Shadows in the Courtyard

While Amanse waited in trepidation high above the clouds, anticipating the arrival of the Alusi in the realm of the Air, all was not well in Amaaku.

Back in the palace, King Amadike the Fifteenth paced the marble floor of the inner courtyard with such palpable fury that even the lizards scampered up the walls to avoid his storm. His ceremonial sandals slapped the stone with thunderous rhythm, echoing through the halls like a war drum. Every muscle in his face twitched with tension. His nostrils flared wide as if searching for air too stubborn to enter his lungs. His eyes were rimmed red—not from wine, not from grief—but from smoldering rage.

The royal staff, the sacred Ofo, trembled violently in his fist.

"Where is Amanse?!" he bellowed. "Where is the stammerer?!"

The few courtiers brave enough to be nearby scattered like leaves before a gust. No one wanted to be caught within the blast radius of the king's ire.

Ugoeze, his senior wife and mother of Princess Adaugo, stepped forward hesitantly. She had always been quiet, always dutiful, always soft-spoken—a woman of quiet power in a palace full of rumbling threats.

"The guard you sent has not yet returned, my king," she said, voice barely audible.

Amadike spun on her with the suddenness of a predator. His arm flung sideways, grabbing an intricately carved clay pot from a pedestal and hurling it across the courtyard.

The pot exploded against a pillar inches from Ugoeze's head.

She ducked, gasping, stumbling backward. Her wrapper caught on the loose earth, and she nearly fell, retreating in panic.

"Come back here, woman!" Amadike roared.

She froze.

For a moment, the entire palace held its breath. The wind stilled. The birds stopped chirping.

She turned, trembling, and tiptoed back like a lamb led before the butcher, hiding her face behind her hands as if that might spare her.

Amadike approached, eyes burning. He reached out and grabbed her throat—not tightly, not enough to choke, but enough to send fear racing through her blood.

"Forgive me, my king," she whispered. Her voice cracked. She wasn't sure if speaking would provoke him further—or save her.

He released her without a word, and she crumpled to the floor, gasping.

He returned to pacing, the Ofo now dragging behind him with a harsh scraping sound. As he reached the steps leading to the Obieze—the sacred throne room—he stopped.

His eyes locked on the gruesome display of human heads that decorated the base of the royal seat. Relics of past victories, of justice delivered, of betrayal punished. But today, they only made his blood boil hotter.

"He has returned," Ugoeze gasped, pointing toward the gate.

Amadike turned sharply.

"Did he bring the stammerer?"

"No, my king."

Another pot shattered against the floor.

"Okwute!" the king roared.

The chief palace guard stormed in, his massive form a mountain of muscle and oaths. In his left hand was a polished spear, and in his right, a short machete. He dropped to one knee, head bowed. He dared not lift his eyes to the king's face.

"Where is Amanse?" Amadike barked.

Okwute swallowed hard.

"Nowhere, my king. It is as if… he vanished."

There was silence.

Then:

"Execute him."

Okwute's eyes widened in disbelief.

The words hadn't even fully settled in the air when two guards stepped from the shadows behind him and grabbed his arms.

"You waste my time!" Amadike spat.

"At least hear what he has to say first," came a sharp voice.

Obidiya, the youngest of the king's wives, emerged from the shadows of the pillar where she had been watching.

She walked forward boldly, the only woman in the palace who dared to challenge the king's moods.

The king wheeled on her.

"You dare?"

She didn't flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You're angry. We understand. But killing the young guard won't bring Amanse to you."

She turned to Okwute.

"What did you see?"

The guard struggled to speak. "I… I can't describe it. He is no longer in this world. His aura… it vanished. As though he passed into the world of spirits."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"In this pitch darkness?" Ugoeze asked. Okwute nodded solemnly.

Obidiya crossed her arms. "We should wait for him. If the spirits called him, there must be purpose."

The king glared. His fists clenched. He stepped toward Obidiya, towering over her, his breath ragged.

"How dare you undermine my—"

She raised a hand, gently placing her palm against his jaw.

"There are better ways to prove you are a man," she said softly.

The effect was instant.

The fire in his eyes dimmed. He snorted angrily but said nothing. She smirked. They understood each other, these two—a dangerous kind of chemistry.

Behind a carved door, just beyond their sight, Ozoba, the king's second wife, listened.

She had heard every word. Her eyes gleamed with envy and hatred. Obidiya always had his attention. His softness. His smile.

Ozoba's lips curled.

"You will regret stealing his heart," she whispered to herself.

She turned and slipped away toward her chambers—her mind already spinning, plotting, coiling like a serpent ready to strike.