Chapter 27: THE WAY THROUGH

The palace grew tighter with each passing day.

After the prince’s death, the guards did not relax. If anything, they became restless in a different way—more present, more suspicious, but not more careful. They watched faces. They listened to voices. They searched people.

But they did not watch patterns.

And Abena understood that better than anyone.

The walls were no longer her path.

She abandoned that idea quietly.

Too much time. Too much risk. Too close to places that had suddenly begun to matter.

Instead, she turned her attention inward—into the movement of the palace itself.

Because the palace did not sleep.

It only shifted.

There were times when food was carried from one section to another. Times when firewood was moved. Times when waste was taken out beyond the inner grounds. These were not moments people watched closely, because they were repeated too often to be questioned.

That was where she began again.

Observation became her work.

Not just where people stood, but when they moved. Not just what they carried, but who carried it. She watched the women who handled food supplies, the men who pushed carts of yam and grain, the older slaves who were trusted to move between inner and outer sections without constant supervision.

One path drew her attention more than the others.

The waste route.

It was not spoken of much, and no one lingered near it longer than necessary. At the far edge of the compound, beyond the cooking areas and behind a line of storage huts, there was a narrow passage used to carry waste out of the palace. It led toward a shallow trench that extended beyond the inner walls before opening into bushland further away.

It was not guarded closely.

Because no one believed anyone would choose that way.

Abena did not dismiss it.

She studied it.

At first from a distance, while carrying out routine tasks. Then closer, when she found reason to assist in those duties. She watched how often it was used, who was assigned to it, how the guards behaved when the carts passed.

They did not inspect thoroughly.

They did not linger.

They only ensured movement continued.

That was the weakness.

She began to place herself within that routine.

Not suddenly. Not in a way that could be noticed.

Gradually.

One day she offered to assist when another woman complained of weakness. Another day she stayed back longer than necessary to help carry a load. Slowly, she became a familiar face in that part of the work—someone who belonged there enough not to be questioned.

Adwoa noticed the shift before she explained it.

“You are changing your path again,” she said one evening as they sat near the sleeping quarters.

Abena nodded.

“Yes.”

Adwoa studied her carefully. “What have you found?”

Abena glanced around before speaking.

“A way that people do not look at closely.”

Adwoa leaned in slightly. “Where?”

“The waste path,” Abena said.

Adwoa’s brows tightened. “That place? It is narrow. Dirty. Watched just enough to matter.”

“Not enough,” Abena replied.

Adwoa shook her head. “Even if you pass through, where does it lead?”

“Beyond the outer trench,” Abena said. “Into the bush.”

Adwoa hesitated. “With children? In that condition?”

Abena’s hand rested briefly against her stomach.

“Yes.”

Adwoa exhaled slowly. “You are choosing the hardest path.”

Abena looked at her.

“I am choosing the one they will not expect.”

That was the difference.

The gates were guarded. The walls were watched. The open paths were exposed.

But this path—this forgotten, avoided route—carried something else.

Neglect.

And neglect could be used.

The plan began to form clearly after that.

She would not leave alone in the open.

She would not run.

She would disappear within movement.

The carts that carried waste were large enough to hold more than what they appeared to carry. Covered loosely, handled without care, pushed out without detailed inspection. If she could place herself within that moment—if she could enter that movement without being seen as separate from it—she could pass through.

Timing would be everything.

The route was used most often just before dawn, when the night’s waste was cleared and the guards were at their lowest alertness. That was when bodies were tired, attention scattered, and routines followed without thought.

She would need to be there at that exact time.

Prepared.

Hidden within what no one wanted to look at.

Adwoa listened to the plan in silence before speaking again.

“You are certain?” she asked.

Abena nodded.

“Yes.”

“And after that?” Adwoa pressed. “Once you leave?”

Abena’s eyes shifted toward the distance, as if she could already see beyond the palace.

“I follow the path I marked,” she said. “Away from here. Far enough that they stop searching.”

Adwoa studied her for a long moment.

“You are carrying. You have a child already. This is not a simple escape.”

Abena met her gaze.

“There is no simple escape from this place.”

Adwoa did not argue that.

Silence settled between them before she asked the question she had been avoiding.

“And the king?”

Abena did not hesitate this time.

“I will not leave him.”

Adwoa’s breath caught. “You still hold to that?”

“Yes.”

“That will make everything harder,” Adwoa said.

Abena’s voice remained calm.

“Everything is already hard.”

Adwoa shook her head slightly. “You could leave. You could be free. Why risk that?”

Abena looked at her, and for the first time, there was something deeper in her eyes—something that had grown beyond survival.

“Because leaving him alive means this continues,” she said. “Not for me. For others.”

Adwoa had no answer to that.

The night deepened around them, quiet settling over the compound again, but Abena’s mind did not rest.

The plan was set.

Not perfect.

Not safe.

But possible.

She would wait for the birth.

Wait until her body allowed movement again.

Wait for the right morning when routine would hide her instead of expose her.

And when that moment came—

she would move.

But before she vanished into that path no one valued—

before she carried her children into whatever waited beyond—

she would return once more.

To the center of the palace.

To the man who had begun it all.

And she would finish it.