Misozi POV
The sound of bird song greets me as I wake up, and I sit up from my bed to enjoy the view of morning light permeating my room. The light streaks through the slats of the window blinds, and its warm and cheerful touch reminds me that it is a new day, and with it comes new hopes and aspirations.
I never give up on my hopes and dreams, that one day I can be truly independent and strong. I want to be someone that people can look up to and admire. I want to prove to the people of the N'Jovo Kingdom that women are not weak, that we are not useless, that we are not things. I want to be an inspiration to them all.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the sound of my mother's voice calling my name."Misozi!"
"Yes, Mother. I'll be there in a minute!"
I tidy my small bed and ensure everything is clean and tidy. It is a small and simple room; the bed lies beside the wall, and a small table sit close by. Upon it are some books I had taken from my mother's room. An old wardrobe stands beside the opposite wall.I smile at it with gentle pride and contentment. It is simple. It is mine, and it is home.
Opening the door, I walk out to find my mother elsewhere in the house.
"Good morning, Mother. How are you?" I ask her brightly.
"I'm fine, my dear, and you? Did you sleep well?" She replies back with motherly care.
"I did, thank you," I respond, smiling at her tender voice.
"I already made breakfast, so hurry up and eat. We're running late. We have so much to do today at the palace. Gloria isn't feeling well, so it will just be you and I. You know how much the King likes punctuality. The last thing I want is to face his wrath," she said hurriedly.
"Alright, I understand," I sigh. "It's sad Gloria isn't feeling well. I really wanted to spend some time with the children today." I cannot help but pout with disappointment.
"Yes, but it is what it is now, and there's nothing you can do about it. I hope you stopped teaching those girls how to read and write," she says sternly, holding my gaze intently without blinking. Her knowing gaze pins me to the wall, and I squirm under her stare. Mothers always know.
I purse my lips, lowering my gaze to my feet and pretend like they're the most interesting things I have ever laid eyes my on. But I hate lying to her.
"Misozi!" Mother's voice is sharp. "I know you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart andwhat you believe in, but teaching those girls will land you in trouble with the King. You are breaking one of the laws; no education for a girl child. Please, my child, keep yourself alive, for me. I cannot bear to lose you too. You are all I have," Mother pleads, her voice breaking with tears which threatened to fallfrom her warm eyes.
I sigh, but smile warmly as I regard her. She is a woman who is only 6 feet tall, with a fairly dark complexion and dark brown eyes like obsidian bathed in sunlight. The only thing I inherited from mymother is her height. Besides that, she tells me I am a replica of my father.
"What you are asking me to do is difficult, Mother. I can't promise to stop, but I do promise to be more
careful. Don't worry too much about me. I'm a big girl now. Look at me," I joke reassuringly to lighten her mood.
"Okay. I will take what I can get. Just be careful, alright? I love you."
"I love you too, Mother."
*****
I wonder how Gloria is feeling now, because I have started to notice whenever she comes to work, she seems to be slowly losing weight. At first I thought it was because she lost her appetite. But I guess I was wrong. Had I known she had actually been sick all this while, I would have done something to help her. Maybe advise her to stay at home, and to help her with house chores or whatever else she needed done. Hopefully I can still visit her and the children before the sun goes down, I hope to myself. I can always spare some time to teach the children tomorrow. It bothers me that I was unable to do it today. And I know them well enough to know they will be wondering why I am not there yet. But I am sure they willbunderstand once I explain why I could not make it. May the Gods bless their kind souls.
I finished off the rest of my work earlier than expected today, grateful when the steady stream of servants coming to take their meals slowed to a mere trickle. Between my deep concerns over Gloria and my little girls, I am physically and mentally exhausted from the day.
"Misozi!"
I jump, finally realising someone was calling me and turned to the source. My Mother.
"I have called your name three times now. This is not the time or place to get lost in thought," she scolds me with a disapproving shake of her head."Go to the forest and chop some wood."
"Mother, I'm worn out. Can't you ask someone else?" I ask with a scowl of exhausted irritation.
"Who else should do it then? I can't go because I'm busy. So you go," she orders.
I groan, my shoulders falling. "The King should do something about this. There's too much work here. Why would he allow only three people to work in the kitchen - the royal kitchen?" I grumble, folding my hands against my chest.
Astonished, Mother eyes me, her eyes almost bulging from her sockets, with her mouth agape. Her reaction is as if I have said the most outrageous thing ever known to man.
"Shush, never say that again!" She hissed quickly. "What did I tell you about avoiding trouble? Go and do and as I said! I didn't raise you to be lazy." She gives me a sharp tempered glare.
I concede to her powerful stare. "Fine," I huff. "Ironic. They say women are weak, yet we do all the tough jobs," I mumble the last part while stalking out.
*****
In the forest, I pause to stare in awe at the sun, glazing above me like a fiery wheel in the sky. Between breaks in the forest's foliage, its golden beams streak down and glitter upon the river I see from afar. Eventhe dead leaves seem to be alight with a fiery inner glow.
I glance at my work and conclude that is enough wood for today, and so i gather my haul and tighten a strap around them with practised hands. While I do so, I sing one of my favourite songs in my native
language, oblivious to everything else around me as my soul soars through singing.
"Such a beautiful voice," I hear a masculine voice from behind me. Startled by his unexpected appearance, I drop the bunch of wood which clacks onto the ground, and spin around to see the source of the voice.
Before me is a strong-postured man and tall. His dark brown hair is neatly cut. His perfectly shaped almond eyes are as dark and fathomless as the night. His lips are full, bottom lip lightly pink. Never before have I ever seen such a handsome man in our Kingdom before. He is clad in all black like sheets of shadow draping over his silently imposing form. There is a crown upon his head.
Wait, a crown? I think with dawning disbelief.
In this moment, I wish the ground would somehow open up and swallow me.
By the Gods! It's the King! I think with stupefied shock. I was staring at the King. To say I am embarrassed and afraid is an understatement. I could be executed for not bowing my head to show my respect! But in my defence, I have only seen the King from afar, with soldiers all around him.He never comes to the kitchen. Why would he?
"My King," I gasp, and finally remember to bow my head. My entire body trembles with apprehension, and I fear my knees will buckle beneath me. I might as well just fall.
He does not say anything, and the silence stretches on between us as the tension builds. The silence is killing me, for I feel as if he is observing me, as a panther might survey its prey before the killing strike. Obviously he must be thinking of ways to punish me for not bowing to him immediately. Sweat drips from my forehead and beads along my back. My hands are shaking, and my palms andfingers are drenched in sweat.
Just when I feel like I can stand the weight of his gaze no more, he speaks.
"What is your name?" He commands.
His words resonate with power which radiates from him like light and heat beats down upon the landfrom the sun. His voice and presence alone revels in authority, it commands obedience and terror.His stare alone sends a shiver down my spine. I swallow. It is painful, for my mouth has grown dry with my fear.
"Mi-Misozi, my King," I stammer.