Chapter 26: The death of fatima

The moon was red that night.

Its light spilled across the palace courtyard like blood over marble, a silent omen of what was coming. The fortress slept uneasily. Even the wind refused to sing through the trees.

Daphne woke with a start.

A sound—soft, deliberate—had crept through her door. She reached for the dagger Zerach had given her, the one engraved with his crest. The candlelight flickered, throwing tall, twisted shadows along the walls.

Then she saw her.

Rosa.

Dressed in white, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale and empty. But her eyes—those once bright, tender eyes—were black as pitch, hollow as the night.

“Rosa?” Daphne whispered, lowering the blade slightly. “What are you doing?”

The girl didn’t answer. She stepped forward, silent as a ghost, her fingers curling around something behind her back.

“Rosa—talk to me,” Daphne said softly. “Please.”

“You lied,” Rosa murmured at last, her voice strange—layered, as if another spoke through her. “You lied to him. You lied to me.”

Daphne’s breath caught. “Who told you that?”

Rosa’s lips twitched into a small, twisted smile. “Mother.”

And before Daphne could move, Rosa struck.

The dagger flashed in the candlelight—aimed for Daphne’s heart. But Daphne was quicker than Rosa expected. Steel met steel, and the room filled with the sound of clashing metal and shattering air.

“Rosa, stop!” Daphne cried, parrying another blow. “She’s using you!”

“She’s saving me!” Rosa shouted back, eyes wild with fury. “You think I don’t know what you’ve done? You took him—you took my mother’s life—”

“That’s not true!” Daphne shouted, tears burning her eyes. “Your mother is alive!”

Rosa froze.

For a heartbeat, the blade in her hand trembled. Confusion flickered in her gaze—but then her expression hardened again. “Liar.”

“Come with me,” Daphne pleaded. “I can prove it.”

But the whisper in Rosa’s mind—Fatima’s voice—slithered through her thoughts: She lies, my dove. She lies to take what is yours.

Rosa screamed, lunging forward again. The blade grazed Daphne’s shoulder, drawing blood. Daphne stumbled back, clutching the wound.

The door burst open.

Zerach stood there, his horned silhouette blazing in the doorway, his voice thundering through the chamber. “Enough!”

Rosa froze, panting, her dagger raised. Daphne fell to one knee, blood staining her nightgown.

Zerach’s gaze darted between them—his wife bleeding, his daughter trembling. “What madness is this?”

“She tried to kill me,” Daphne whispered.

Rosa’s eyes widened. “No—no, she—she’s lying! She wanted to destroy Mother!”

“Your mother,” Zerach said darkly, stepping closer, “has been dead for years.”

“She’s alive!” Rosa screamed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She talks to me—she tells me things—she said you left her for gold, for a crown, for her!” She pointed a shaking finger at Daphne. “You betrayed her!”

Zerach went still.

The room seemed to shrink, the silence thick and suffocating.

“Rosa,” he said slowly, “you do not know the truth.”

“Then tell me!” she cried. “Tell me what you did!”

Zerach’s expression hardened, shadows moving behind his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but cold as the edge of steel.

“I did not betray your mother. She betrayed me.”

Rosa blinked, stunned.

“Fatima was once my queen,” he said, his tone heavy with old grief. “But she wanted more than love. She wanted power—gold, the throne of Songhai itself. When I refused to make war for her greed, she turned on me. She sold my name to my enemies for silver. When I found out, she tried to poison me, and when she failed—she ran.”

His jaw tightened. “I searched for her for years. Not to kill her, but to bring her home. But by then, she had vanished… and left me without telling me she was pregnant with you.

Tears rolled down Rosa’s cheeks, confusion and denial warring inside her. “No… she wouldn’t—she—”

“She would,” Daphne said softly, rising slowly despite the pain in her shoulder. “Because I’ve seen her.”

Rosa’s gaze snapped to her. “What?”

“Your mother is alive, Rosa. She’s been hiding beyond the forest. I found her cottage. I heard her speak your name.” Daphne’s voice broke. “She’s using you, child. She’s feeding you lies so you’ll destroy everything she couldn’t.”

Zerach’s breath left him like a gust of wind. “Alive?”

Daphne nodded. “And she’s coming for us all.”

A sudden crash echoed through the corridor.

Guards shouted. The air thickened with the scent of smoke and burning sage.

Then, like a specter summoned by her name, Fatima stepped through the doorway.

Her face was pale as moonlight, her eyes burning with madness and triumph. Her once-beautiful dress hung in tatters, and her copper hair was streaked with gray and ash.

“Bravo,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “You found me.”

Zerach’s hand went to his sword. “Fatima.”

“Still so handsome,” she purred mockingly, her gaze sliding to Daphne. “And still so blind.”

Rosa staggered backward. “Mother…”

Fatima’s smile softened—for a heartbeat. “My dove,” she whispered. “You did well. You almost finished it.”

Almost.

Zerach’s fury ignited. “You turned our daughter into a weapon!”

“She was mine long before she was yours!” Fatima spat. “You stole everything from me—my crown, my kingdom, my life! I gave you love, and you gave me chains!”

“You sold your soul for gold,” Zerach said coldly. “You gave me no choice.”

Fatima’s laughter cracked through the chamber like thunder. “And now you’ll pay. You and your golden whore.”

Rosa gasped, stepping back. “Mother, stop! This isn’t right—”

But Fatima raised her hand, dark fire sparking in her palm, the air trembling with her power. “Be silent, girl! You were born to avenge me!”

Before she could strike, Daphne moved.

Blood still dripping from her wound, she stepped between them—between the mad queen and the family she had tried to destroy.

“Enough,” Daphne said, her voice steady. “You’ve lied, you’ve twisted, you’ve hurt everyone who ever loved you. But tonight, the lies end.”

Fatima sneered. “You think anyone will believe you?”

Daphne’s eyes flashed. “They already do.”

The great doors burst open—and behind them stood the royal guards, the council, and the people of the court. Zerach had summoned them with a single word through the echoing halls.

They flooded the chamber, torches blazing, their eyes wide as they took in the scene—Fatima, alive and snarling like a demon, Rosa trembling, Daphne bleeding.

“Behold,” Daphne said, her voice ringing through the hall, “the ghost who poisoned our kingdom.”

Fatima shrieked, turning her fury on the crowd, but before she could summon her magic again, Zerach’s hand came down—his sword glowing with white flame as he struck the floor. A shockwave tore through the room, snuffing out Fatima’s spell.

She screamed, clutching her chest as her power turned inward, consuming her from within. The smell of burning magic filled the air, and with one last, pitiful wail, Fatima fell to the floor—lifeless at last.

Silence.

Only the sound of Rosa’s sobs remained.

She fell to her knees beside her mother’s body, trembling, her eyes wide with horror. “What have I done…?” she whispered. “What have I done to you… to her…”

Daphne knelt beside her, her voice soft but unyielding. “You were not to blame. She used your heart against you.”

Rosa shook her head, tears spilling freely. “I wanted to believe her. I wanted to hate you… but you—you tried to save me.”

Zerach stepped forward, his expression grave but gentle. “The past is over, Rosa. What matters now is what you choose to become.”

Rosa stared down at her mother’s body, then up at the queen she had nearly killed. Her lip trembled.

“I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

Daphne touched her cheek gently. “Then earn it.”

Rosa’s breath shuddered out. She nodded weakly, tears falling onto the cold marble.

As the dawn light crept through the shattered windows, painting the floor in gold and crimson, Rosa sat alone by the body of the woman she once worshipped. Around her, the palace stirred, whispers spreading of the dead queen’s return and fall.

And in the silence that followed, Rosa pressed her face into her hands and wept—not for her mother, but for the innocent heart she had almost lost.