The great council hall of Abiriba was built in a semicircle, shaped like the open arms of a mother. Its red clay walls bore carvings of kings and queens past, and the rafters were woven with palm fronds, herbs, and ancestral sigils to ward off deceit.
It was here that Queen Uzoaru sat for the first time not as a maiden, not as a healer, but as co-ruler.
The morning light cut in through the carved windows, casting patterns like lace over the gathering of elders. Beside her sat Prince Nwabueze—now King—but even he deferred to her gaze when the council began.
She wore no crown this day. Only a simple wrapper of ochre and gold, and around her wrist, a single red bead given by the priestess who had blessed her before her journey.
"Queen Uzoaru," the eldest elder began, voice deep like drumwood, "this seat you now occupy—has not been held by a woman in four generations. Yet here we are."
She bowed slightly. "I sit not above you, but among you."
A murmur of approval rippled through the hall.
One of the younger chiefs leaned forward. "There are matters to discuss: boundary disputes with Eluama, the river fishing rites, and the matter of trade routes to Oboro. But the people also ask—will the queen bear heirs?"
The room held its breath.
Uzoaru's expression did not change.
"In time," she said. "Let the soil be tilled before we plant the yam. The land must first know peace."
The elders nodded, some smiling at the wisdom in her answer.
The meeting continued with voices raised, opinions clashing—just as it always had—but now, there was a new current in the room. A gentler one. A presence that did not demand silence but listened for truth.
Near the end of the session, a surprising visitor was allowed entry.
It was Nwanne.
She entered with poise, a scroll in hand. The elders tensed. But Uzoaru lifted her hand slightly—a sign of permission.
"I bring a proposal," Nwanne said, standing firm. "To teach girls the ways of the land—not just cooking and dance, but stories of our queens, our trials, our spirit ways. Let us raise maidens not just for marriage, but for memory."
The room was stunned.
Queen Uzoaru stood slowly and descended from her stool.
She approached Nwanne and took the scroll. Without speaking, she placed her hand over Nwanne's.
And then, turning to the elders, she declared, "Let the counsel remember this day. That healing does not come only through medicine or power—but through choice, through story, through unity."
And so, the first queen's counsel of Abiriba ended not with applause, but with deep nods and the smell of burning sage as drums began to play outside.
Outside, the people danced.
Inside, a new legacy had begun.