Black Queen, Dark Knight II by Amarie Avant

Author:Amarie Avant [Avant, Amarie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amarie Avant
Published: 2019-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

I was told by my father that the Nivean Hall was constructed in the 1970s. Bannan explained that it made it easier for the citizens to make their claims without traveling up the hill to the palace. At first, I thought it was all a bunch of talking, like a round table, with myself casting the final decision.

That’s not it.

I almost need a Fitbit for the process. Often, people will ask me outside to assess a flock of cattle or a lone goat. The people show their supporting evidence. In a short amount of time, my personal woes have passed away, and I listen intently to two men bicker about said lone goat, who is rather fat and has been sneaking from one man’s land to another, eating his crop.

“Your Highness, if it were just a few morsels of grains, then okay, let the goat eat, but look at him. I can’t feed my family, and he is clearly another mouth!” the plaintiff exclaims, looking the gray spotted goat up and down.

“He came out of his mother fat.” The defendant folds his arms.

“Lies! How about you slaughter him and give me half, or gift him to MamLalumi.” He glares. “You can feed an entire village. Queen, I say you take the goat.”

“Alan, do you have a photo of Tink Tink,” I mention the goat by name, “to prove your claim that he was born fat and perhaps is not consuming a lot of your neighbor’s garden?”

Alan’s eyes slip to the ground momentarily. Though this rather comical argument is easily rectified by installing a fence between their properties, I disregard my Western ways. It’s not their way. In Nivean, our community’s largest food supply comes from each individual homes.

“That is true, for now. Once the crop yields from Prince Fari’s kind gesture, those statistics will change.” The creepy utterance worms through my cognition in an attempt to garner more gratitude from myself for Fari.

“Alan lies to you, My Queen.” The accuser scoffs, easing my desire to ignore the possession. “Tink Tink was skin and bones before he got ahold of my—”

While he’s speaking, an old Toyota slams up onto the curb. Every guard member places a hand on the gun in his holster. The driver’s door opens, and a man in muddy jeans and shirt jumps out, unaware that he’s now a threat. A few people murmur his name in bewilderment. He runs to the passenger side, opens it, and pulls out a toddler with short cropped hair in a dingy dress.

“MamLalumi is gone! The doctor is . . . I don’t know where the doctor is! Help, help!” With her father running up to us, her head lulls to the side, tiny mouth pooling with blood. The girl’s limbs lie lifeless at her sides. “My baby, she-she jumped from the roof, playing with her big brothers and—”

“She needs an emergency trach,” I command. The medical knowledge that I set aside to come here, rears itself full force. I pull out of my silk coat and place it on the ground.

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