The Seven walk to the front of the dais and, as one, kneel in front of us. Bisa, Taraji, Richter, and Moorehead stride over and kneel directly behind them. Then, like a softly swelling wave, everyone in the room falls to their knees, bowing their heads in a show of respect and fidelity that steals my breath. I tilt my head back, my gaze meeting Malachi’s.
With a small smile, he stalks down the dais, never breaking our visual connection, and kneels in front of my Seven, pressing a fist directly over his heart.
I love you, I mouth to him.
He nods.I love you, he mouths back.
I close my eyes, and an image of my mother flickers and solidifies in my mind. She smiles at me, pride shining in her hazel eyes.
Remember who you are, Eshe. Remember whose you are. Never forget that.
Her words from our last moments together resonate in my head.
I remember, Ma. I’m Eshe Diallo, daughter of Aisha Diallo. Oba of the Mwuaji.
I’m loved.
Clearing my throat, I blink back the burn of tears.
“Thank you. I promise to be the oba my mother raised me to be. The oba you deserve.” I flick my hands at them. “Now get your asses up. Got me up here feeling all emotional, and you know I don’t like that shit.”
Laughter, theirs and mine, fills the family room.
“A’ight, a’ight. One more bit of business before we get to the party portion of this evening.”
I sweep a gaze over the room, the joy inside me darkening to something meaner, harder, but no less gleeful as it lands on a particular group that I ordered given a special place of “honor” at the beginning of this ceremony. They stand in the very middle, covertly surrounded by soldiers I secretly assigned to guard them.
“After my mother was killed, we found ourselves in a… precarious time. Some of us kept our heads low, simply surviving under a cruel regime. Others bided our time until the moment came when we could exact change. And then there were some of us who stood by and behind a morally bankrupt queen, capitalizing off her corrupt actions that ripped off, penalized, and even killed her own people. Those didn’t just cosign her shit by their silence, they kissed her ass, profited off her greed and their people’s loss and pain, and then picked over the corpses like vultures left in her wake. See, there’s a difference betweenbeing powerless to defy a queen and not giving a fuck about the powerless as long as you’re the one to put your boot on the back of their necks, too, while you’re robbing their pockets. I know too well what it is to be one and have closely watched some of you be the other. That I can’t stand, and you don’t deserve to wear the name Mwuaji. Nah. You don’t deserve to live.”
I wave a hand, and the guards, producing their guns, herd the thirty or so men and women forward to the front of the room. Their shouts and curses bounce off the walls, gaining volume in pitch and intensity when my Seven move in front of the dais, assault guns in their arms.
“I would say the loss of life is saddening, but I hear lying is bad for digestion, and that fire-ass macaroni ‘n’ cheese is on the menu!” Clapping my hands twice, I point toward the family room doors. “A’ight, people! Let’s go eat! You guys, though? Say hi to my auntie for me.” With a wink and wiggle of my fingers, I descend the dais steps to where Malachi meets me at the bottom.
“That’s some fucking speech,” he says.
“Right?” I scrunch up my face. “Too long?”
He snorts, shaking his head as we clear the wide double doors. Just as they close behind us, the blast of gunfire and screams erupt on the other side.
I grin.
“Yeah, smile now. Who’s gonna clean all that shit up?” Malachi growls, turning around and hauling me against his body.
With a move that leaves me breathless, he hikes me into his arms. My legs automatically wind around his waist, and my arms wrap around his neck.
Nipping his jaw, I laugh. “So, your love already has limits? Good to know.”
“I didn’t sign up for cleanup duty.”
“What’re you doing?” I glance over my shoulder as he heads for the stairs. “The cookout is out back.” I point in the direction of the kitchen and the rear of the building. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“No, I’m not. It’s been twelve hours since I’ve been inside that pussy. Food can wait.”
“But macaroni ‘n’ cheese,” I whine.
He pauses in the middle of the staircase and mugs me.
“Mac ‘n’ cheese or this dick?” When I don’t immediately answer, he barks, “Are you serious, Eshe?”
