Chapter 10: WHAT THE WALLS HEAR

The rain came lightly that morning, not enough to stop work, only enough to soften the ground and make the compound smell of wet earth.

Abena stood under the edge of a roofed walkway, waiting for instructions. Water dripped steadily from the thatch above, marking time in uneven beats. Around her, people moved with cloth wrapped tighter than usual, shoulders slightly hunched against the coolness.

Adwoa arrived beside her, shaking droplets from her arms.

“This rain will make the field work harder,” she said.

Abena looked toward the open yard where a few workers were already moving despite the weather.

“It will make them faster,” she replied.

Adwoa gave her a quick look.

“Or more tired.”

Abena nodded once. “Both can be true.”

Adwoa exhaled softly, adjusting her cloth.

“You speak like an old woman sometimes,” she said.

Abena’s eyes stayed forward. “Old women survive here.”

A short silence followed.

Then Adwoa spoke again, lowering her voice slightly.

“They say the king will be in the inner hall tonight.”

Abena turned her head a little.

“So?”

“So when he is there, everything changes.”

Abena studied her.

“Does it change for us?”

Adwoa hesitated.

“For some.”

Abena did not respond immediately. She watched a group of guards pass by, their steps firm, their expressions unchanged by the rain. One of them glanced briefly in their direction before moving on.

“When they say ‘some’,” Abena said quietly, “they never mean us.”

Adwoa did not argue.

Instead, she leaned closer.

“There is talk,” she said.

Abena’s gaze sharpened slightly. “What talk?”

“That new ones will be selected.”

Abena’s expression remained still.

“For what?”

Adwoa looked around briefly before answering.

“Service in the inner rooms.”

A pause.

Abena understood before Adwoa finished the thought.

“Which means the king,” Abena said.

Adwoa nodded faintly.

Abena looked away.

Not surprised.

Not unsettled.

Just processing.

“They always select,” she said.

“Yes,” Adwoa replied. “But not always many.”

A distant shout carried across the compound, followed by movement near the main path. Someone was being called. Not loudly, but firmly enough that people nearby stopped what they were doing.

Abena watched as a young woman was led away by a guard. The girl’s steps were uncertain, her hands gripping the edge of her cloth tightly.

Adwoa followed Abena’s gaze.

“She came only last moon,” Adwoa said.

Abena nodded once.

“She will not return to where she slept,” she added.

Adwoa’s face tightened slightly.

“You say that like it is nothing.”

Abena finally looked at her.

“It is not nothing,” she said. “It is just not new.”

That night, the enclosure felt quieter than usual.

Not because people were absent, but because anticipation had settled over them like a weight. Whispers came and went, never staying long. Even sleep seemed delayed, as if everyone was waiting for something without knowing exactly what it was.

Abena lay on her mat, her eyes open.

Adwoa shifted beside her.

“You are awake,” she said softly.

“I am always awake,” Abena replied.

A faint pause.

Then Adwoa spoke again.

“If they call your name, will you go?”

Abena turned her head slightly.

“They do not call names,” she said.

Adwoa frowned. “Then what do they call?”

“Bodies,” Abena replied.

Silence followed.

A little later, footsteps approached outside the enclosure.

Not hurried.

Not heavy.

Measured.

A guard entered.

“Stand,” he said.

Everyone moved.

Abena rose with them.

The gate opened.

Light from torches outside spilled in, flickering across faces as they were led out one by one. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and sharp.

They were taken toward the inner path.

The same direction Adwoa had mentioned earlier.

Abena walked in line, her steps even.

Adwoa was just behind her.

“You are not afraid?” Adwoa whispered.

Abena did not turn her head.

“Fear does not change direction,” she said.

Adwoa let out a small breath.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I have.”

They reached the inner hall.

It was larger than anything Abena had stood in since arriving at the king’s grounds. The roof stretched high above them, supported by carved pillars. Torches lined the walls, their flames steady, casting warm light across polished surfaces and patterned cloth hanging in sections along the sides.

The air here felt different.

Heavier.

More controlled.

People were already gathered inside. Not many. Selected.

Abena stood among them, her gaze moving slowly across the space.

Then she saw him.

The king.

He entered without announcement, as always.

But the effect was immediate.

The room shifted.

Conversation died down.

Movement slowed.

Even those who had been standing straighter adjusted their posture slightly.

He walked to the front of the hall, speaking briefly with one of the men beside him. Then his eyes moved across the group.

One by one.

Abena did not lower her gaze.

Adwoa noticed and leaned in slightly.

“Lower your eyes,” she whispered urgently.

Abena did not respond.

Adwoa tugged gently at her cloth. “Abena…”

Still nothing.

The king’s gaze reached her.

It paused.

Longer than before.

The room did not react outwardly, but something subtle changed in the air around them.

One of the guards stepped closer to Abena’s side, watching her closely now.

The king spoke to someone beside him, but his eyes returned to her again.

Then he gestured.

Not directly.

But toward the group.

A man approached and began calling names.

One by one, people were selected and guided to the side of the hall.

Adwoa exhaled sharply when her name was not called.

But Abena remained still.

Waiting.

The man stopped in front of her.

He looked down at a small list.

Then up at her.

“You,” he said.

Abena stepped forward.

Adwoa’s hand tightened briefly in hers as she passed.

“Be careful,” Adwoa whispered.

Abena gave a slight nod.

Not reassurance.

Acknowledgment.

She was led forward.

Closer to the king.

He stood a few steps away now.

Looking at her directly.

Not speaking yet.

Just observing.

Finally, he said, “You do not lower your eyes easily.”

Abena answered calmly.

“I see no reason to.”

A faint pause passed through the hall.

One of the guards shifted slightly, but the king raised a hand, stopping any reaction.

He studied her for a moment longer.

Then he said quietly,

“Name.”

Abena met his gaze.

“Abena.”

A brief silence.

Then he nodded once.

“Abena,” he repeated.

As if testing it.

Then he turned slightly toward the others.

“She will serve in the inner quarters.”

The words landed without ceremony. Abena's heart skipped and tears hung instantly in her eyes.

But their meaning was final.

A guard stepped forward.

“Come.”

Abena did not look back.

But she felt Adwoa’s eyes on her until she disappeared through the side passage.

And for the first time since arriving at the king’s ground—

something in the path ahead changed shape.

Not freedom.

Not safety.

But attention.

And attention, in this place, was never harmless.