Five hours or more had passed after I was shown just how little my worth is to my father.
My maid in waiting didn't bother to adorn me with my customary red and orange beads or my cowrie jewels.
Instead, she cleaned my wounds, dressed me in a white wrapper, and tied my hair into a loose red gele.
Thankfully, it was a small gash—it bled itself dry in minutes.
I might be young, but even I knew I was walking into the throne room not as the Princess of Egwure…
But as a murderer.
With every second that ticked by, I remained unsure of what I had done to cause Lady Uwen to lose her child. It was what she accused me of, yet how? I still didn't understand.
Worse still, I didn't know if I am guilty or innocent.
It shouldn't matter, right? I am innocent until proven otherwise. Isn't that how justice works?
As I strode down the long, echoing halls of the inner palace—
I was pulled in by the walls carved with ancient Kufic inscriptions.
The drawings ran from the brown and gold marble floor to the ceiling.
They were large, detailed, and known to be sacred: warriors were locked in combat, priestesses mid-ritual, and ancestors wielding flaming spears.
My heart throbbed in time with the ogene's brutal stomp and the ìjà inyamí's hollow boom. Each step sent the drumbeats coursing through my veins. The rhythm was dark. Heavy even.
It was as if even the drums believed the verdict already.
Once I arrived, it was then that I realized that no door barred my view of the throne room. I'd never been here before. This vast hall was strictly forbidden.
It's reserved for the Igwe's court and its male governors.
The large chamber was used to discuss politics, war, and matters that concern Egwure as a whole.
Including disputes and judgments such as today's.
I shortly froze at the entrance as my eyes took in my surroundings. The ceiling soared so high, a giant could jump and still fail to touch the painted panels: two centuries of Egwure kings in full regalia, framed with their sigils.
It is no news to me that I come from a long line of warriors.
But, unfortunately, I was born female.
If only I'd been born a boy. I'd been the heir and favored. Maybe my father wouldn't disregard me like he does.
Everyone would be at my feet, just the way they are towards Father.
It is because I am a girl that he took in concubines from far villages—women skilled in embroidery and pottery.
Yet they did nothing but poison his heart toward me and my sick mother.
My pulse hammered harder as a shout split the air. The drumbeat intensifies, drawing my eyes from the ceiling to the crowd of old men seated on five rising podiums carved from solid mahogany.
They all represent the states and villages he governs.
Clothed in red and white ceremonial robes, a blend of isi agu, agbada, and the flowing babban riga.
I could see each of them glow under the multiple bright golden torchlights hanging from the ceiling.
Their faces were weathered and stern, but they were all adorned with gold nose rings, ivory ear cuffs, and strings of ancient beads that rested on their necks.
Most likely passed down from their forefathers.
They also each had a crescent scar mark along their foreheads.
It was to show their Egwura rite of authority.
I openly stared—how could I not?
On the far side of the room, where the drums were being played, there stood a short, brown, light-skinned man draped in the official red and royal blue agbada worn by palace high officers.
His cap bore a silver badge of a lion's paw, the mark of the Okike Mkpuruokwu—the Speaker of the Court.
Suddenly, Father raised his right hand. Silence had no choice but to snap into place.
He was now fully dressed in his full regalia: a coral beaded crown that covered most of his forehead.
Massive glass cowrie along with red and brass beads cascade down his chest.
I gawk as I wonder how he managed to sit upright beneath their weight.
His face was stone, and his green eyes carried animosity.
Aimed squarely… at me.
The throne room's eerie silence caused me to fidget and shift my weight from one foot to the other. No one dared to breathe.
I didn't breathe. How could we, when the air trembles with my father's power?
I can't decide whether I am afraid of him or in awe. What would it be like to wield such power?
His lifted hand dropped back onto the lion-head carved armrest of his throne—
A majestic seat carved from gold and wood, it is rumored to have been blessed by the three oracles from the northern peaks.
"We have gathered on such short notice," A loud voice belonging to the Speaker of the Court booms.
"Because the accused, Princess Winter Ogundele, is charged with causing the miscarriage of the king's fifth concubine, Lady Uwen Edow—thus killing the unborn heir."
"Otu ocha!"
"Abomination!"
"Tufiakwa!"
The outcries battered my ears instantly, harsh and unfiltered.
I stood frozen… staring into my father's still hardened face.
Pleading with my eyes.
Hoping he would see the truth.
I couldn't have done such a thing.
A dull ache in my head grows worse as my ears ring with the elders' shouts pounding around me like war drums.
Then—
My father raises his hand. Instantly, as if the very air obeys him, every sound ceases.
His fingers curl, slow and deliberate, summoning someone forth.
Soft steps echo along with soft sobs and sniffles.
I turned to the woman now standing a few paces from me.
Lady Uwen.
She was already dressed in different attire.
A brown sack-woven fabric cinched with white cowrie beads at her waist, the traditional garment for when we mourn the dead.
I didn't dare look at her face.
So I lowered my eyes to the smooth brown, white, and gold marble tiles, gleaming even under my white shoes.
My head hung low... as I had nowhere else to look.
Then the King's voice cut through the stillness.
"Lady Uwen, speak. Tell us why you blame Winter for your loss."
She fell to her knees, bowing deeply with her head to the ground.
"Igweee!" she greets with a trembling voice.
"Two nights ago, Princess Winter brought me amala, ewedu, and gbegiri with smoked catfish from her cooking lessons. It is a known fact that gbegiri aids in easing childbirth... So, I accepted it."
"But after I ate, I fell violently ill, stooling uncontrollably. I thought it was the pepper in the ewedu."
Her voice broke as I saw tear drops splatter on the marble floor from the corner of my eye.
The sight suddenly sent an ache-filled pang to my heart.
"By dawn, I was in serious pain! I summoned the palace physician, but by the time she arrived. I had lost the king's son."
Shouts erupted,
"Abomination"
"Otu ocha!"
She didn't bother to stop speaking, and so the elders slowly quieted down.
"The Royal Physician examined me and confirmed this."
Another series of shouts followed, but this time, the elders didn't quiet down when she tried speaking up again.
That is, until my father raises his hand.
Silence abruptly followed.
My father's voice sharply rippled through the oppressive still air.
"So, you blame the food Winter prepared?"
I could hear a slight strain in his voice, and my eyes momentarily widened in surprise.
Is Father angry? For my sake?
"Is this true, Iyanife Osunyemi? Speak honestly."
A priestess cloaked in flowing ivory aso-ofi, stepped forward from where the drummers stood, her voice remain calm and unwavering as she spoke.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Tests show papaya leaves in the remains of Lady Uwen's gbegiri; these leaves are known to induce miscarriage."
"Otu ocha!" one elder spat.
As he realized he was the only one who broke the silence, he quickly cleared his throat, awkwardly disguising it with a feigned cough.
"I apologize." He hastily murmured under his breath. But no one in court paid him any mind.
My father's gaze swung to me.
His green eyes bored into mine. A shiver ran through me as I envied his ability to command.
I'm sure no one would be able to throw such accusations against him.
I didn't dare make a sound as I waited until I was spoken to, it's what I've been taught.
"Winter, speak."
My father's deep voice instantaneously cause a tremor to run straight to my heart.
What do I say to defend myself?
I had given her the dish quite alright, because I wanted to be in her good graces, but I never thought it would lead to this.
If I knew, wallahi, I would have given the food to the palace guard dogs.
"Winter! Defend yourself! The penalty is DEATH!"
WHAT?!
Before my mouth could open to speak, I was immediately cut off by my father.
"Remember to choose your words wisely and say the truth."
My throat went dry.
My head aches while my heart pounds erratically in my chest.
I feel myself unable to breathe as I squeeze my sweaty palms at my sides.
I shake my head, trying yet failing to think, because there's no way I can tell them how that papaya leaf got into the gbegiri.
"Winter! Speak now!"