Deities of Deceit

Chapter Fifty-two

Hareti Jaja | Fifty-two
—
DEATH BY A THOUSAND
LIGHTENING BOLTS
—

After decades of diligent learning and tedious practice, perfecting my double stitch, I found myself still incredibly lacking in the mundane skill.

Undoubtedly, the double stitch was no easy stitch to make when sewing, one had to dig a semi-circle needle into two narrow holes, evenly, at the same time, without ruining the fabric. It was the perfect stitch to make a fine flower bow for the servantary school children's uniform, and every time, I still managed to get it wrong.

The children of the palace's servantary school loved the bow, a bright gold on their red flower-patterned ankara uniforms. When I first added it to their design, they were ecstatic and overjoyed. They'd tug at each other's bow, claiming theirs was bigger. So, though it was a pain to learn and a constant reminder that I was terrible at learning domestic skills, I continued to make them through my multitude of failures.

It was in my character to cause a fuss whenever I ruined the stitch. On many occasions, I'd give up on sewing for the entire day, resenting myself for getting it wrong. But not that morning. I had already ruined the double stitch thrice and yet continued to try. The repetition of it kept my mind at ease like I was stuck in a loop of imperfections.

It had been ten hours since I sat in the chair next to him, waiting, pondering, obsessing over the double stitch. He would not wake. Perhaps I was not ready for him to wake, to face him, hear his voice, see the look in his eyes when he'd look at me. What will you see? I wondered. Hareti, the woman, or Hareti, the monster. Both were equally terrifying.

A knock came at the door and it swung open, Amara's footsteps sauntering in. I pulled the thread and dug the needle back into the fabric. Another ruined double stitch.

"Your Majesty." Amara bowed.

"Leave," I answered quietly, not looking at her.

I hadn't been able to look at her, or anyone else for that matter. I didn't want to see how they saw me. I could feel it in the way they moved around me, the way they breathed, how their jittery hands tended to bedsheets and pillows before Nimah was lowered into it, the uneven sounds of their footsteps. I knew what they saw.

"I made inquiries. Asked a good lot of the servants that tended to King Umaru's entourage the night of his arrival. They informed told me he held a private gathering with a few elders and military officials. The late military speaker was one of them. The servants are not sure, but, there were mentions of cowries being shared. Profitable business opportunities were being discussed in regards to Western magic, Your Majesty," she said.

I exhaled and dug in my needle. "What is the current death toll?"

"Your Majesty–"

"Don't. Tell me."

Amara drew a heavy breath, took a step toward me, and stopped. The sun was yet to rise, it was all flickering candles and shadows. From her shadow I could see the way her hand moved across her face, she was fixing her braid, hesitating with unnecessary movements.

"Just tell me," I pleaded with a sigh.

"Seventy-five, Your Majesty. They are... um..." She swallowed. "We have not found all the heads."

I squeezed my eyes shut and squeezed the fabric tight. "Leave," I growled.

Nimah shifted slightly in his bed and my heart jumped, for a moment or two, I could not breathe, not until I realized he was not waking. It happened each time he moved. My heart would race, my lungs would seize, few seconds later, I'd breathe again, knowing he wasn't yet waking. Then the worry would start all over again: Why won't he just wake up?