeping like royalty; she'd been grateful that she could have burst into tears.

Though, in hindsight, it was not gratitude that had been drawing her tears out but the pain and disappointment that weighed on her after Onochie's confirmation of what she thought she had already made peace with.

It was due to cause laughter that she'd argued with her heart moments before his revelation that it should stop beating too fast at every word that rumbled out of his throat. Her rationale had been that he could have a family; it thus would do her no good to dream of him or wish his attention upon her.

Why then did it feel like she'd received a shot to the chest from a catapult when he'd confirmed that he did indeed have a woman to call his own? Why did she feel like her world had been reduced to shambles, a heap of nothings and broken shards, at his denouncing her? Why did she wrestle with the sensation to find out who she was and somehow convince her to leave Onochie for her?

That last thought was the height of being pathetic, and Ugegbe was relieved that she'd only retained it for half of a fleeting moment. She would never fight another woman for a man.

Ugegbe believed that women had to be sisters' keepers to one another, joining forces to dismantle some of the traditional systems built against them. Apart from that logic, she also could not imagine deliberately compelling anyone to give up their happiness just for her to experience the joy that they had owned. Neither could she contemplate ever making a man who belonged to another to become hers. It was pure wickedness that she would be repaid somehow. She'd receive a karma that'd be equally as ruining.

Peering through one of the two windows of the room she was coming to value as a rough treasure, she glimpsed dusky clouds, which the sun was gradually yet persistently burnishing a gold hue. Soon, the glowing orange would burst out in all its glory, and by the afternoon, it would become an angry ball powering through the skies, beating hard on all below it.

Ugegbe could not explain the hunch she had, but it told her that the day was going to be good. Even the thought of being baked by the sun's heat excited her. She looked forward to starting all that she was to do as soon as feasible. Labour would rob her mind, stealing all reflections of him from her council of deliberations, and she was earnestly' looking forward to it.

Grabbing the chewing stick she had gotten a hold of from the kitchen last night, Ugegbe readied to make herself presentable. As her fingers curled around the wood, a spear of sadness jabbed thick through her spirit. She recalled all at once the teaching the priest had sounded over and over again like a news gong.

"Pray to the maker of the heavens and earth before you do anything else after you wake." He had repeated on too many occasions and in countless sermons.

Ugegbe could not pray. Not since that day. There was a barrier between her and the God she had come to know. The priest had explicitly stated that one sin Chineke did not forgive was taking another human's life.

Ugegbe was ashamed to face Him. She could not bring herself to call upon His name when she'd brought Him disgrace. He likely had no more need for her as she had erred against Him in the worst way possible. She'd done the irreparable and unsanctioned, an unpardonable sin.

Even she, a mere mortal, could not forgive herself; talk less of a creature who'd fashioned reality out of nothing. He'd given her everything she'd needed. He'd saved her in her times of trouble. He'd granted her mercies that she did not deserve. And what had she done in return? She had failed Him.

Tears dribbled down the slopes of her face, merging into one stream at the tip of her chin. She wiped them off quickly, sarcastically musing that her morning was off to a splendid start with the crying she had commenced.

Ugegbe grabbed her stick and loosened her shoulders to shrug off her load of worry. She had important matters to deal with. The queen mother had mentioned that she'd send a messenger for her early after dawn, as she wished for the presence of the one who had brought her relief from her ailing.

Ugegbe was all too glad to agree. She liked the dowager queen, and she was sad she had to suffer through the illness that had befallen her. It was a similar fate to her father's. Sicknesses that had no cure were sobering. It saddened her to envision innocent people suffering through them. Thus, it was a personal imperative for Ugegbe that she helped how much so in whatever way.

She could not sit back with folded arms and let a woman, so kind, hurt like her father had while she was a youngling. It was not until she was well into her teenage years that he discovered the mix of leaves that could alleviate his pains. And then the chicanery had happened. Her father was betrayed by his blood brother. Their lives went downhill afterward.

It was Ugegbe's regret that she never had the chance to stay by and take care of her father. It was why she would do her best to take care of this woman whose situation reminded her of the man she had left behind in the village. The only one who cared about her, who had stood by her despite hearing her odious truth, the very one she locked away from every other being. He did not send her away, and had given her courage to carry on.

He'd granted her a portion of his bravery, rousing her to flee. The royal guards would have caught up with her already if not for his sacrifice. She still feared that they would show up any time soon, but that was a problem for another day.

Pulling open the creaky, ancient door, Ugegbe was surprised to smash her right toes against—almost tripping over—a waterpot. It was filled to the brim with clear water, a delight to a body in need of washing. She wondered who had done her this great favour. Her eyes skipped over to the guards who stood at attention, safekeeping rooms she knew to belong to the queen's closest attendants. They must have seen who dropped the water at her doorstep.

"The dawn is beautiful. Good morning to you all." She greeted as she interjected herself into their sphere of silence. She mused as she'd done countlessly that guards were such unusually severe and calm people. She'd never seen one conversing with another, no matter how long they had to stand in wait before and behind doors, except they had no choice but to do so or on the order of their master or mistress.

Ugegbe could not imagine herself excelling at such a job, mainly if she were to perform her duties with anyone she knew. She and Zelunjo had received lots of scolding and complaints from Daa Agughalam because of their inclination to discuss and make silly jokes while they were on duty in the palace kitchen. These guards had to be lords set on the pinnacle of self-restraint.

"How can we help you?" The man with the fiercest face regarded from his hilly height. Ugegbe swallowed inaudibly at how unfriendly he appeared. His hulky statue did not help her anxiousness at all. However, he was the one who'd bothered answering her. She could not judge him like that with no evidence against his character, to rid him of virtuousness that could well be his.

So she schooled her features into a picture of unshrinking courage. "Did you perhaps see who dropped a bowl of water at my door?"

Two of the men exchanged a look before the one who had a lighter complexion than the others, a shade that matched that of ripe corn before it dried out, answered her curtly. "The chief guard."

That was all she needed to know. "Daalụ." She expressed her thanks, swivelled on her feet and headed back to her room, her mind in a roil. Why would he do that? She thought, deeming the act too humbling for a man of his statue to do for a woman who was neither related to him nor in a relationship where she was the subject of his affection.

Did Ugegbe had learnt to be wary of those who offered their assistance without compensation in return. She'd gathered knowledge from firsthand experiences how sorrowful it was to be indebted to another. It limited one's choices, made them less of what she believed every human was when they were born: a soul without a hampered free will.

She'd been through it all. The terrors of physically losing one's family. The horrors of being owned by one who was not your Maker. The frights of being enslaved. And she'd hated every period she spent working off those debts.

Ugegbe did not want to imagine if she was born a slave like many servants she knew in Osisi instead of her bounds only existing to rid her debts. It was a condition that hurt too much to dwell on. One that she did not want to wade into. She did not want to owe anyone, most especially, not a male.

Firming the walls of her mind, Ugegbe decided that she would use the water either way. It wad only to bathe. She wouldn't be drinking it or anything.  Later, she would have a conversation with Kamalu.

If she had to, she'd threaten the chief guard into not submitting to her these pieces of niceties, lest her or those around them come to presume that there was a dalliance between them or that they were involved in any manner other than a friendship. She was determined to set a line and make sure it was not crossed.

Last time she tested her theory, men were devils who could weaken a woman's resolve unless she built a wall to separate that which was her precious essence from their swindling means.

Ugegbe let herself be assuaged by the memory of how she'd stripped out of bed layers of shielding and lain herself bare before Onochie at a mere, few, dismayingly artless phrases from his exquisite lips.

She'd folded up tastelessly under his scorching gaze in too little a spell. And well, she'd thought—still did—nothing was wrong with her actions. That, she reasoned, was the worst bit of all.  No remorse had rubbed in, and she was positive that none ever would.

Shame on you, Gegbe.

Reprimanding her stubborn self, who clearly was unaffected by the reproving,  took a while. But once Ugegbe was done, she lugged her water out the back of the female quarters, headed for the bathroom with an extra wrapper. She had to make herself presentable before she was summoned.

She found it with no trouble after asking a female attendant for clarifications. The assurance granted had been that she was on the right path and simply had to cover it to the end. When the grey and black walls of a structure rose before her sight, she knew her destination was in sight.

Upon finishing her wash, Ugegbe was exhilarated. The grime was off her body, and she felt lighter and freer. Quietly, she dried off the liquid from her body with the cloth she'd brought with her. There was another woman in the wide space cleaning herself, but she'd not been in the mood to exchange any greetings, having returned a grunt to Ugegbe's good morning. There was nothing said further after that.

With her empty pot hooked in the crook of her arm, Ugegbe toddled to the building she'd emerged from. The heat was upsurging, on an ascent, as the sun sparkled brighter in its home. Its incandescent rays stroked her dark complexion, which reflected the luminescence in its gleam.

Ugegbe wished for okwume to combat the dryness of her skin. Shea butter was always a good idea at this season, where the slight Harmattan winds that found their way over usually parched and crisped all in their way.

This year did not come with the cold's full brunt. It was still hot, but no one could deny the atmosphere's propensity to subtly suck the moisture out of wet substances. Ugegbe could have decided to not towel herself and the water would have evaporated off her in a beat.

"Ezinwanyi!" At the door leading into the hallway, she was fenced off by a panting figure. She recognised her to be one of the dowager queen's attendant.

Ugegbe frowned at the urgency that oozed out of the slender woman. It demanded hers, but she wasn't so keen on responding, particularly since it meant her heart rate spiked and her mouth lost hydration. Yet, she had to take this as a priority. Anything could have happened to require her calling. She hoped there was nothing wrong.

"Why do you call for me?" She stepped closer to the woman—who had straightened and now bore a composed air about her—appraising her critically.

"I am a servant for the queen mother. My name is Akuada. But you are free to call me Aku."

"Alright, Aku. What am I to do for you?" She spoke slowly, watching her accent and placement of letters within her pronunciation.

"The queen mother sent me to you, to prepare you."

Ugegbe transferred her ware to her other hand as she shifted on her feet nervously. "Prepare me? Prepare me for what?"

"You will first meet with the queen mother."

"I am aware of that already."

"Yes, I suppose you are." She nodded, her sharp, V-shaped face seeming to thin with the solemnity she'd worn. "I thought to remind you."

"What shall be next after I serve the dowager queen?"

"You will join us in serving the king. Today is the first festival in our sun god's honour. Anyanwu has blessed us abundantly. He has been fair to us. Thus, we are to adore and worship him. You must be ready, Ezinwanyi."
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