When Roses 🌹 Burn

CHAPTER 2: Ashes Of Oaths

The fire still clawed at the night when Osas and Efe stumbled into the darkened street. Smoke stung her throat, flames licking at the heavens behind them, devouring the studio that had once been sanctuary, canvas, dream. Neighbors shouted, passing buckets in desperate rhythm, but the blaze surged too fast, greedy as a monster unchained.

Osas clung to Efe’s arm, coughing, her body trembling with shock. Every mural, every brushstroke of his soul was vanishing into the inferno—and yet all she could see was Edosa’s face. Calm. Smiling. Certain. His finger raised like a blade, not chasing, not shouting, but promising.

A promise heavier than any chain.

Efe squeezed her hand, dragging her away. “Don’t look back,” he urged, though his own eyes burned with a pain he tried to mask. “It’s gone. Let it go. We must live.”

“But—your art,” Osas gasped, her chest heaving. “You—”

“My art is nothing if I lose you,” he said fiercely, voice cracking with the fire’s roar behind them. “Come, Osas. Before they come again.”

The city seemed suddenly hostile, every alley a throat that could choke them, every shadow a pair of eyes. Motorcycles buzzed, voices rose, but beneath the ordinary bustle pulsed an undercurrent of danger, unseen yet undeniable.

Osas glanced back once more. Edosa had vanished into the crowd, but the echo of his smile followed like a curse.

---

They found refuge in the cramped room of a mechanic friend, a rusted zinc roof overhead, the air thick with grease and petrol. The man, Ikponmwosa, owed Efe a favor; once Efe had painted his dead wife’s portrait for free. Now, without a word, he shoved a thin mat toward them and locked the door from inside.

Osas collapsed onto the mat, body quaking. Silence pressed in, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. She pressed her palms to her face, tears leaking hot through her fingers.

“I’ve ruined you,” she whispered.

Efe knelt before her, catching her hands, pulling them down gently. His face, streaked with soot, glistened with sweat, but his eyes burned steady. “You’ve given me life. Don’t you see? You are not ruin. You are the fire itself.”

Her throat clenched. “But Edosa—he will not stop. My father—he will drag me back. And you… you saw how his men held you. Next time, he will not hesitate.”

Efe’s hand trembled as it cupped her cheek. “Then let him come. Let them all come. I will fight until my last breath.”

His words were steel, but beneath them she heard the quake of fear. Still, he held her gaze, and for that moment she believed him.

---

Morning came, thin light filtering through rusted holes in the roof. Benin City stirred awake with its usual chorus—generators coughing to life, hawkers’ voices rising, buses honking as impatient drivers shouted for passengers. The world moved on as though nothing had burned, nothing had shattered.

But Osas’ world had split down the middle.

She thought of her father, Chief Igbinedion, his voice echoing like a verdict: A daughter’s duty is not her happiness. It is her family’s honor. And she thought of Edosa, his shadow looming larger now, his wealth, his reach. A man whose wrath could bend the city to silence.

“What do we do now?” she asked softly.

Efe sat cross-legged, staring at his hands, blistered from fighting, from fire. His jaw was tight. “We cannot go home. Your father will have sent men already. The market will carry whispers. By now, everyone knows.”

“And Edosa?”

“Edosa will wait. He is patient. That makes him more dangerous.”

Fear slithered through her chest, but she straightened her spine. “Then we cannot wait for him to strike. We must leave, Efe. Tonight. Lagos, Ibadan—anywhere beyond his grasp.”

Efe lifted his gaze, searching hers. “With what money? With what food? Do you think Lagos is a paradise that welcomes lovers running from shadows? Even there, your father’s reach can find us.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “Then what do you suggest? That we sit here until he drags me away? That you fight machetes with your bare hands?”

Pain flickered across his face. “I suggest we think. That we plan, not rush blindly. Survival is not only fire, Osas—it is patience.”

She swallowed hard, anger and despair tangling in her chest. She wanted to scream, to tear at the walls, to demand why love must be war. But instead, she lay back on the mat, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Patience. The word felt like chains.

---

By evening, the city buzzed with rumor. The fire in Efe’s studio had spread to two neighboring stalls before it was contained. Some whispered it was an accident, others swore it was a lover’s quarrel, a scandal. But one story grew louder than the rest:

The chief’s daughter had fled.

Osas’ name passed through mouths like groundnut shells, cracked open, chewed, spat. Some said she had been kidnapped. Others claimed she had bewitched the painter. Mothers clucked their tongues; young women whispered with envy; men shook their heads at the shame.

And Edosa… Edosa fanned the fire.

In a private chamber lined with leather chairs and portraits of ancestors, he sat with Chief Igbinedion. His kaftan gleamed spotless despite the chaos of the night before. A goblet of palm wine rested untouched at his side.

“Your daughter disgraces you,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but edged with iron. “But do not fear, Chief. I will restore your honor.”

The chief’s eyes, heavy with years of power, closed briefly. “I warned her. I told her duty comes before desire. She is my blood, yet she has cut me with betrayal.”

“She has not only betrayed you,” Edosa said, leaning forward, eyes glinting. “She has spat on me. On my household. On my name. I will not let it stand.”

“What will you do?” the chief asked quietly.

Edosa’s lips curved into that same smile Osas had seen through the firelight. Slow. Cold. Certain.

“I will remind her,” he said. “That when roses burn, their ashes still belong to the soil.”

---

Osas and Efe stayed hidden for three days. Ikponmwosa brought scraps of food—bread, beans, water in old bottles—but his eyes carried unease. “People are talking,” he muttered. “They say Edosa’s men search house to house. They beat a boy yesterday for refusing to answer questions. You must go. If they find you here, I am finished.”

Fear sharpened reality. Osas clutched Efe’s hand. “We can’t stay. He’s right.”

Efe nodded grimly. “Tonight, then. We leave the city.”

They packed little—two wrappers, Efe’s charcoal sketches rolled tight, a small gourd of water. No money beyond a few crumpled naira notes. Yet Osas felt lighter with each step toward the unknown.

As night deepened, they slipped into the streets. The sky glowed with faint stars, the air thick with generator hum. They kept to alleys, moving like shadows themselves, Osas’ heart pounding with each bark of a dog, each flicker of lantern light.

At the outskirts, the city loosened into bush paths. The road stretched toward villages, toward freedom. Osas dared a breath of hope.

Then—

A honk.

A tricycle screeched to a halt before them, headlights blinding. Men spilled out, machetes gleaming.

Edosa’s voice cut through the night, calm as ever: “Going somewhere?”

Osas’ blood froze.

---

The men lunged. Efe shoved Osas back, seizing a fallen branch. He swung wildly, desperation his weapon. The clash was brutal—metal against wood, grunts, curses. Osas screamed, searching for escape, her feet trapped between fight and flight.

“Take her!” Edosa barked.

Two men rushed her. She bit, scratched, clawed, fire in her veins. But rough hands seized her arms, dragging her toward the tricycle.

“Osas!” Efe roared, blood streaming from his brow.

“Efe!”

In that instant, her world fractured. His figure blurred, surrounded, beaten, but unbroken. His voice carried like thunder—raw, defiant.

“Run, Osas! Run!”

Her captors faltered as she kicked, twisted, tore free. Without thought, she fled into the bush, thorns clawing her skin, darkness swallowing her whole. Branches snapped underfoot, breath ragged, tears blinding. Behind her, shouts erupted, curses chasing her.

She ran until her body collapsed, until the earth itself caught her.

And there, beneath a sky cold with stars, she sobbed. Not just for fear. Not just for herself.

But for Efe—left in the jaws of wolves.

---

When dawn broke, the bush whispered with life—crickets, rustling leaves, distant crow of a c**k. Osas dragged herself up, weak, battered. She stumbled along the path until she reached a small village. Women stared, whispering as she passed, her wrapper torn, face streaked with dirt.

An old woman offered her water, pressing a calabash into her shaking hands. “Child, what hunts you?”

Osas’ lips trembled. “Shadows.”

But shadows had names. Edosa. Her father.

And somewhere behind, perhaps broken, perhaps alive—Efe.

She swore then, with the rawness of her soul: I will not bow. Not to Edosa. Not to duty. Not to fear.

If the world wished to cage her, then she would set it ablaze.

---

Back in the city, Edosa sat in his courtyard, sipping palm wine as his men reported.

“The girl escaped,” one muttered, head bowed. “Into the bush. We lost her trail.”

“And the painter?” Edosa asked lightly.

“Beaten. Broken. But alive. For now.”

Edosa’s smile returned, slow and certain. “Good. Let him live. Let her believe she still has him. Hope makes the fall sweeter.”

He raised his cup, watching the wine catch the sun.

“This fire has only begun.”