"I only need to hear it from your own mouth, what you saw that night. Nizoni's hands trembled in her lap. For a long moment Wit thought she wouldn't speak at all. Thought fear had already won the argument before it properly started. Then low halting she began.
I could not sleep. My son had a fever and I sat outside our shelter cooling him with river water when I saw Askala cross the camp toward the young warrior's fire. Alone. His knife already in hand not sheathed as a man carries it walking casual through camp at night. Her voice cracked.
I heard voices raised. Angry. Then nothing. Then Askala walking back the way he'd come alone. Wiping his hand against his leggings before he disappeared into his own shelter.
You told no one Yinaba said. Not an accusation. Just fact laid gentle between them. Who would believe a widow over a chief's son? Nizoni's eyes glistened.
Fierce despite the fear still shaking her hands. And then they blamed you instead. And I told myself perhaps I had misunderstood what I saw in the dark. Told myself that for many nights until I no longer believed my own lie any better than the council believed theirs. Will you speak this before Koso, huh?
Wit asked quiet. If it comes to that. Nizoni looked between them a long moment. Weighing a fear Wit suspected she'd been carrying alone far too long to set down easily now. If the knife stands beside my word she said finally.
Then yes. I will speak. A story alone they can call a widow's confusion. A story with blood already dried into a blade that even Askala cannot argue away so easily. They left before the moon dropped any lower.
Yinaba pressing Nizoni's hand once in something between gratitude and promise before they slipped back into the dark. She's braver than she knows. Wit said. Once they put enough distance behind them to speak freely. Most of us are.