Kirti, Present
"I won't be assigned to the bathing area again. I don't think anyone will for the next two days," Thika said as we sat on a smooth marble bench nestled in the palace garden.
The early morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. The garden was one of the few places that felt untouched by the rigid cruelty of the palace, and our dawn meetings had become a sacred ritual over the past few days. It was the only time we could speak freely, without the suffocating presence of guards or prying eyes.
Today, I'd brought a small bundle of baked goods—flaky pastries and soft rolls wrapped in a linen cloth—for Thika to sneak back to the slave quarters. She took them gratefully, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble before tucking the bundle into her apron.
Unlike the Kaambh girls, who could eat whatever and whenever they wanted, the female slaves were rationed. They could only take what was given, no more, no less. Yet even for the Kaambh girls, there was an unspoken rule: any girl deemed overweight was swiftly sent to the pain room. It didn't matter how loyal or hard-working they were. Their punishment was non-negotiable.
"Why won't you be assigned to the bathing area?" I asked, unable to keep the edge of worry from creeping into my voice. My mind raced with thoughts of discovery, of punishment. Had someone found out about us?
"Everyone will be reassigned to clean the B-wing and the great hall for Ashumaye," Thika replied, her voice calm but her expression tinged with excitement.
"Ashumaye? What's that?" I asked, leaning closer.
"It's the day the first-ever Ashu was created by Goddess Shakti, nine thousand years ago," she explained with a reverence I rarely saw in her.
"Wow!" I chuckled softly. "So, it's like a celebration?"
"Yes," she nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. Then, her expression brightened. "Come, let me show you something."
Taking my arm, she led me toward the walls surrounding the bathing area. The stone structure loomed tall, weathered by centuries yet still imposing. As we approached, she pointed to a section of the wall, her finger tracing intricate engravings etched into the surface.
"These are the images of all the Ashus we've had over the years," she said, her voice filled with quiet fascination.
I stepped closer, placing my hand against the cold, engraved surface. The intricate details of the carvings were mesmerizing, though the sheer size of the images made it difficult to take them all in up close. Stepping back, I tilted my head to fully appreciate the wall. It boasted hundreds of Ashus, each one unique yet undeniably menacing. Their expressions ranged from stoic to ferocious, with jagged fangs, and gleaming eyes immortalized in stone.
"Raza, the owner of the Ashu, is born only after the previous one dies," Thika continued, her gaze fixed on the engravings. "Every Ashu has similar powers, but their personalities differ depending on their Raza. Malith's Ashu was the cruelest we've ever had. It didn't hesitate to kill anyone in its path."
I frowned, my thoughts turning to Zavi. His Ashu, unlike Malith's, seemed almost kind—protective, even. Yet Zavi himself was nothing short of monstrous. What kind of Raza had he been before becoming what he was now? Did his cruelty grow over time, or had it always been there, waiting to surface?
I wanted to ask Thika more, to dig deeper into the history of the Ashus and their Razas, but I held back. Asking too many questions could unravel the fragile trust we'd built. There were truths I wasn't ready to share, secrets I couldn't afford to reveal.
When her shift ended, Thika left with a quick glance over her shoulder. I watched her disappear into the labyrinth of palace corridors, clutching the bundle of baked goods.
Later that day, I approached Meekh with a question that had been gnawing at me. "Will we be attending Ashumaye?"
Meekh looked up from her sewing, her expression sharp and unsympathetic. "Only if you're invited by one of the men attending," she said, her tone laced with disdain. "Don't get your hopes up. There are hundreds of women far more deserving than you."
I clenched my fists, biting back a retort. I had no desire to accompany one of those vile men, to drape myself on their arm like a trophy. But the idea of exploring more parts of the palace intrigued me. Mapping out its corridors and halls, understanding its layout—these were tools I could use. Tools to plan my escape.
Anything was better than wasting away in this gilded prison they called a whorehouse.
I had no idea how the selection process for the women escorts worked, but I found out soon enough. One sweltering afternoon, Meekh's sharp voice echoed through the halls, summoning everyone to the orgy courtyard. The space was as ostentatious as it was unsettling, with ornate marble pillars and silk-draped archways that couldn't mask the depravity it represented.
Meekh stood in the center, clutching a handful of letters, her face stretched into a wide smile that only deepened the lines around her eyes. The crowd of girls buzzed with anticipation, their excitement palpable.
"We have eleven invitations for Ashumaye this year," Meekh announced, her voice commanding attention. "You girls ready to find out who invited who?"
The air erupted with cheers. The women around me practically vibrated with energy, their faces eager and full of hope. I glanced around, noticing the way they clutched their skirts or wrung their hands, as if waiting for their names to be called was the most important moment of their lives.
"We'll do this one by one," Meekh continued, raising the first letter dramatically before tearing it open. "Sir Dwag has requested Maya."
A collective clap followed the announcement as a girl in revealing, lacy lingerie squealed with delight. She skipped forward, snatching the letter from Meekh's hand. Her grin stretched ear to ear, and though the other girls congratulated her, the underlying jealousy was impossible to miss. Some of them whispered, their eyes narrowing as Maya soaked up the attention.
It became clear to me that these invitations weren't just requests—they were opportunities. For every Kaambh girl here, an invitation wasn't just a chance to attend a prestigious event; it was a ticket to the possibility of favor, a moment to stand out in a world where they were otherwise disposable.
Meekh worked her way through the pile, reading each name with exaggerated importance. Most of the invitations were from wealthy lords and minor nobles, but none came from the Hurim family—until the last one.
"And now, the final invitation," Meekh declared, holding the unopened letter aloft like a prize. "As always, it's from Nizain of the Hurim dynasty."
Gasps rippled through the courtyard. The mere mention of Nizain's name seemed to hold a weight that silenced even the most excitable girls.
"Open it, Meekh!" one of them urged, leaning forward eagerly.
Meekh smirked, clearly relishing the moment. "We already know who this is for," she teased, chuckling as she unfolded the letter. But as her eyes scanned the page, her expression shifted. The smirk vanished, replaced by something that looked like disbelief. Then her face darkened with fury.
"Is this a joke?" she spat, glaring at the letter as if it had personally insulted her.
"What is it?" another girl asked, reaching for the paper, but Meekh snatched it back. Her gaze darted to me, and for a moment, I was frozen under the heat of her glare.
"What did you do?" she demanded, marching toward me. She held the letter out like an accusation, pointing it at my chest.
I blinked, completely bewildered. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
Meekh's face twisted in anger. With a growl of frustration, she crumpled the letter and hurled it at my feet before storming off, muttering curses under her breath.
I bent down to pick it up, but another girl was quicker. She snatched it up and smoothed out the creases, her voice ringing out as she read the contents.
"I, Nizain of the Hurim dynasty, request the honor of the company of Miss Kirti to the Ashumaye at the Great Hall on the ninth day of the sixth lunar month."
Silence fell over the courtyard, followed by a wave of hushed whispers. All eyes turned to me, their expressions a mix of shock, curiosity, and thinly veiled malice.
"She must've used black magic," one girl muttered.
"Or her body," another sneered. "That's the only way someone like her could get an invitation."
I clenched my fists, trying to block out their voices. I turned and hurried back to my room, my thoughts a storm of confusion and unease. Why had Nizain chosen me? We'd spoken only twice. What had I done to deserve his attention, especially over all the other girls who seemed far more eager to impress him?
The questions plagued me as I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn't trust his motives. Nizain seemed decent enough, but I'd learned long ago that appearances could be deceiving. If my own father could betray me, what reason did I have to trust any man?
Later that night, a Kaambh girl delivered a parcel to my room. Inside was a gown—a sea-green, pearly masterpiece that shimmered under the dim light of my lamp. The fabric was impossibly soft, luxurious in a way that felt alien against my skin. I held it close, pressing it to my chest, marveling at its beauty.
For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what the celebration might be like. Maybe this was my chance to confront Zavi. If I arrived dressed like this, on Nizain's arm, perhaps he'd take me seriously. Perhaps he'd finally give me the answers I needed.
The next day, the lunchroom was abuzz with murmurs. The other girls stole glances at me, whispering behind their hands. Meekh's scowl burned into my back every time I moved. Her anger was palpable, radiating off her in waves.
I kept my head down, eating in silence. It was hard to ignore the isolation, the constant stares, but I tried to push it all aside. I didn't have friends here, and I didn't need them. Whatever this invitation meant, I'd face it alone, just as I'd faced everything else in this wretched place.
Later in the day, two girls barged into my room without knocking.
"We have been sent here to prepare you for the party." they said, not looking so happy about it.
They waxed me, which I did not expect in a million years. Helped me bath, and moisturized my body with some freaky sweet smelling lotions. They styled my hair into a bun. When I finally got the clothes on, it was like I had become a completely different person. I looked sophisticated, nothing like I had ever looked before. They sprayed perfume on me, put sparkly shoes on and then asked me to follow them.
All the other invited women had also gotten all dressed up and pretty and were waiting in the courtyard. They looked amazing, giggly and excited, but most of the eyes were trained on me. They held contempt.
We walked out the doors of the Kaambh quarters. The guards were already waiting outside. They escorted us through doors and corridors. We came to a stop in front of a bridge similar to the one I had crossed to come to Kaambh quarters from the slave area. This one was longer than the previous, more sturdy, made with thick engraved stones, taking us to the other side of the palace.
I looked down from the mountain. For the first time since my arrival in this world, the sky was clear. I could see the town below—a colorful array of tents and houses that looked like ants from this height.
I wanted to stand there a little longer, taking in the view, but the girls behind me pushed me forward. The Great Hall, as they called it, was filled with smartly dressed people. The women guests glared at us, while the men accompanying them stared at us with their mouths hanging open.
The girls in our group were led away one by one by the men who had invited them. I was the last one standing in the crowd, feeling lost and lonely. Hugging myself, I tried to navigate through the sea of strangers, stumbling as I struggled to maintain balance in the unfamiliar high heels. The guests were cruel, muttering choice words like "whore" and "slut" as they shoved me aside.
Eventually, I managed to find an isolated corner, silently praying for the night to be over.
"Are you having a good time?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of a voice. Turning my head, I saw Nizain standing in front of me, an obnoxious smirk plastered on his face.
"Come, let's get something to drink," he said.
"I don't drink," I replied, folding my hands behind my back.
He tilted his head, feigning hurt. "I don't understand why you don't like me. I've been nothing but good to you."
I stood quietly, unable to respond. It wasn't about liking him—trust was the real issue.
"Please?" he offered his hand again, his expression softening slightly. Reluctantly, I took it, not wanting to make a scene.
We walked to a table laden with food and drinks. He helped me pour a red-colored liquid into a glass.
"Cheers?" he said in human tongue, his words coated with a thick accent. He bowed slightly as he handed me the glass.
"Thanks," I murmured as I took it.
"The star of the party will be out soon," Nizain said, sipping from his glass with practiced nonchalance.
As if on cue, Ashu appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his presence commanding immediate attention. A vibrant, feathered headpiece adorned his head, its colors shimmering brilliantly under the chandelier lights. His every step exuded poise and elegance, his demeanor reminiscent of a well-mannered prince.
But it was the man walking beside him who stole my breath. Zavi. His thick, regal attire clung to his muscular frame, the intricate embroidery and rich fabrics highlighting his status as king. He carried himself with a quiet authority, his stormy eyes scanning the room with a look of indifference that chilled and captivated me all at once. My heart betrayed me, fluttering at the sight of his imposing beauty. I clenched my fists, scolding myself for the weakness. How could I feel anything but contempt for this heartless, soulless monster? My only purpose for being here was to convince him to send me back to my world. That was all.
The hall erupted in applause as Ashu and Zavi descended the stairs, their synchronized movements commanding every gaze in the room. Yet, Zavi remained unbothered by the attention. He didn't smile, not even when guests bowed their heads or offered warm grins in his direction.
"There he is, our Raza. Our leader. Our protector."
I turned to look at Nizain, whose tone dripped with sarcasm despite the words of praise. When he noticed my gaze, he quickly forced a smile, the expression unconvincing and shallow.
Before I could step away, his knuckles brushed against my cheek, sending an unpleasant shiver down my spine. "I'm sorry for everything you've had to go through," he said softly, his voice tinged with something that could have been remorse—or manipulation.
For a fleeting moment, I thought he might genuinely understand. Perhaps I could ask him for help. An escape.
I took a sip of the sweet drink to calm my nerves, my eyes involuntarily drifting back to Zavi. He was staring straight at me, his intense gaze freezing me in place. My throat tightened, and I choked on the liquid, coughing violently.
"Take it easy," Nizain said, patting my back lightly. When I dared to look at Zavi again, his attention had shifted elsewhere. He was now deep in conversation with someone in the crowd.
"What is she doing with you?"
The sharp voice belonged to Akun, who approached with a young girl on his arm. She couldn't have been older than eighteen, yet she carried herself with a practiced grace, her gown sparkling like diamonds.
"She's my date for tonight," Nizain answered smoothly, as if his brother hadn't nearly assaulted me weeks ago.
Akun raised an eyebrow, his skepticism plain. "Do you think Zavi would approve?"
"You think I care?" Nizain shot back, his tone sharp with irritation.
"You will," Akun said cryptically before walking away, his young companion trailing behind him.
For the next hour, Nizain dragged me through the crowd, introducing me to his circle of friends—soldiers, council members, and wealthy merchants. The men looked at me with thinly veiled disdain, their judgment written plainly on their faces. But worse were the hungry gazes that followed me, undressing me with their eyes. One man even had the audacity to ask Nizain if I was "available for the night." I felt sick, swallowing back the urge to retch.
All the while, my gaze kept flickering back to Zavi. I hoped to find a moment to approach him, to force him to acknowledge me. But he was always too far, his presence elusive. At one point, he disappeared from the podium entirely.
I thought he had left until I saw him cutting through the crowd, his commanding stride making the guests part like the sea before him. His stormy eyes were locked on Nizain, his face a mask of cold disdain.
"Your obsession with Kaambh girls disgusts me, brother," Zavi said, his deep voice resonating with authority. He didn't even glance in my direction.
"Kirti is not a Kaambh girl," Nizain replied defensively. "She's just staying there."
Finally, Zavi turned his gaze to me, and the intensity of his eyes nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. The world seemed to shift under my feet as I struggled to steady myself. My lips parted, but no words came out.
Zavi. My mind whispered his name, but I dared not let it escape my lips. Instead, I pleaded silently, my eyes begging him for salvation.
"What is she still doing in my palace, Nizain?" Zavi asked, his tone clipped and cold. "I thought we forbade Ihalos from trafficking humans to Ashudhar."
His expression gave no hint of recognition. Did he truly not remember me?
"Humans are easy prey," Nizain answered flippantly. "There are too many of them where they come from."
Zavi made a low, disapproving sound deep in his throat. "Please take the filth back to where it came from. We have enough problems of our own. I don't need a headache for my people."
The words stung more than they should have. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing myself to remain composed. This was just the way Ashudhar was, and Zavi was its king. If he hated me enough to send me away, then so be it. That was all I wanted. Or so I told myself