By the time the next season settled over the palace, Abena’s body no longer allowed her to be ignored. She began to say too much, take things unserious, sometimes her body changed to ignoring or challenging. People became used to her new self.
It had grown heavier now, clearly changed, impossible to hide under her sack cloth. The fabric still hung loosely on her frame, but not the same way it once did. Her movements were slower, not from weakness alone, but from the careful attention her body now demanded from her.
Even walking required awareness.
Even breathing felt different some days.
That morning, Adwoa found her adjusting her cloth again near the water store.
“You are going to tear that cloth if you keep pulling it like that,” Adwoa said, half serious, half tired.
Abena looked down at herself and sighed.
“If it tears, I will just wrap myself in leaves and become a forest spirit,” she said.
Adwoa stared at her for a moment.
Then let out a short laugh.
“You are still making jokes in this condition?”
Abena shrugged slightly.
“If I stop joking, I will start complaining. And complaining will not carry water for me.”
Adwoa shook her head, smiling faintly.
“That mouth of yours…”
Abena adjusted the knot again.
“It is the only thing that still listens to me properly.”
A group of younger slaves passed nearby and slowed down slightly when they saw her.
One of them whispered, not quietly enough, “She is the one.”
Another replied, “They said she is almost due.”
Abena heard them.
She turned her head slightly.
“And yet I am still carrying water like everyone else,” she said loudly enough for them to hear.
The girls froze.
Abena raised her brows.
“Should I start floating instead?”
One of them quickly lowered her head.
“No, no… we did not mean—”
Abena waved her hand lightly.
“I know what you meant. I am just checking if the water will carry me today or if I must still do the walking myself.”
The tension broke slightly. One of the girls even smiled nervously before they hurried away.
Adwoa looked at her again.
“You are becoming dangerous in a different way.”
Abena lifted the water pot carefully.
“I am becoming tired,” she corrected.
They walked together toward the inner path.
The guards they passed watched her more openly now, but not unkindly. More like something had shifted in their understanding of her place.
One of them, a younger guard, spoke as she passed.
“You should not be doing this work anymore.”
Abena stopped briefly.
Then looked at him.
“If I stop working, will the water start carrying itself?”
The guard blinked.
“I mean… you should be resting.”
Abena tilted her head.
“Rest where? Inside the palace that never rests?”
The guard hesitated.
“I just mean… the child—”
Abena interrupted gently.
“The child is not the one carrying the pot.”
A short silence followed.
Then she added, softer:
“But thank you for worrying. It is new.”
The guard looked slightly embarrassed.
“I did not mean disrespect.”
Abena nodded.
“I know. You look like someone who still believes in instructions.”
That made Adwoa snort quietly beside her.
The guard stepped aside quickly, unsure whether he had been insulted or forgiven.
When they moved on, Adwoa whispered, “You enjoy confusing them.”
Abena replied, “It keeps them thinking I am unpredictable.”
Adwoa looked at her.
“And are you not?”
Abena adjusted her grip on the pot.
“I am just pregnant. Not mysterious.”
That earned another laugh from Adwoa.
But as they reached the well, the atmosphere shifted again.
Work continued around her, but people gave her space without being told. Not respect exactly. Not pity either. Something in between. A careful distance, like the body she carried had become part of the palace’s structure now.
One of the older women approached her cautiously.
“You should sit,” the woman said.
Abena looked at her.
“I can still stand.”
The woman shook her head.
“That is not what I said.”
Abena smiled faintly.
“You people are starting to speak like the weather. Everything is ‘should’ and ‘should not’ now.”
The woman sighed.
“You are close to delivery. That is all I am saying.”
Abena nodded slowly.
“I heard that part.”
A pause.
Then she asked lightly, “Do I get a different job title when it happens? Or do I just become ‘the one who cannot bend properly anymore’?”
The woman gave her a long look.
“You joke too much for someone in your position.”
Abena replied simply, “If I stop joking, I will start thinking too loudly.”
The woman said nothing after that.
Later, Adwoa and Abena sat briefly behind a storage wall where shade was thicker.
Adwoa looked at her carefully.
“Are you afraid?”
Abena rested her back against the wall.
“Of what part?”
Adwoa hesitated.
“Of what comes next.”
Abena was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “I am more afraid of what comes after that.”
Adwoa frowned slightly.
“That does not make sense.”
Abena looked at her.
“It does. The palace does not stop changing things just because one change finishes.”
Adwoa lowered her voice.
“And the king?”
Abena exhaled slowly.
“He has not spoken to me directly in a while.”
Adwoa nodded.
“That is what they do when they are waiting.”
Abena tilted her head.
“For what?”
Adwoa answered honestly.
“For the outcome they think belongs to them.”
Abena looked down at her hands resting on her stomach.
For a moment, her expression softened slightly.
Not weak.
Just present.
Then she said, quietly,
“It does not belong to anyone yet.”
Adwoa studied her.
“And when it comes?”
Abena adjusted her cloth carefully.
“Then I will decide what it means.”
Adwoa sighed.
“You always say that.”
Abena smiled faintly.
“It is the only way I know how to survive here without asking permission for everything.”
A distant bell-like sound echoed through the compound.
Work continued.
Life continued.
But Abena sat still for a moment longer than usual.
Because now, the weight she carried was no longer only hers.
And even the palace had begun to notice that something unavoidable was approaching.
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