Page 62 of Firstborn of the Sun
‘Is your sister awake?’ Ìyá-Ayé hissed.
‘Yes, Ìyá,’ Milúà said softly.
‘I hope you didn’t show her any mercy. I can’t stand weakness in my house.’
Milúà shook her head again.
‘Good. You know it’ll be her turn tonight, and whatever softness you have, she doesn’t.’
Ìyá-Ayé started pacing again. ‘That man thinks he can sit in his temple, take my daughters and then keep me out of the game? Ah! Kò tó b. He’s asking for trouble!’
Milúà flinched and took a quiet step back. At least once every blood moon, Àlùfáà-Àgbà did something to vex her mother, something they all had to pay the price for. Milúà wondered how the old High Priest and Ìyá-Ayé were ever bound to each other. Or how they ruled together when he was regent. Milúà hadn’t been alive when Ìyá-Ayé ruled Oru as the High Priestess of the Sun Temple and right hand of the Regent, but if her reign within the four corners of their home compound was anything to go by, then Ìyá-Ayé was not missed by anyone in the kingdom.
Ìyá-Ayé stopped pacing, and Milúà risked a glance at hermother. Ìyá-Ayé had knelt on the floor near the stairs leading to the throne. There used to be a rug there. Ìyá-Ayé seemed to have her eyes fixed on a brown stain on the otherwise spotless floor.
Ìyá-Ayé simmered and cursed at the blemish on the floor. Milúà had sliced through enough necks to know what the spray of blood would look like. It wasn’t uncommon for Ìyá-Ayé to bring her enemies before her throne room and have them killed, but it was the first time Milúa had seen blood stain her mother’s precious floors and she wondered who it was that died at her mother’s hands.
Ìyá-Ayé screamed, placed her hands on the spot, released her agbára and burned the floor, turning the blemish coal-black.
Were those tears? Milúà was stunned – this she hadn’t seen before. What in the world was happening to her mother? Instinctively, Milúà wanted to rush to her side but thought better of it as Ìyá-Ayé yelled out again, scorching the floor one more time.
Milúà froze, questioning herself. This woman had either killed her birth mother or known who killed her … yet, Ìyá-Ayé had been the only mother Milúà had ever known. She inched closer, watching Ìyá-Ayé heave, holding on to her chest, her hair loose and obstructing her face from view. Ìyá-Ayé was the reason Milúà knew pain as well as she did, but she never let Milúà go on suffering for too long. She did always heal Milúà – eventually.
She crouched and helped Ìyá-Ayé to her feet. Another maiden walked silently into the room, and just like Milúà, rushed to their mother, picking up the crown and helping Milúà lift Ìyá-Ayé to her feet. Ìyá-Ayé stared at Milúà, her eyes red from tears.
Milúà eyed the maiden who’d helped her. She wore goldarmour that clung tight to her slender figure – Mikún, a warrior maiden. She wore a gold piece that started as a pendant in the middle of her forehead and draped in three strands each on the sides of her face, leading to her ears, where large gold earrings sat comfortably. Her neatly braided hair glittered with gold threads, one big braid and two small ones interchangeably throughout the front of her head, leaving a huge puff of hair that fell past her shoulders.
Milúà lowered her eyes, observing her own blood-red ensemble. A hooded tight-fitted leather-like top that flared at the waist with matching trousers and her dagger on one side of her hip and her compressed staff on the other. She yearned for gold, and if Ìyá-Ayé had been fair, Milúà should have earned her warrior’s uniform many blood moons ago.
‘Ìyá,’ the warrior maiden said, ‘Aya’ba Oyíndà is here to see you.’
‘What does that woman want?’ Ìyá-Ayé said.
Milúà wondered the same. Aya’ba Oyíndà was one of the five wives of the Lord Regent and mother to the crown heir and had never come to the house of maidens before.
‘She didn’t say, Ìyá,’ Mikún said quickly. ‘She insisted that what she had to say was only for your ears and the gods. She’s the mother of our crown heir, Ìyá. I couldn’t question her.’
Milúà clenched her teeth. Why did everyone seem only to say the wrong thing to Ìyá-Ayé? While she was erratic, one thing remained constant – her pride. Keep her ego gratified, and Ìyá-Ayé wouldn’t be happy exactly, but at least you’d avoid a slap or two. Mikún was another wrong word away from a heavy slap.
‘Bring her in,’ Ìyá-Ayé hissed.
As soon as Mikún left the room, Ìyá-Ayé walked through the false wall behind her throne. Moments later, she re-entered, wearing a new, much more expensive, embroideredoutfit. A few heartbeats later, the Queen Mother walked in, dressed in a full-length royal-blue gown that sparkled with every movement. Ìyá-Ayé moved to meet her guest in the middle of the room. Her new ensemble was dripping in gold, reminding everyone who she was before she took on the role of mother.
Ìyá-Ayé adjusted her crown as she slowly approached Aya’ba Oyíndà.
Aya’ba Oyíndà stood in the middle of the throne room, defiantly refusing to meet Ìyá-Ayé halfway. Her attire was ostentatious, from the remarkably tied gèlè that stood a few inches tall, to the flamboyant sleeves and embroideries that ran the full length of the striped a??-òkè she wore. The mother of the crown heir wore five outfits a day, her colours coordinating with the five stages of the sun’s rising and setting from dawn to dusk. While Ìyá-Ayé looked like the midway sun draped in gold, to match the morning sky, Aya’ba Oyíndà’s ensemble was accessorized with red coral beads that hung low from her neck and layered atop them was a chunky gold necklace with sapphire stones that aligned down the middle of her neck, in line with the gold piece she wore across her forehead, centred by a ruby. As she got closer, Milúà noticed how her mother wrinkled her face at the apparent show of wealth the younger woman displayed. As though she’d not done the same thing.
Aya’ba Oyíndà was even more beautiful than people described. At moments like this Milúà envied women like the Queen Mother, who were chosen whether through political influence or fate to be wives to a High Priest with the single job of birthing an heir. Lavished with titles and more wealth than could be spent in generations, all for the price of their freedom. Their bodies cursed to kill any man they laid with who was not their husband. And a husband whohad four other wives and a temple maiden all bound to him in the same way. In the end Milúà looked away, realizing that all she envied was a prettier cage not unlike the one she was already trapped in.
As Ìyá-Ayé reached Aya’ba Oyíndà, they both began the usual display of respect common among many women in the kingdom of Oru. Ìyá-Ayé pretended to curtsy, reducing her height by a few inches, and Aya’ba Oyíndà pretended to dispute this show of respect by holding her in place to stop her from going further down and meeting her at the same point. Together they rose to their full height. In this way, Ìyá-Ayé had shown her the respect Aya’ba Oyíndà deserved for birthing their next king, and the Aya’ba had shown Ìyá-Ayé the respect she deserved simply for being who she was.
They both smiled, satisfied with their theatrics.
‘What brings you to our side of town?’ Ìyá-Ayé asked. ‘We know we aren’t worthy of hosting the Aya’ba, or you’d have come years ago,’ she added coyly.
‘I need to speak privately,’ Aya’ba Oyíndà said, shooting a glare at Milúà.
‘This is my house, Aya’ba. Say what you want to say here and now,’ Ìyá-Ayé said.
