Ugegbe rubbed at the sore spot on her neck, a defeated sigh hanging on her lips. It'd been barely a day, and she'd had a blade braced against her throat twice. She could not help but mull over what she could have done to Ifediaso to warrant the cruel treatment she received from him. Perhaps she wronged him in a past life. Was this his method of taking revenge on her?

The weather was unusually banking on the shores of a mildly hot climate, but that did not stop Ugegbe from enduring a shiver that rocketed down her spine. She smiled at the ironically displeasing situation. Though her body was gradually sweating out the little water she'd drank in the day, her limbs trembled every now and then at Ifediaso's mind and especially valiant effort to make her life miserable.

It had been a surprise when she'd been called out from the queen mother's kitchen, where she'd been mixing herbs, on request of the king. Her first musing had been what could she have done to attract the ruler's attention. 

It dawned on her, rather later than she would have preferred, that the king could desire to express his gratitude for her service to the dowager queen. This thought, however, vanished into thin air when her eyes landed on the heartless vermin she'd presumed to not have to deal with again; he'd done enough earlier.

Ifediaso was up to no good. She could tell. That sneakiness of his could not be hidden even if buried six feet below the ground. His cruel nature shone through every facet he possessed: his smile, words, actions. If his chest were to be torn open, there was little doubt that his heart would be as black as tar, turned so by his wickedness.

He verified what she knew of him by attaching another weapon to her gullet—a kitchen knife, which she gathered from the luminescence of the lamp she'd carried with her. That simple hazard was motivation to keep her moving as he guided her out of the vast courtyard into a narrow alley guarded by three men.

Ugegbe's first reaction had been to launch into a flurry of panic. She was wary of instances where she was left alone with the opposite gender. It triggered her response to flee, as possible that feat was on such an occasion. She'd barely gotten to uttering a warning about reporting him to the righteous, justice-upholding chief guard if he laid hands on her again.

Her scrambled ramblings must have made little sense as Ifediaso was not swayed in the very least. The blow he gifted her and his sadistic laughter—that likely would haunt her dreams, or more truthfully, nightmares—were proofs that did not need cross-examination.

It was a thrice later after she'd gotten over her fear, that she could finally listen to what he had to say. Unsurprisingly, it was complete drivel, as nothing better could come out of Ifediaso's mouth. However, this was the kind that sent one's blood boiling. It was not the type of matters a rational mind could fashion or want anywhere near its spinning gears.

In a nutshell, and in fewer words than Ugegbe wanted to recollect, Ifediaso threatened to defile her while she slept in the servant's residences unless she lied to the king. She was to give a lengthy exposition on how she'd received her bruises and wounds from someone else who was not the true culprit if she wanted to preserve her dignity.

Essentially, she needed to hold someone else culpable for a deed they had no clue of and make them into her assaulter, or she would be subject to demoralisation by a heartless scoundrel.

Ugegbe had no one to pin the blame on, but she agreed to Ifediaso's plot, nonetheless. However, she was no easy mark. The guard had triumphed in rousing her deepest fears, but he had not taken hold of her mind. She could still think for herself, and accordingly, had ambitions of her own.

Ifediaso was not the only one accustomed to the concept of trickery. She also was duly acquainted with it, being a victim of its cruellest form. Consequently, she was to use her experience to her advantage. He wanted her to craft a tale, to spin its net from strands of nothing? That she would do. But he likely would not appreciate the results. For her intentions were to capture him in her snare, to cage him in her ruse, even though the lure had initially been for her.

He'd told her to testify before the king. She would do just that, except the ropes of her bait would entangle the one who'd inflicted physical damage on her. When he called her in, she would make definite she left the throne room after turning the king against Ifediaso. All that was left was the wait.

Along the hallway were several cressets nestled against the walls. They lined the path that led into the king's abode from the beginning to as far as the eye could see. Ugegbe stared at them unblinkingly, entranced by their orange flames, smouldering and flickering recklessly. She imagined they had stories to tell through the embers of their blazing arms. Sadly, only the wind heard their tales, as solely it chose to listen. This made her contemplate the tragic script her life had followed thus far. 

If she were to gain the courage to share this murkiness bracketing her every thought and reasoning, would there be any to listen? Would her lips move, taking shape without audible speech, or would the words construct themselves yet crash into deaf, careless ears? She prayed she would never know. That she would never get to the point where she craved to empty the contents of her soul.

The silence looming about in the constricted tube of a passage was maddening. No soul was in sight. No sound filtered into the cusp of her perception. No company was present to dampen the desolation and barrenness devouring her steadily as she wallowed, cold, in her doldrums.

Installed outside of the door through which the two guards had walked into moments after Ifediaso did, her mind roamed in circles. It drifted by the moment in Nnofo's room where she'd gained unnatural, otherworldly power—she'd not have pushed a man almost twice her height otherwise—then did an about-turn, reneging on the pain it had brought her.

Ugegbe sniffled, her eyes watering as she slid down the wall that'd held her weight. A droplet glissaded on the steep slope of her cheekbones, and she wiped it off, laughing humourlessly at herself. It brought her wry amusement that here she was drying her tear-ducts when she'd been the carrier of death's rotten egg. She was the one who sent him to the land of no return, yet, she would not stop this endless weeping.

An outsider looking in on her life could surmise that she was mourning the crown prince's death. But she knew it was not so. She was not grieving and beating her breast for the village's loss of a man who was to become its pillar at a later date. No, she was sorrowing for herself. For who she was before that hapless day. Before that unfortunate wrap of time ruined her.

On the threshold of taking another step into the overcast den of solitude and confinement, the door to the palace room was thrown open. Ugegbe leaped to her feet, ready to bring her plans to fruition. It was her prayer that today would be the last day Ifediaso would ever torture her. Once her story was out of her lips, surely he would receive the punishment that was his due.

But then, the open doors slammed shut like the trap of a content lion that could not be coaxed to unhinge its jaws, and she couldn't keep from presuming something was wrong. They did not call her in, as Ifediaso had told her they would at their arrival. And when she saw the evil sentry stomping towards her, she was convinced their strategy had gone terribly awry. In other words, her plan had been uprooted from the ground like cassava after its growing season, during the flurries of harvest.

"Let us go!"

"What?" Ugegbe stalled, gaze lingering on the entrance barricaded by two menacing men. However, Ifediaso wasn't too happy about her hesitation as he barked that she followed him from the end of the corridor. She immediately sprinted after his figure fast vanishing into the fade of the night.

In a snap, she dashed through the lit pathway, bursting out into the darkness rolling open like a scroll outside the palace. "What...what happened?" She caught up to him—the only person holding a living flame in the yard—her breath surging out in short bursts; it had not been easy for her to close the gap within them when he'd gained so much space on her with long strides.

"I told you to come with me, did I not?"

"Y-yes." She gulped, blinking nervously as every muscle and nerve in her body braced for a random hit from him. It was in him to perpetually inflict pain on those around him. For that basis, Ugegbe wished that she was bigger, stronger, more powerful than she currently was. If only she'd been born with a stature that was not so slender and lacking brawn.

She wouldn't be so afraid of his strikes and lashing outs if she had a frame large enough to withstand him. It was sad that she wasn't, and all she could do was hope that she did not leave this conversation with an added swelling to her face or any other part of her body.

Then again, the slight woman counted herself lucky. Her sympathy went out to whatever being had the ill fate of falling in love with him and eventually becoming his wife. Ugegbe could scarce imagine the stripes of pain she would be entangled in for the rest of her life. It was an existence evoking the worst of miseries.

"The king was not interested in seeing you." Ugegbe frowned at this. She reckoned it was good that she did not have to lie either of her own will or in trepidation raised by a knife's keen border. Yet, it was also to her disadvantage as putting morality aside, her life was in jeopardy. Ifediaso was a peril that refused to be eradicated.

His following statement confirmed her thought that it might have been the better happening that the king called for her, as she would have the chance to rid herself of him. "You can return to your quarters. If I need you again, I will call for you." 

Call for her? Ugegbe repeated to herself, indignation clambering upward, advancing so briskly that she could not utter a word for dread of her tongue setting loose. She did not wish for that to become a reality as her cheeks were still sore from the slaps she'd been gifted for talking back.

"Why did His Majesty not wish to see me?"

"I do not read minds as you believe I do, wench. Go back to your servantry and leave me be. Or else—" She recoiled as he swung a fist in her face, missing contact by barely a few inches. The stick of fire in his left hand wobbled as he roared maniacally at her. His laugh was the ugliest sound Ugegbe thought to be known to humankind. "I did not know that you feared me this much. I must confess that it feels good to be reverenced. Makes me ponder what life would be if more trembled before me." He carressed the faint scarifications on his forehead before scratching the rug of coarse hairs over his chin.

"Truly, I do not understand your sayings. Please lead me back to the dowager queen's palace. I am afraid I have not yet committed the route to my memory."

The man vented out a heavy sigh as a scowl marred his grim features. "Who do you think you are to ask such of me? Since when did I become your private escort?"

"Then...then please give me the lamp. I shall make do with whatever details obtainable to me."

"Find one." He said simply and was off, barefoot swiftly digging into the ground, to where only the gods knew. Ugegbe hoped it was not to terrorise another innocent soul but could not follow up on the thought as her plight called for more instant attention. She could not commiserate with others when there she was, her feet cemented to the plains of the court in horror.

The darkness was terrifying, pressing in from all angles. Ugegbe could barely bring herself to blink when a gust blew a spread of sand onto her face. Her panic shook her hands and chattered her teeth, and she could do nothing about it. She merely stood and allowed the shadows to consume her.

It was the most perfect night for the gloom to strike. Its fangs were particularly sharpened as the moon had refused to waken. A number of stars blinked and twinkled fervently overhead, attempting to dissipate the growing dusk and diminish the effects of the moon's absence, but they were so high up and Ugegbe so far low that they were of no aid.

She was in Osisi again, stuck in that aisle where the darkness pressed on her from every crook. Once again, left wondering why the first prince's home was so unlit and musky. There was a smell to it that she found repugnant. To her knowledge, it was not of a specific foulness, but she could tell it was the type to cling to one's garments and accompany them wherever they went if they dwelled too long in its presence.

The trek was getting too long. Ugegbe felt woozy, and the urge to vomit rose as her stomach churned. It had begun its random, violent motion since Zelunjo disseminated the message to her and had not ceased since. In fact, she was confident it was becoming more unpleasant by the second.

Perhaps she should return to her place. The prince would understand if she told him that she'd felt sick and consequently retired home, unable to fulfil her voyaging to answer his call. Wouldn't he? She finalised that he would; convinced herself that he would show mercy. So that was what she had to do. She'd run back, past the servants' lodgings, past the steward's abode, across the queen's pretty fields, to her father's house. The only home that would always welcome her.

All she needed to do was reposition her legs, so they posed in the opposite direction. She could race to safety then. It would not be intelligent of her to ignore this sense of foreboding, fretful unease.

Her intuition was dyed with suspicion, and she was choking from a presentiment of disaster, which was a band around her neck. Her trepidation was likely this exacerbated since she had clashed her left foot against a stone while she'd not paid her way mind enough. For this premonition was a hard lump in her gut that would not dissolve or dislodge itself. It was impossible to move when it weighed her down to the earth. She was lost in an interminable vacuum of blackness.

All that was left was to accept her fate and watch as obsidian whips of her sins lacerated her essence, making plunging gashes and shredding into her soul pitilessly. There was no evading its punishment now that there was nothing to chase away the dark. It was pure agony. Pure anguish drilled into her as memories of her evil deed tore her apart.

She was being shredded into pieces, and in the thick of her suffering was Prince Nnofo, that same sinister smile stroking his lips. Of course, he was pleased that she was being rent into tatters, mauled into strips, and crushed into unrecognisable elements by her guilt. He would not have to haunt her himself. She would oblige him by doing it herself. She would continue his harrowing torment. She would crucify herself on his behalf.

"You deserve this!"

I deserve it.

"Ezinwanyi!" A glow called out to her from the depths of the yawning void, breaking the trance holding her captive.
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