Hareti Jaja | Fifty-five
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DESERT PRISONERS
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My grandparents believed the only resources Westerners sought were those of the earth. Diamond, gold, sapphires, all the rare gems. The slave trade was only whispered about in the palace hallways. Talks of African kings and queens selling their people into slavery for coin.
It was unfathomable to my grandparents, and then to my parents when they ascended the throne. There was reason for caution, but Mama and Papa gave none. It was not their worry, for it was not their kingdom. Until human slavery crossed the borders and infected their own people.
It was too late. A great settlement of Westerners were already thriving in Arjana, and unbeknownst to my parents, they had commandeered a great of number support within their kingdom and palace. My mother's answer to this was to weed Western allies out and behead them in front of a large gathering.
At the time, I still rested blissfully in her womb, protected from the cruelty of mortals. I would come to hear the tale from my grandmother at the age of five as she recounted, in rather gory detail, the events of that day. My seven-month pregnant mother swung her sword over the necks of forty-five treasoners, while colonizers watched. She wanted them to see, to know, to fear what was to come. It marked the beginning of Mama's war and the great purge of Western power across Africa.
"Duty called, and the crown answered," Grandma said, stroking my hair gently as I wept, my hand covered in blisters. Papa had insisted I began learning the way of the sword at such a young age and I was overwhelmed by it. "One day, you will understand, Hareti. This"—she traced a wrinkled shaky finger across my blistered palm—"is not for you. This is for her." She pointed toward the vast city that lay beyond the palace, submerged in harmattan dust in the middle of a dry December noon. "Arjana must always come first." She kissed my forehead, wiped my tears with the ends of her wrapper, and sent me back to the training ground.
A year later, during the mmawu feast, I would watch Grandma choke to death from a poison intended for my mother. She trusted no one else to taste Mama's food but herself, the palace had become a lair for falsehood with the rise of colonial powers.
Seven years later, I lost another half of me for Arjana's sake.
It was the morning of my thirteenth birthday and I had not seen my parents in two weeks. From our neighboring kingdoms Nazimbah and Ghana, an overflow of refugees poured into Arjana, many of whom were escaping the slave trade at the hands of their leaders. For my parents, this initiated an opportunity to create the first African union in pursuit of a United stand against a common enemy deemed too powerful for one kingdom to defeat.
While my parents tended to duty, I remained safely tucked away on the eighty-fifth floor, surrounded at all times by my parents' most trusted royal guards, servants, and educators. That morning, as with every morning, I woke to tens of smiling faces. It was the morning of my coming of age and in my name, two hundred chickens were slain and prepared for a feast of one.
I was washed in a bath of milk and honey, then scented with lavish oils. My hair was plaited and decorated with the finest jewels before they dressed me in gallant clothes befitting of a princess coming age, the kind my friends would have been envious of were I allowed to have friends.
Since Grandma's passing, there was little I was allowed when it came to a social life. Every friend was a potential assassin, every glance a potential plot. It was all Mama saw and I became a prisoner of her fears, locked away on the eighty-fifth floor to train, learn, and wait. Always waiting for my parents. For their smile.
Breakfast was served and I ate alone, surrounded by the tens of smiling faces I had come to loathe, and even more royal guards. There was no music, gifting, dancing, and such, as tradition demanded. Too much exposure to a potential threat. Instead, all I had were those distasteful, pretentious smiles.
"Are you hungry?" I asked the royal guard standing a few feet to my left.
"Y...your Highness?"
"I asked if you were hungry."
"No, Your Highness," he answered.
"That cannot be right. Grown-ups are supposed to get hungry often since they're bigger. Also you've been following me around all day, carrying that." I pointed at his sword.
The guard looked to my governess for what to say, a bit nervous, a bit confused. I hardly spoke to them directly. I turned to my governess, too, she was always the one with all the answers though she could not speak or hear.
"Would you like more salt in your stew, Your Highness," she signed to me.
"No. I'd love to know if he's hungry," I signed back.
"Guards on duty are not allowed to eat, Your Highness," she explained.
"They have been following me around all day."
"I am quite well, Your Highness. Gratitude for your concern," the guard interjected with a bow.
I turned my gaze back to the long table sprawled before me with a quiet exhale. It was so full of emptiness, it made my stomach turn at every bite.
After a bath, I sat in front of the mirror and my governess combed my hair. Through the mirror, my eyes remained on the door. Waiting. They were supposed to be back, they never missed my birthday. How could they miss it? I bit down on my lips, staring harder and harder, wishing they'd just appear.
"They will come, not to worry," my governess signed, before pulling the blanket up my chest as she tucked me in.
"Before I sleep?" I asked.
"Yes, Your Highness. Here is your doll." She wrapped my arm around the little wool creature. "Just close your eyes, and count to one hundred." She smiled, the lines of her wrinkled kind face squeezing.
I closed my eyes and began counting, but never made it to one hundred as sleep took me. When I woke the next morning, Mama's fingers were grazing my cheek.
"Mama!" I leaped into her arms, squeezing hard as joy raced through me. "I missed you so much," I whispered.
"And I have missed more. More than you can ever know."
She picked me up from the bed, kissing my cheek as my legs wrapped around her waist. She walked to the window and lowered me onto the cushion before sitting next to me with a little smile on her lips. Getting a better glimpse of her face, her left cheek was bruised and her brow slightly bleeding.
The sight was not uncommon, Mama often came home with such bruises. She'd get a healer before asking for me, but it was usually too late, my impatience to see her made me hide in corners so I could catch a glimpse of her the moment she returned. It was the first time she presented herself bare.
"Forgive your mother for missing your birthday."
"It matters not!" I squeezed her arms, my cheeks hurting from smiling too much. The first real smile I had felt in weeks. "Where is Papa, we can go to the orange lake today! Today is my new birthday!" I giggled and she giggled with me, her face softening, warming my heart.
"Hareti." Mama exhaled. "Precious child." She cupped my cheek tenderly and I tipped my head to the side, leaning into it. Her hands were so rough and warm, it was the best feeling.
I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them. Mama's eyes were glittering with tears. "Mama?" My brows pulled together. I had never seen Mama cry. If one had asked me, I'd assume she never did, I'd assume my mother was unbreakable, she was made of steel and iron and nothing could ever bring her to the tender whims of tears.
She pulled me into her arms and sobbed on my shoulder like a little girl for a few minutes. I became afraid and confused. Blinking, I glanced around the room for my governess, she had all the answers, she always knew what to do, but she was nowhere to be found. My room was empty, and it never was. There was always someone, an educator, a guard, a servant. Someone. It was strange, even more so because my mother was crying on my shoulders and I didn't know what to do, but somehow knew I could not cry, too.
"Hareti," Mama called, lifting herself off me with sniffles.
"Yes, Mama." Eyes wide, my body stiffened in hungry anticipation of what she'd say.
Staring down at my little hands, Mama said, "Your father will not be returning."
"Papa is sick? We can go to him instead." Mama seemed to be struggling and Mama never struggled with anything. In her presence, life was easy, the world possible.
She shook her head and brought my hands to her lips, kissing them warmly before saying, "Papa has gone to rest in the afterlife."
"What does that mean?"
"It means, Ogbunabali has called him on a journey."
Ogbunabali, god of death. I had learned of all the deities by now and knew what they stood for. It was important as a child of the crown to understand these things. The crown was next to the deities. "H-how did he die?" I stuttered, squeezing the side of my nightdress to stop myself from trembling.
"With honor, protecting his people," Mama said firmly. "That is the duty of the crown, Hareti. You must always remember this. Arjana always comes first, do you understand?" she asked and I nodded. "Say it."
"A-Arjana..." I swallowed. "A-Arjana... A-Arjana always... comes first."
Her reddish eyes met mine for the first time since we sat and they were so incredibly sad and sunken. They softened at me as she shook her head. "You don't have to be strong today, Hareti." She patted my hair. The tears ran free on her cheek as if permitting me to cry, too.
"Papa died," I stated, confirming this truth for myself. Though it was not a question, Mama nodded. "For Arjana."
"For Arjana." Mama smiled. She kissed my forehead and rested my head against her chest as the world around me turned gray. I wept, and so did she.
Three years later, Mama met the same fate for the same cause. I had come to wear those words like armor. They were ingrained in me, gave me purpose, patience, passion. Arjana always comes first. I came to greatly understand and value this duty the way my parents did. But this time, something was different. The words Mama said to me as the burns to her body took her life: "Doomed is she who wears the crown."
Three hundred years after Mama died, those words were finally carving meaning into my heart, and their meaning stirred bitterness in my soul. It wrecked all I came to know, the very foundation of my monarchy stood on.
It was all for nothing. All of it was an illusion. Nothing mattered.
Regardless of how much of myself I sacrificed, in the end, fate is fate. No one cared. Not mortals, not the deities. But for some reason, my bloodline had been tasked with fixing a world made to stay broken. We were nothing but pawns at the hands of the deities.
I was numb. Then I was angry. Then numb. Then furious.
I never wanted to leave the ocean that day. For the first time in seven years, I felt like iron again and iron feels nothing, even when you saw it in half. Iron does not breathe, iron does not swim, iron sinks. What I felt ran deep in me, burrowing through every vein, every muscle. The most agonizing and infuriating emotion I had ever known. Hopelessness. I needed to be angry at something, someone. I needed to make someone pay. Mortal or deity. This feeling brought me back to the desert at last.
Much had changed in the few months since my departure, leaving the temple behind. The desert sand now pushed into the temple's compound, dust covered every stone, every leaf, every shed. With only a few guards left behind to tend to the temple, it was fading away, being reclaimed by the desert from every corner. A guard came running toward me, holding his helmet with one hand as his feet pressed into the sand, leaving behind a trail of footsteps from the moment he exited the door. "Your Majesty!" He bowed. "We weren't expecting you. We weren't informed of your–"
"I am aware." I walked past him.
"May I be of assistance?" He followed.
"Yes. Do not follow."
He seized walking and I continued in. My eyes trailed across the dimly lit temple, up the slew of stairs that led to the first floor, a place once populated by the most lustful minds. The place I found Nimah's gaze for the first time and knew. Though my lips did not, my heart smiled at that memory. Amidst all the bitterness, the memory of that day was a welcome sweetness. Turning away from the stairs, I continued down a dark passage to the left, snapping a burning torch from its holder. If I lingered longer with the memory of Nimah, I knew it'd weaken something in me I needed to stay vibrant and angry to face her.
I descended into the dark bowels of the temple, where no servant, guard, or guest had ever been allowed to visit. My magic wards had remained in place years before the temple was erected to protect my pathway to her. Three floors below the temple I traveled until I was standing in the deep cave where an illuminant river rested. The river glowed for the essence it possessed.
I lowered my torch and allowed a deep breath travel through my lungs. Centuries passed and I had never sought an audience with the Goddess. Our bargain was clear, and I was certain the next time we'd meet was when the heir was born. But I had brought with me no heir, only a heart filled with spite. I lowered myself into the river, until the water rose to my neck, my legs waddling underneath. Another deep breath and I dunked my head beneath.
Vibrations of magic traveled through me like little sparks and I stayed calm, waiting to sink in the darkness, waiting for her to come for me. To come for her heir. Minutes passed then seconds before I threw my head back out, screaming her name, angry at the silence.
"Reveal yourself," I hissed, slowly, quietly. "Oshun—Oshun!" My nerves wrecked as a chill ran through me. "I know what you have done! I know the truth! You're a liar! You will answer for your lies!" I breathed. "Osh–" The cave shook and I gasped.
The vibrations grew intense as the water began to glow, beneath it, the sun itself seemed to be rising. I began to swim out when a hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked me below. I could feel the light, as bright as day, though my eyes remained shut as I sank, fighting the hold around my feet I could not see.
Soon enough I could feel that hold no longer, and the water now felt like air around my skin, it was as though it fizzled away. Slowly, my eyes parted as my breath steadied, my fingers moving to feel the ground beneath me, smooth, cold, and gold. My gaze trailed further to the pair of bejeweled feet that stood before me.
"Oshun..." I muttered, snapping my head upward to her face, but instantly looking away. Her face was too bright to behold, it was painful to the eyes.
"You are early, sweet girl," her voice, like silk, brushed against my ear.
"You were expecting me."
"The years have made you a woman." She giggled. "Rise. The ground is no place for a queen. I have just the wine to accompany the words you wish to speak."
I felt her turn, her bare footsteps making no sound as she walked away. Apprehensively, I turned in her direction, my eyes finding the poetic curves of her back adorned in gold jewels of the cleanest sparkle, some silk of a similar hue attached to the beads of her waist flowing behind her. It did little to hold the rhythmic jiggle of her body, though it was clear that was not her intent with the style.
Sensing my refusal to rise, she stopped and turned to me, her full figure now in my view as I fought to keep my eyes on her. It was as though she was made of light, grace, and the purest of divinity. The jewels around her neck and arm were all she wore above, leaving her pierced pebbled nipples bare.
The uli makeup around her face sparkled, glowing gold or silver, depending on where the light touched. Her hips wide, her thighs full, over flowering thick black curls crowded this luscious form and I gawked. She hadn't aged a second since I last saw her. Her face was still smooth, her lips still wide and plum, the darkness of her skin phenomenally rich. Honey dripped in gold. She was still the same, in every way. But I had changed a hundred times over. The innocent eyes that once beheld her were no more.
The Goddess of life was the very epitome of desire. Though the people of Arjana worshipped her no longer, her body sculpted Arjaninan beauty standards. This became clear to me.
"I do like to be admired," she said through a smirk.
I looked away, "I have not come for wine. You know why I am here."
"Kasiri," she stated. "He whines a lot."
I sprang from the floor. "You locked him in there for five thousand years!"
"I made him a god and yet received no gratitude. If his years there are long, it is of his own doing."
"He is a prisoner to his bloodline."
"We are all prisoners to something, young one."
"You will let him go."
"You do not want that. Nimah is nowhere near ready to wield that power. Besides, we had an agreement, just like you and me. His was simply to find me a pure heart in his bloodline, how hard could that possibly be." She shrugged, an exasperated sigh leaving her. "Instead, he spent the better half of a millennium whining about his circumstances. I have always wondered what Ogun saw in him. He is dull and sputters like an infant. But as you well know, my Ogun has questionable taste in affection."
As a child, standing before such divinity, I was in awe of her. But as she spoke disgust swirled in the pit of my stomach. "You lied to me. All these years. Devoting myself to you, in gratitude, in worship. I gave you everything! And you deciev–"
"Deceived you?" she finished my sentence as if she could see the words before I said them. "I gave you your heart's desire."
"You manipulated me! How could you? To your people!"
Soft laughter shook the entirety of her body, making the jewels jiggle and chime as she swayed.
"Does it amuse you to see your people suffer?"
"Mortals have free will to choose whatever path they deem worthy. It is no fault of mine what path they chose to take. They turned their backs on me, after everything I gave them. Me." She pointed herself.
"And so you condemned them to such evil? Where is your sense of duty? They are your people! Show them reason, do not cast them to their doom."
"Look how well that is going for you. Pleasant?"
I blinked. "I–"
"This realm is beautiful, blessed with an abundance of clean essence. You are not wrong to see the good in it for there are many good. But good and evil swim in the same river, and when mortals go fishing they often aim for the latter." She started toward me, her silk sweeping against the floor. "I might have swayed the colonizer ships their way, but it was them who welcomed them in. It was them who sold their neighbors, friends, brothers, and sisters into slavery." She walked around me as she spoke. "That is what your people are. You're beginning to see the truth of this, I can see it in your eyes."
"You are no different," I spat. "Scheming from the dark for power and glory. You hold mortals to an impossible standard you cannot achieve. If they are weak and evil, it is only because they are a reflection of their creator."
A bright smile grew on her face, and her light began to dim, making it easier to behold her. Slowly, her gold-painted fingers lifted my chin and I shuddered. In fear, in hate, in anger. If she so wished it, she could crush me with a snap of a finger, I thought.
Though a prisoner, Oshun was still the greatest deity that ever existed. If destroying her were possible, Amadioha would have. I entertained that thought as I stared into the depths of her honey-brown eyes. What would it take to kill a Goddess so powerful she became the sun? She was life, she was divinity, my maker and my destroyer. How could I kill a deity that cannot be killed? It was not a craving for justice I felt, but rather an immense hunger to watch her perish.
"Both in heart and features, you are much like my Ogun." Her fingers trailed down to my chest and I sucked in a breath. "I might have failed in many ways with this realm, but not with the creation of the mortal form. It is perfect. And when we create the next realm, we will make it better." A beaming smile on her lips as turned away. "The next time we meet, do well to be with child."
"I will not lay with men who do not want me! You tainted us! They have no free will in this!"
Ignoring my accusations, she continued back into her palace of a prison.
"And if I don't? If I don't give you an heir what then?" Her feet halted at my words. "It has to be pure, doesn't it? None of what they feel is real. You tainted that purity and I will not stand for it. I will rip my womb out and throw it to the wolves, before I do," I dared. I wanted to hurt her—really hurt her. Even if it meant hurting me.
"A threat. I admire it." She said, turning around. "Your appearance is unbecoming for a queen," she said. "Come along, I will wash you."
"This is done, I will not dance to your tune any longer."
"Come along."
"I won't–" My tongue seized. I struggled to say the words but they could not form. My throat shut down on me as my legs moved in obedience.
Oshun's prison was nothing short of a castle. Gallant and glittering in every corner. The white ceilings stretched high and far, as though reaching the heavens. Animals roamed free. Lionesses, tigers, cheetahs. They walked around the halls, glowering at me. It was terrifying to be a passenger in my own body, with every step, I wanted to scream, my mind was clawing at my flesh.
She spared me no words, as she led the way, leading me through large pillared hallways until we were in a vast white bath. She waved a hand and servants emerged from thin air and started toward me. Carefully they freed me of my drenched clothes till I was naked and then led me into the hot bath. My body was still, but my mind shivered.
"Do you know what it is to create and then have it taken away from you?" she asked, making her way into the baths as the servants began piling milk and lavender leaves into the bath, her jewels slowly vanishing.
"I made them all. Every deity, all children of the soil and those beneath it. Designed by my very hands. And then I toiled for their approval. For their love. Yet at every turn, they connived and plotted for my crown. Me. Their maker." She swayed her hand in the air and a gold comb appeared in her palm. "Did I not give them everything?" She neared, rippling the water. "Yet, a prisoner of my creation I have become." She gathered the ends of my hair and began to comb.
"Amadioha stole his sister, Ala, from under me. Named her his wife. She was pure and untainted. My most flawless creation. He didn't steal her for love either. He did it for sport. To prove he could." Scooping some water, she pouring it over my scalp.
"As he conspired to dethrone me, he also conspired to banish his sisters betrothed to the eternal flames. He thought it demeaning how she loved a mortal oracle. That was a sentiment I shared. But I would have never condemned Ogbunabali to the flames."
She lifted my face. "You do not know betrayal, young one. And I hope you never do from your children or the people you hold dear." She reached for a jar of soap and poured it over me, her hands carefully rubbing my back.
"Ala remains a prisoner of his palace. His prize jewel. You wondered why I do it all." She held my gaze. "She would have never conspired, she would have never betrayed me." She waited a moment and continued, "This realm belongs to her. And I would burn it all down to the ground before I let him sit on that throne for all of eternity. Perhaps, one day, when you have children, you'd understand." She smiled warmly.
"The curves of our body enthrall me." She giggled. "The resilience in your voice. Powerful. Demanding. Yet soft and kind like that of my daughter." Her fingers detangled my curls slowly. "You're stubborn. I love it. You will need it for what's to come in this world and the next." Gripping my neck, she pinned my gaze hers. "But you belong to me. All of you. Your womb will remain untouched until it has fulfilled its purpose. Threaten it again—" Her fingers traced along the lines of my abdomen— "And I will not seek your permission to take what is mine. You love them, that is already enough." Her finger dug slightly into my skin and I grunted, a little blood spewing as something clawed the inside of my abdomen.
Her touch was awakening something inside me, pulling at a sensation I was not familiar with. Arousal deep and dark sparked between my legs and my breasts began to enlarge, my nipples pebbled hard.
"It might take a thousand years, ten thousand years. In the end, this realm will belong to her." She let go of me and my body burned. I fell to the side of the bath, gripping the marble. Her hold on my body released and I could speak and feel all of me again.
She waved a hand over the water and it came alive with a vision. Through it, the great temple of Amadioha with a large of oracles appeared.
"They all conspire against you. They will march to the palace and you will learn their intention to not bless your marriage." She held my gaze. "You will kill them all, Hareti."
"No..." I trembled in defiance. She was giving the curse a reason to soar, arming it for destruction.
"You should. Regardless of your morality, the oracles will not stand in your favor when the times comes. You know how to stop this, complete the bond."
"I will not lay with men who don't want me."
She giggled softly. "The choice is yours."
"Don't do this. They will hate me for it when they know. Oshun..."
"Shhhhhh... don't try so hard to hold on, young one." With a wave of a hand, she shoved me into the bath and I crashed deep.
My head pierced the water and I was back in the cave, breathless, struggling to stay afloat. A few minutes passed before I could swim out of it, my body burning though I was drenched. The rage and blood thirst was at its peak. Visions of slaughtering every single oracle gathered in Amadioha's temple filled my head and I fought myself to keep my mind from slipping.
Raising an unsteady hand, I opened a portal and stumbled my way back into my dressing chambers, falling to the ground once I was inside.
Trembling, I crawled to a drawer and fished out a light night dress. With my knees against the ground, I threw it on amidst the pain my body was enduring. Being in heat was not new to me. I knew the pains of it and knew how much I could endure before the madness set it. This was different, Oshun had implanted something in me, directing it specifically at the oracles, like I was a weapon to be used at her disposal. It stirred, pulsed, pulling out of me. The more I fought to keep it in me, the more it clawed to be released. I crawled out of the dressing room into my bed chambers. Only making it past the doorway before falling over, out of breath. I groaned, smacking the ground.
For a moment, I lay there, gathering myself. Mouthing Amara's name though no words came from me, more grunts, more bloody visions of the oracles. It was a while before I was able to rise to my knees. Having a better look at my bed chamber, I stilled. The dress for the wedding eve dinner was stood on a mannequin beside my bed. Peonies and roses were spread in every corner. Fruits, wine. It was the bedchamber of a woman about to marry. Something shifted inside me.
Picking myself off the floor felt like picking up a two-floored hut, it felt like I was standing under the weight of the world. My gaze softened at the sight of the dress. Pretty and pink. Suddenly the beauty of what it was supposed to feel like to be a bride came crashing back to me. It was supposed to be exciting, and magical. It was supposed to transcend everything else. A new home, a new future. Now, my marriage to them would mean nothing. Be for nothing. The door creaked open and I turned to it.
"Good grace!" Amara hurried to me. "Praise the deities!" She threw her arms around me. "You came back. We were worried, thank you!" I felt her smile against my cheek. She released me and looked into my eyes. "What's wrong?"
Everything! I wanted to scream. "I asked you to cancel the wedding eve dinner."
"You did," she agreed.
"Then what is all this?"
"His Highness The Second instructed otherwise."
"Your pardon?"
"His High Highness The—"
"Nimah?"
"Decisions needed to be made. So I asked him and he step in. Your hair is wet? You had a bath?" She gathered the curls up behind my back and I wobbled in my stand.
"Your Majesty!" Amara gasped, catching me in time.
"Where are they?"
"You're burning up." Her hand was on my forehead.
"I need him."
"Nimah?"
I shook my head. "Yarima."
All my life, the world looked and treated me like I was unbreakable. Before their eyes, I was made of iron and steel, and for centuries, I believed this, too. But Yarima—Yarima treated me with fragility. He treated me like I was made of bone and flesh, as if I'd crack if he hugged me too hard. Yarima was supposed to be outside duty, he was beyond the crown. He was for me. Only me. I could see myself in shades I never had through his eyes. And then Nimah came along. This time, I was not so afraid. I jumped blindly and if now seemed like I was crashing.
The door opened again and Nimah was standing by it, his face creased with worry. My breath hitched at the sight of him as I narrowed my eyes. Was it him? Or was it Kasiri? The seconds thinned and then a smile. A very Nimah-like smile. Soft, shy, small.
"You're here," he said, stepping in and my heart relaxed on me. He slowly approached me, arriving by my side as I leaned away from Amara's hold, trying to claim my stand. "Amara said you wished to return to the desert." He breathed a nervous laugh. "I was beginning to worry."
I managed a look at him, simply dressed in an emerald gown. "Nimah, about the cliff. I know you have questions," I began.
"I do. But we can talk about it later. I'm glad you chose to come back." His eyes took a deep study of mine before he asked, "Are you well?"
I looked away, wondering just how much of that smile was real. For months, I took a great deal of pleasure in watching his lips curve into beautiful lines at the sight of me. But now, it looked like one of the many smiles I encountered as a child. Prentionus, and forced. Somewhere behind his eyes was Kasiri pulling the strings. It made me cringe.
"Are you alright?" He tried to reach for me and I moved backward.
"Where is Yarima?" I asked, turning to Amara.
"We have not seen him all day, Your Majesty."
I squeezed the fabric of my dress. "He left?"
"Did something happen between you two?" Nimah asked.
"Did he really leave?"
"We aren't sure where he is?" Amara answered.
I staggered, wedging my body against the bed as I rubbed my forehead. "You haven't seen him since morning?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
My eyes stung with tears as I turned to the window. It was past sunset. "Yarima left the palace? He left me?" My voice cracked.
"Your Majesty... I..." Amara's words hung in the air.
"What can I do?" Nimah asked.
"Nothing! You can't do anything!" I buried my face in my palm. Pressing my knees together as I sobbed.
"What do you need?" Nimah asked.
"Yarima, get me Yarima," I pleaded, lifting my eyes to his.
His forehead remained creased, his stare burrowing hard into me as he flexed his jaw. He was angry but said nothing.
"I'll find him." He turned away, storming to the door.
Before I could say anything else, he was beyond it and away from my sight.
***
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