Chapter 8: Queen’s Test

Next day, I rise from Senior Maid to Madam, with the title Amaka.

The whole estate buzzed—cooks giggling, guards whispering, even the drivers nodding in respect. My wrapper gleamed, my head tie sat proud. I stand like new yam for market—fresh, everybody dey look.

Zainab vex die.

She slammed doors, muttered curses, refusing food. The compound felt the weight of her anger—birds didn’t sing, even the dogs hid.

She rush enter my room, her face dark like thunder.

Her glare could have set palm oil on fire. Her fists clenched, body shaking with rage.

"I no expect you."

The words spat out, bitter as bitterleaf. She looked me up and down, envy naked in her eyes. Her eyes sharp like blade, but her voice dey shake small.

She think say, without magic and with servant background, chief no go ever like me.

She sneered, head cocked. I saw the fear behind her pride.

I just turn my head, ready to talk, when steward announce chief arrival.

The steward’s voice boomed, slicing the tension. Zainab froze, quickly smoothing her face.

Old mama wey serve chief’s mother for years follow come.

She smiled at me, winked, her loyalty earned through years of suffering. I knew I had an ally now.

Yes, when Zainab get power, she look down on everybody except chief, so all of them dey wait to deal with her.

Payback time had come. The compound whispered, their eyes bright with secret joy.

"Chief’s mother talk say Amaka fit rest for one month, but since you stay up late serve for bed, you dey healthy. Kneel for your courtyard two hours, absorb sun energy, make your body strong."

The order landed like thunder. Zainab’s eyes widened, mouth dropping. The other maids snickered behind their hands.

Before, as maid, I go take this punishment for her, na so my old wound never heal, my knees swell like bread, I no fit waka for one week.

Memories of old pain flashed—days spent in agony, all for her comfort. Now, tables had turned.

Zainab just hiss, say I too soft.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the fear. Her pride was her only shield.

Now, I lean for chief, my eyes red with tears.

I acted my part, letting him see my loyalty. My tears were real, for once.

"Chief, yesterday pain me well. Make I kneel tomorrow instead?"

I begged sweetly, voice soft as ripe mango. He patted my head, smiling.

Chief face still gentle as he support me.

He whispered, "My Amaka, rest." His hands warm, his eyes full of care. I basked in his approval.

"Zainab dey weak. Make her maid take her place."

The announcement sent ripples through the compound. I almost laughed, hiding my joy behind my scarf.

I use handkerchief dab my eyes, look Zainab for door.

I met her gaze, holding it. She flinched, looking away.

Chief follow my eye, just point her.

"You."

His voice thundered, final. Zainab’s shoulders drooped, her spirit crushed.

Zainab face freeze. Her body dey shake small, but she try act normal. I know say anger dey finish her inside.

Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to move. Each step dragged, dignity slipping away.

She no fit raise head, but walk go center of courtyard, back bend, head down, kneel—no happy at all.

She knelt slowly, dust rising around her. The other servants watched, some in shock, others in glee.

For two hours under hot sun, chief chop with me, we dey laugh dey gist.

We talked about small things—market prices, village news. I felt light, almost free, my laughter ringing in the air.

I no close the door, let all the chief favour wey be her own before, blow outside with harmattan breeze, burn her face.

Each laugh, each soft word was a knife. Zainab knelt, sweat streaming, her pride melting away.