CHAPTER TWO◄CHAPTER THREE►CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER ARTWORK

Another day in the endless cycle of misery had descended upon Talitha as she once again found herself rhythmically churning the mud in the pits. Though the binary suns were always bright and roasting, they were particularly heated this day, with the temperatures being well above what any normal Sivathi could bear comfortably. A handful of workers had already collapsed from heat exhaustion, only for them to be taken back to the holding pens to be revitalized with vitamin enriched water, with the intent of getting them back on their footpaws as quickly as possible so that they could resume their work. There was no rest for the weary, and on a day like today, with the visit of the Princess looming large, everybody was expected to perform to the best of their abilities, lest they be beaten within an inch of their lives.

The sweat stung Talitha’s eyes as she churned the mixture as quickly as she could, her footpaws mixing the materials as several more slaves dumped in a few more bags of sand and buckets of water to even out the consistency. They poured it in near to her location, increasing the thickness of the mud to a point that made her footpaws go sore from the viscosity and texture. That was how Zeshom Noor wanted the bricks made, and Talitha hated it so much, but she couldn’t be vocal in her frustrations. There was no choice but to carry on. Seeing the Sivathi girl slow in her pace due to the increased force she had to apply, Ratag brought the whip down upon Talitha’s back with a liberal amount of power, opening up a fresh gash over her shoulder blade that made her yelp out.

“Today isn’t the day to be slowing yourself!” Ratag barked out from atop the higher ground, coiling his whip tightly and pointing down at Talitha. “I don’t care how thick the mud gets. You keep mixing it at the pace we set!”

Talitha bit her lip, doing her best to fight back the pain firing through her shoulder and back. She’d dealt with the sensation many times, but on a day as hot as this, the sting of the overseer’s whips became that much more unbearable. “Yes, Sir,” she said, tugging at her collar uncomfortably as it chafed against her fur. A tiny tear managed to slip from her eye that fell into the mixture of mud underneath her footpaws. It was as if her own spirit and essence, mixing into the muck below, was symbolic of her status here. She was forever bound to the place, with no hope of ever breaking free—even her tears were reclaimed by Zeshom Noor. Was there anything else he could take from her? Even the short-lived hope she’d witnessed the prior night was quickly squashed by the brutal reality that had greeted her in the morning. The tenderness of her now fresh wound was made so much worse by the Zaket suns practically baking her alive. The solar rays of both stars pounded into her flesh, making it sting just as much as Ratag’s whip.

Mustering all her strength to try and keep mixing the mud as efficiently as possible, she glared up to the higher ground at Jophia, the Sivathi girl with the limp that had cursed her since birth. She was just as tired as Talitha was, and she was clearly struggling as she followed the line of slaves back towards the Zuthari bull that held a cart full of sand, with one of the overseers distributing a new sack of the gritty material once the respective laborer came up in line. Jophia was already through what had to have been a dozen bags today, but it was evident that her strength was quickly waning. The poor creature was doing her best to remain vigilant in the face of the impending visit of Princess Aliya, but her pace had slowed significantly as her limp worsened. It was incredible how the taskmasters hadn’t singled her out yet.

At the entrance to the mud pits, Zeshom Noor was filing in with Princess Aliya and her entourage in tow. He was clad in his best, not afraid to allow it getting a little dirty. He’d hoped that the Princess would have been of a similar mindset with a good night’s sleep, but alas, he was wrong. The excess of polar nectar that she’d imbibed the previous night had left her with a crushing hangover, and ever since they’d left the manor house, she had been complaining. Her gown was even more marvelous than the one from her arrival; this time she had on a splendid white kaftan dress with flowing sleeves that were just barely above the sand and dirt that she strode upon, with a matching cowl sprawled over her head to try and keep the suns from burning her skin and fur. Two slaves followed close behind her with lavish feathered fans, trying to keep her cool, while another held an enlarged parasol above her figure to shield her completely. Though she was carrying shade with her wherever she went, the dreadful heat of the day was doing no favors for her hungover state.

“You should have warned me about how potent that polar nectar was, Zeshom Noor!” Princess Aliya pouted as she swatted away at a roving fly with her handpaw. She’d already lost memory of much of what she’d said during the previous night, including Zeshom Noor’s suggestions that she moderate herself. That, or she didn’t care, and needed somebody else to blame for her misery. “Why didn’t you say something last night?”

“Aaaaah…” Zeshom Noor started to say, about to remind her that he had indeed given her a fair warning, but just as he’d done so before, he found himself apologizing to appease the ego of the Princess. “Forgive me, your Highness,” he said to her. “Please, take solace in the fact that what you’re about to see will put a smile on your face and make you forget all about your discomfort! If you follow me to this pit over here, you’ll see some of my strongest men and women who would help accelerate the construction of your palace tenfold with their physique.”

Based on her experiences yesterday, Talitha knew better than to look up at Zeshom Noor again without permission. She only perked up her ears to try and get a bearing on what was happening behind her back as Zeshom Noor and the Princess strode down the dirt pathway separating the mud pit she was presently stuck in from the one behind her.

“All I see are a sorry lot of sub-Sivathi that are even more exhausted than I am!” Aliya said in a belittling, depersonifying manner towards the laborers as Zeshom Noor held forth his handpaw to the mud pit before him, as if showcasing some prized possession. “Don’t you remember that I’m buying these for a bargain? You expect me to pay the arranged price of 3,000 talir for each of these sorry excuses for life? Just look at them!”

“Again, your Majesty, the day is quite fierce. Under normal circumstances, they’re not this sluggish,” Zeshom Noor lied as he wiped sweat from his own brow. He knew that his laborers were always this exhausted, and there was little he could do to give Princess Aliya the impression that they were certainly the type for a grand construction project befitting royalty. He’d have to pick his strongest to try and show off, but at the same time he lamented having to tempt the Princess with one of them and lose one of his mightiest slaves in the sale. If strength was what she desired, then that’s what she would get. He pointed out to the very center of the mud pit they were currently viewing, where the strongest male in his possession, Isai, was diligently working. “See that one there?”

Princess Aliya held her handpaw over her brow to get the last vestiges of sunlight out of her view to see the specimen before her. She narrowed her eyes to get a better sight of Isai, and then widened them again, enthralled by his hulking physique and muscular nature. “By the suns, is that your mightiest?” she inquired, biting her lip as she watched him labor. The sheer sight of the burly, brutish male was nearly enough to put a damper on a portion of her headache and burning sensations. She knew it was a sacrilege to ever think of lusting after somebody of the slave class, but considering how much she’d gotten away with thus far, was there anybody there to actually speak up in defiance of her desires?

“He is, Princess Aliya,” he said. “He’s—”

“Put him on the list,” Princess Aliya said to one of her attendants, who scribbled down her command on the holo-pad he held in his handpaws. She was certain she could keep herself from acting on her desires, but if this Isai was to be hers, then at the very least he’d make good eye candy for her while he toiled away on the construction of her palace.

Zeshom Noor felt his heart sink. He’d only hoped to show Princess Aliya the male’s strength and demonstrate that his workforce was plenty capable of handling the demands of her new palace. Now, he was going to lose one of his most productive for a price far less than what he’d be worth on the slave market. “Wouldn’t you like to see an example of his talents before making such a decision, Princess Aliya?” Zeshom Noor said, trying to weasel his way out of losing Isai. By some huge stroke of luck, maybe he’d be just as tired as the rest of the slaves in the pit, and would falter when he tried to show off for the daughter of the duke, thus changing her mind. “Isai! Front and center for the Princess!”

Isai lifted his head upward to finally meet the gaze of his master, now that his attention had been called. Dragging himself through the thick muck with ease due to his size, he wasted no time in making it to the edge of the pit and pulling himself up the side of its slope. Obediently, he stood before the Princess, getting a little too close for the tastes of Zeshom Noor. He had a fear in the back of his mind that one of them might ruin her dress, even though she’d though so little of spilling the polar nectar on it last night.

“A showcase of talents won’t be necessary, Zeshom Noor,” the Princess said as Isai approached her. “I can discern them for myself.”

“Stand back a safe distance, Isai!” Zeshom Noor shouted, narrowing his eyes at the brawny Sivathi. “Princess Aliya doesn’t want your filth upon her garments!”

Isai began to do as he had been commanded, taking a few paces backwards, before the Princess overruled Zeshom Noor’s order. “Disregard your master,” she said, beckoning him forward to get a better look. She’d gone on all night and this morning mocking Zeshom Noor’s schemes and tactics, and here again, she was about to raise the stakes. “Let’s get a better look at you. I want to see what I’ll be buying, up close and personal!”

Isai was clearly confused at first, never having been graced with the presence of a noblewoman. The highest ranking person he’d ever answered to was Zeshom Noor himself, and he was no nobleman, despite his wealth. Looking to his master for an answer, the red and white furred Sivathi rolled his eyes in annoyance at the Princess’ provocations, granting him permission to step forward to be examined. Isai then backtracked in his original direction forward, standing only a few feet from Aliya Bethagar.

She grasped him by his collar, pulling him forward to get a look at the code engraved into the steel around his neck. She traced a manicured claw over the text. “I-ZN-3019193,” she said, reading the code aloud before letting the collar go and then placing her handpaws on his rugged shoulders and squeezing. She fluttered her eyes a few times at feeling the sinew and tough skin that constituted his body. She couldn’t have it, to be sure, but nobody was going to stop her from toying with him. She intended to push the boundaries as far as she could, practically forgetting that she had referred to Isai and all the other slaves in the pits as ‘sub-Sivathi’ only moments before. “Have you always been here, slave? Have you always been under the ownership of Zeshom Noor?”

Isai felt petrified at what was transpiring. He had found himself between a rock and a hard place, knowing that it was highly inappropriate for a member of the noble class to even be examining him in such a way, and he would be just as guilty of such a grave offense if what was occurring became more than just a rumor. It was one thing if he was actually being checked out for his physicality, or if he was demonstrating some feat of brute strength, but it was another thing entirely now that Princess Aliya, feeling unbound by the rules in her naivety and pride, was doing what she wanted.

“I asked you a question,” Aliya said, raising her voice as she grasped him by the cheeks, forcing him to look at her. She was like a wasteland beast toying with its prey, and it was making everybody, including Zeshom Noor, uncomfortable. “Speak!”

“N-no, Princess,” Isai said gruffly, his apprehsnvie voice betraying his massive stature, if only because of his nervousness. “In childhood I worked in the iron mines of Gefo, until I was purchased by a showman there. He trained me to be a gladiator in the arenas on Gefo’s underground, until I sustained an injury in a match that permanently sidelined me.” He paused, pointing to a massive scar he’d sustained from a gauss rifle across his shoulder. “It severed some muscles there. My former master paid a good sum of money to have me healed, but I was never the same fighter. As punishment, he sold me away here quite a while ago.”

“Ah, so you’re a fighter, eh?” Princess Aliya said, patting down his thighs that were carved like the strongest granite, feeling herself tense up at the sensation against her handpaw. “My father has told me about the gladiatorial combat on Gefo’s underground. Quite nasty business. But you’re handy with a gun and blade, it would seem? You must have been if you were fighting in the arenas!”

“I was a long time ago, Princess,” he answered hesitantly, raising his arms up high so as not to get her fine kaftan dirty with mud and dust. The Princess herself was already making accommodations, flipping back the excess cloth of her dress so as not to get it tarnished.

“Well, it would certainly be a waste of talent to see you relegated to the backbreaking work of construction on my palace, when you’re talented in so many other ways,” she said, mulling over in her still aching and hungover mind all the debauchery she could have with the male slave, under the premise that he could serve as an armed escort, or something of the like. “Perhaps we can find something for you in my service that’s more… appropriate for a Sivathi such as yourself? Even though Lathga Province remains quite safe, I’m in need of bodyguards with the civil war raging.”

“Your Highness,” Zeshom Noor interjected, unable to take anymore of the breach in rigid social and class constructs that the Princess was violating. He already had the burden of hiding such an infringement by the High King himself, and he didn’t need any further incidents like that occurring on his watch. “While Isai was certainly quite capable as a warrior in his own right some time ago, I’m afraid he’s outlived his usefulness in that regard. That injury he took ended his fighting career for a reason, and he’s good for little more than heavy labor at this point, I’m afraid. Moreover, it would be highly unusual to have a slave in armed service. It’s a conflict of interest, arming them like that when a civil war is engulfing the Crown!”

“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. And they already arm them in the gladiatorial arenas on Gefo,” she said, stepping back a few paces as she finished her examination. She’d had her fun for now, but she would acquire Isai one way or another. “Keep him on the list,” she said to her assistant. As much as he wanted to protest and agree with Zeshom Noor, he did as he was told, locking Isai’s name in on the purchases she’d be making that day.

“They do so illegally, mind you,” Zeshom Noor said, gritting his teeth as he glanced behind him, watching the line of slaves carrying the heavy sandbags trudge laboriously on the pathway. Jophia was among them, and she looked as if her shorter leg was going to give way any second now. Unable to do anything without making a scene in front of the Princess, he could only fire her a glance of warning as he narrowed his eyes in the same way he’d done so to Isai.

Back down in the opposite mud pit, Talitha had gotten brave enough to turn her head around when Ratag wasn’t looking, as his attention had now been directed to another slave. The whole ordeal that was transpiring on the higher ground above her was something she could hardly begin to comprehend, but at the same time, it felt as if it wasn’t her first time seeing it. It was almost as if she’d borne witness to the consequences of such over the top fraternization between the classes, even though she knew for a fact she’d never observed it before in her life. How could she possibly feel that way?

Her intuition on the matter was soon distracted as she caught sight of Jophia struggling with the weight of her sandbag. As Zeshom Noor was preparing to move Princess Aliya and her entourage away from their current mud pit and move on to the next in order to get her out of the way of the moving gang of slaves, the countdown towards disaster was nearing its conclusion. Talitha could see Jophia’s poor handpaws shaking with stress and tension as she struggled to hang on to the bag of sand, her shorter leg threatening to give out as she was passing by the Princess only a few feet away.

“Oh no…” Talitha said, finding herself stopping in her rhythmic steps within the mud. She reached out her handpaw as if to help, knowing that she was too far away to do anything. Her heart went out to the malformed Sivathi, silently whispering prayers to the suns that their essence would give Jophia the strength she needed.

Her pleas went unanswered. Jophia finally felt her leg buckle out from under her, causing the whole line of slaves to stop in their tracks behind her, and those in front continued on. However, that wasn’t the worst of it. Her paws were just as burdened, and they also gave way as she fell to the ground, the bag falling from her grip. The long sleeves of the Princess’ kaftan, hanging low to the ground, were right next to where Jophia’s sandbag had fallen, and a mixture of wet sand and grime splattered up from the sack as it collapsed, spattering itself on the pure white fabric of Aliya’s dress.

Zeshom Noor screamed aloud, realizing that one of the worst things that could have possibly happened on the tour had now occurred. Princess Aliya stepped backward, staring down at the stains upon her dress, her brow furrowing in anger at the sight that met her eyes. In a total outrage, she stomped her footpaws angrily, as befitting of her bratty nature, shrieking at the top of her lungs at Jophia, who was cringing beneath the gaze of the Princess, lifting her arms up as if to shield herself.

“Stupid girl!” Princess Aliya shouted, striking out with the back of her handpaw and slapping Jophia on her cheek, sending her down to the dirt completely. She exploded in a tirade of rage and spoiled entitlement, and judging by how she was now carrying herself, it probably wasn’t the first of her tantrums that she’d had. “Do you have any idea how much this was worth? Do you know how much it cost my father, you misshapen wretch? This fabric is from Shaleth, the royal capital! It isn’t some commoner’s garment that you can just throw in a vat of suds! You’ve ruined it!”

“P-Princess, please forgive me!” Jophia said, tears welling up in her eyes from the strike she’d taken upon her cheek. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!”

“And you insult me further by talking back to me?” Princess Aliya screeched again. “Zeshom Noor! I demand you compensate me for this! Your clumsy excuse for a worker has ruined one of my best garments! Beat her, whip her—something to teach her a lesson about the grievous nature of defiling the fineries of the nobility!”

“Jophia, how dare you make me look like a fool on a day as important as this one!” Zeshom Noor said vindictively, grasping her roughly by her hair and tugging it until she was on her knees. Jophia was sobbing at this point, completely terrified of whatever fate was about to befall her. She knew the severity of her mistake, and was to be totally at the mercy of both her master and Princess Aliya. “I know for a fact that you might not survive the millstone with your pathetic leg, but you’d better pray to the Zaket suns that it can withstand it, because that’s where you’re going for the week!”

Jophia’s eyes widened in terror as she shook her head, painfully grabbing at her hair as Zeshom Noor held it tight in his grasp. She knew that being lashed to the millstone was practically a death sentence for slaves in the mud pits, but for her, it was a guarantee. “Please, no!” she begged, squirming as Zeshom Noor started to drag her down the dirty pathway, towards the millstone at the opposite end of the work site where the Zuthari bulls walked repetitively in circles grinding grain. “Master, i-it was an accident! Don’t send me to the millstone, please! I won’t survive it!”

“Serves you right for tarnishing my kaftan, you revolting beast!” Aliya said, her temper dying down somewhat at seeing that ‘justice’ would be served, but her vitriolic language never ceasing. “Maybe when I’ve concluded my business here I’ll go back to Zeshom Noor’s manor house and watch your agony from afar. Then you can suffer and know that I’ll be basking in your misery for the duration of my visit for this heinous crime!”

As Talitha watched Jophia being dragged away and Isai being led back towards the manor house by additional members of Aliya’s entourage, something deep down inside her heart sparked. With the same familiarity she’d witnessed the exchange of Isai’s life into the paws of the Princess, she felt equally familiar with the terror unfolding. Had some part of her in a past life been a victim to this treatment for a sin that was no fault of her own? It was different than the lashings and nights of starvation, which she’d known all her life. Standing there, she felt Jophia’s suffering as if it were her own, like she’d been there not only in that life, but one before. And with that sensation engulfing her, Talitha knew that she had to act.

Just as Ratag had caught notice of Talitha ceasing her work to observe what was transpiring, he raised his whip high, intending to bring it down on her. Before he could, she’d began to slog through the mud as quickly as she could, clambering up the side of the pit slope, heading directly towards Zeshom Noor, the Princess, and Jophia. Ratag was stupefied that he was seeing one of the slaves actually running away from him, for he was so used to them just cringing, falling to their knees, and pleading for mercy when he caught them in the act of idling. Now that one was seemingly fleeing, he didn’t know what to do except shout out.

“Hey, you!” Ratag shouted, running around the edge of the mud pit to try and cut Talitha off. She’d already gotten a head start and was well ahead, and would reach Zeshom Noor well before he could hope to reach her. “Somebody, stop her!”

Zeshom Noor’s nerves were already on high alert after the whole debacle that had just unfolded, and he immediately turned around to Ratag’s voice as he came running up towards him around the edge of the mud pit. Out of the slope of the recess, Talitha had come climbing out of the mud and onto the high ground, and his jaw nearly dropped to the dirt in shock. The last thing he needed was his most troublesome slave interceding in his affairs on a day like today.

Princess Aliya also turned around to see her, and was just as dumbfounded as she caught sight of the golden furred Sivathi—though muddied up to her legs—standing before her. What in the name of the High King was the meaning of this, to see a Sivathi with the fur of nobility toiling away in the lowest place for a slave on Siva?

Talitha’s sense of right and wrong had completely blurred away at this point as she sprinted towards Zeshom Noor and Princess Aliya, her footpaws padding against the hard-packed dirt of the pathways of the mud pits. Not only that, but she’d virtually forgotten about Zeshom Noor’s threat to put her on the millstone as well if she was ever caught causing trouble, but she didn’t care any longer. Jophia didn’t deserve this, and she had to do something.

She came skidding to a stop before her master, getting a tiny bit of the mud on his fine boots. She didn’t expect an outburst from Zeshom Noor quite on the level that the daughter of the duke had done, but he still showed a slight degree of anger for her even approaching him. Moreover, he was even more riled up for the sheer fact that his guest would certainly question why he possessed a Sivathi with golden fur. He wasn’t sure if the lie about her radiation induced fur color would suffice with Aliya.

Deciding to play stupid and act as if Talitha was simply one more of the rabble, he hollered out at her with an anger that was just as fierce as the one he’d handled Jophia with. “What do you think you’re doing, slave?” he shouted. “Don’t you dare even try and touch me! Get back in the pit where you belong before I whip you myself!”

“You have no right to do this to her!” Talitha said, falling to her knees and clasping her handpaws together, pleading for her master and the Princess to reconsider what they were about to do. “Please, don’t do this.”

Even though Talitha was certainly terrified out of her mind at what could possibly befall her, and in spite of the empowerment of witnessing the skirmish in the skies having mostly worn off through sheer fear, it had still struck a chord with her that couldn’t fully be extinguished by the oppressive methods of her master. What had transpired in her eyes last night, along with years upon years of pent up hope for justice, had made her act out in a way such as this. Zeshom Noor had no idea why she’d do so after the threat he’d delivered to her the other day, and he was even more shocked to hear that she was actually offering to take Jophia’s place on the millstone. What had gotten into her?

Before Zeshom Noor could speak up again about her insolent behavior, Princess Aliya had stepped forward, pointing her claw accusingly at Talitha and demanding an answer out of her owner. “What is this travesty, Zeshom Noor?” she demanded to know, eyeing Talitha up and down and baffled at her golden fur. “Why is somebody of seemingly noble blood toiling away in a place like this?”

It was already clear that Princess Aliya was seeing right through Zeshom Noor’s attempts to be ignorant in treating Talitha as just another slave. Without knowing the “true” story behind her color, how could anybody have thought otherwise? It seemed that the time had come to see if the tale about the radiation ruining her fur coat was going to remain a valid story; he couldn’t dare exposing the High King’s secret by telling the actual truth. “Princess Aliya,” Zeshom Noor said, still gripping Jophia by her disheveled locks of hair as she continued to struggle. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“How so?” she asked, placing her handpaws on her hips. “Because I know of nothing else besides noble blood that causes that fur trait!”

“There was an x-ray emission from Zaket B many years ago that impacted a slave ship on approach to Siva,” Zeshom Noor started to explain, recounting the story that he’d more or less come to memorize at this point. “This one is called Talitha, and her mother was part of its cargo and was pregnant with her at the time. Both she and her matriarch, along with dozens of other slaves that I purchased, were stricken with all manner of radiation related illnesses and cancers, and their children succumbed to mutations that affect them to the present day. Her fur color is a result of a genetic defect she suffered from the radiation of the star, and she should consider herself lucky that she only suffered that, unlike her mother, who died shortly after birth.”

He paused, looking down at Jophia with an evil glare of disdain in his eyes. “As for Jophia here,” he continued. “She too is a result of that fateful accident, from parents that were also aboard that ship. Her pathetic leg came about as a result of genetic damage from her progenitors, I’m afraid.”

Zeshom Noor mentioning Jophia’s malformation stemming from the same incident didn’t do anything just yet to take away Princess Aliya’s focus from Talitha. The master of the mud pits almost thought that she’d forgotten about Jophia’s transgression now that her eyes were set on the golden-furred slave, but he knew better than to assume anything of the sort. She’d still find a way to make them both suffer. The noblewomen paced around her as Talitha knelt there stagnantly, feeling Aliya’s eyes boring into her with unbelievable scrutiny.

“Likely story,” the Princesss said in a snarky manner, not fully sold on Zeshom Noor’s tale. She knelt down, pushing her fingers against Talitha’s fur to reveal the tan shade of her undercoat. Though the golden fur of nobility was clearly on the outside, upon closer inspection, her slave blood was evident in full display as she looked at the roots, its matte and plain tone hidden by the shimmering topcoat. “But, I suppose it’s not completely out of the question. After all, it’s impossible for a slave to have their blood mixed with members of the nobility, and if it ever happened, such offspring would be immediately slain. The sheer thought of such an affront to nature existing is repulsive!”

Zeshom Noor didn’t say anything, simply nodding his head in agreement with the Princess. He knew what had actually happened so many years ago between Phaziah Ishigar and Shiphra, and he’d been sworn to keep the secret. Aliya’s hypocrisy, however, was simply astounding, considering how she’d handled herself in front of Isai, but here she was proclaiming what an offense it would be for such a thing to transpire, even though it actually had.

“But just look how Talitha thinks she can approach a member of nobility as if she were some member of high society!” Princess Aliya scoffed, crossing her arms as she stood over her. “The privileges golden fur bestow upon those granted with its blessing must have gone to your head. Where do you come off thinking you can approach your master—or worse yet, me—without being told? You’re no noblewomen despite the freak accident that marred your coat with a mockery of status. You’re a slave, and nothing more!”

Despite the attempts of the Princess to belittle her, Talitha did her best to remain unbroken. Even though she believed the lie that Zeshom Noor had fed her since birth, she still felt compelled to fight back with the ferocity of a true noblewoman, even if it meant putting herself on the line for Jophia. “I am no noble,” Talitha replied. “But my heart is pure and can discern a right from wrong. And this is wrong.”

“You don’t tell me what is right or wrong, you bitch!” Aliya said, letting out another outburst of anger. “You wish to play pretend and act like a noble by playing hero? We’ll oblige you! Zeshom Noor!”

Talitha’s master snapped to attention as he heard his name called. “Yes, Princess Aliya?” he said, his handpaw growing sore from having to hold on to Jophia while she continued her struggling.

“I’ve had a small change of heart,” she said, rubbing her chin with her fingertips as she thought to herself of the scheme she had in store. “Since our little wannabe princess is so keen on being a savior to Jophia, then we’ll grant her wish of taking her place on the millstone.”

“A most excellent notion, your Highness,” Zeshom Noor said, letting go of Jophia’s hair and dropping her to the ground, breathing a sigh of relief that he’d not only ridden himself of the burden, but also that the Princess had bought into his tale concocted about Talitha’s fur color. “I warned her the other day that she’d be lashed to the millstone if she got out of line again, so she’ll get what’s coming to h—”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Princess Aliya blurted out, stamping her footpaw down on Jophia’s short leg and pinning her in place as she tried to scurry away. Jophia yelped out in pain again as she felt the bruising push of her footpaw upon her; she could threaten to break her bones or tear her muscles with her claws whenever she wished. “Just because this noble pretender is going to take your place on the millstone doesn’t mean you’re escaping punishment for ruining my garment!”

“What would you have me do with her, your Majesty?” Zeshom Noor asked, now making his way over to Talitha and grasping her by her collar, forcing her up onto her footpaws.

“Something equally cruel should do the trick,” she said, shifting the heel of her footpaw brutishly on Jophia’s leg to torture her even further. “No food or water for a few days in this sweltering heat should remind her of how she’s supposed to respect her betters. Unless you’ve got a better idea, Zeshom Noor? Please enlighten me if so, you are the master of these miserable sub-Sivathi, after all, and are better versed in such matters.”

At this point, Zeshom Noor would do anything if it meant just continuing the tour of the mud pits and satiating Princess Aliya’s wrath. If that was the punishment that she wanted Jophia to suffer, then so be it. “It will be done,” Zeshom Noor said with a bow of his head. He motioned for Ratag to come over closer, the overseer brandishing his whip eagerly. “Ratag, if you would be so kind as to escort Jophia here to the isolation cells. You heard Princess Aliya. Make sure Jophia receives no food or drink for a few days. Two ought to be sufficient in teaching her a lesson, but make sure she doesn’t expire. I want my property ready to work again upon her release!”

“Understood, sir,” Ratag said, politely motioning for the Princess to release her footpaw from Jophia so that he could take her away. Giving her one last kick, Aliya released the pressure from the slave’s leg, and shortly after she was dragged up by Ratag, who began to carry her off back to the sub-section of the holding pens where the isolation cells were located. She’d still suffer immensely, but at least she’d be permitted to live. If she’d been sent the millstone, there was no way she would have made it more than a day.

Jophia knew this well, and as she was being led away, she reached out to Talitha with her handpaw, trying to take the other slave’s paw in hers in thanks. Tears of gratitude spilled from her eyes, knowing that she’d been spared such a terrible fate. She held her tongue, knowing that there was little more reason to say anything out loud after everything that had transpired and all the anger she’d incurred from the Princess and Zeshom Noor, but the expression she gave Talitha spoke volumes. She couldn’t begin to thank her enough for sparing her from such a cruel fate as the millstone.

Talitha knew she’d done the right thing, but even she knew that there was no guarantee she’d survive the millstone, either. Nobody would thank her for her act of sacrifice, and outside the confines of the mud pits, nobody would know of it except the Princess and her entourage, who openly mocked it. But she’d acted selflessly. Once again, she was reminded out loud by Aliya that she was not of noble stock, but the hidden blood of royalty deep down inside, mixed with the suffering of a slave, had compelled her to act. This was the mindset of self-sacrifice that the rulers of Siva had lacked for an eternity.

Zeshom Noor and Princess Aliya, however, would have none of it. “As for you, Talitha,” Zeshom Noor said vengefully, looking over at the millstone that at the other end of the expanse of the mud pits. “Let’s hope you’re strong enough to withstand the agony that awaits you, and may the dual suns show mercy, because we certainly won’t!”

Talitha felt her arm grasped roughly by her master, and he squeezed powerfully as she felt herself dragged down the dirt paths lining the multiple mud pits dotting the area and towards the millstone. Princess Aliya and her entourage followed close behind as she observed the whole thing with a detached fascination, nonchalantly trying to flick away bits of the mud staining her kaftan. The fact that she’d calmed down so much by this point showed just how unhinged she was, and how little the tarnishing of her garment mattered in the grand scheme of things. It had been a minor inconvenience, nothing more, but she’d made the whole thing into an entire production of cruelty. Now, Jophia and Talitha would pay the price for it. There was no telling how far the depths stretched of her spoiled, rotten personality if this was how she reacted to something so minimal. She’d never worked for anything in all her life, and had been gifted everything by her father, the Duke of Lathga Province. The slightest infraction against this was a complete sign of disrespect not only to her, but to the entire Crown of Siva, and Zeshom Noor’s slaves were to find this out the hard way.

Talitha’s defiance had evaporated for the time being, even though the small spark of resistance was still deep down in her heart. She kept telling herself that what she’d done was righteous and pure, but the imposing presence of the millstone was enough to scare her senseless. The price of disobedience this time was costing her dearly.

“Kabir!” Zeshom Noor barked out to the overseer managing the Zuthari bull that turned the millstone as he approached the perimeter. “Get that beast out of there. It’s been a good while since we’ve lashed somebody to the millstone, but Talitha has earned her place!”

As if he’d been waiting for the moment, Kabir immediately did as he was told. He stepped down from his post and into the encirclement that lined the circular area that surrounded the millstone. He quickly got to work undoing the harness of the Zuthari that had been busy grinding the grain. It gave a few low grunts as it stomped its hooves against the dirt, eager to be rid of the yoke to which it was attached. Once he’d fully unlatched the beast from its position, he opened the gate that was adjacent to the millstone area that led back into the Zuthari pen, and then gave the bull a firm slap to send it running off to join the rest of the herd to take a well earned rest.

Talitha felt herself thrown towards Kabir as he shut the gate again, and he roughly grasped her by the collar just as Zeshom Noor had done, guiding her over to the wooden grinding lever that protruded from out of the millstone’s center. A smaller yoke meant to take the form of Sivathi was situated on the outermost portion of the lever, whereas the one for the Zuthari was located further in. Kabir wasted no time in throwing Talitha’s wrists into the device, locking them shut and fastening her collar to the metal that crested over the back of her neck.

She instantly felt a sense of claustrophobia wash over her, unlike anything she’d ever felt before as she was forced into the hunched over position demanded of her. There had been several occasions when she’d been thrown into the isolation cells, and the continuous degradation that happened to her day in and day out was a constant companion, but nothing like this had befallen her. Talitha tensed up her handpaws in fear, fighting against the restraints that bit at her wrists, but they were locked just as tight as her collar had always been. It was just as firm, and wouldn’t be going anywhere unless Zeshom Noor said otherwise. She turned her gaze to him, straining her neck as much as the collar and yoke would permit her, a sense of sorrow and despair in her eyes as she pleaded with him, trying to convey a plea for mercy that she knew would never come. Jophia’s face of gratitude swam in her vision, and she continually pictured it in an effort to convince herself that she’d done something for the nature of all that was good. But try as she might, the lingering doom that was now befalling her continued to bring her back down to reality. She was trapped beyond what she’d ever thought possible, having thought she could sink no lower than the life she’d lived. She was wrong.

“There, there, little dove,” Aliya cooed, her voice dripping with saccharine mockery. She laughed to herself in complete amusement, her sadistic nature finally appeased now that not only Jophia had been taken care of, but this upstart Sivathi now as well. “Isn’t this a much more becoming position for you? At least you can contribute something now, besides your insolence. Forget any ideas of your fur permitting the privileges of even speaking to royalty without permission. This humiliation should bring you back down to a reality you should grow fonder of. You wish to act among the station of a noblewoman? Then you can be ‘queen’ of this millstone; let it be the realm you rule. Ha!”

Zeshom Noor nodded to Kabir, signaling him to get Talitha moving. “Feel free to use that whip as liberally as you’d like,” he said to the overseer. “I’m unbelievably embarrassed that not one, but two slaves have made this tour start off on the wrong footpaw. Make her sorry she ever thought to intercede in Jophia’s punishment. One strike for each full rotation, and use more if you wish, but relax it a bit after nightfall. We can’t leave her without a chance of survival, after all.”

“Yes, Zeshom Noor,” Kabir said, flexing his whip out of its coil. He rarely ever had a reason to use it upon the Zuthari, but now he had his excuse to lash out against Talitha, underlying just how little anybody thought of the wellbeing of the slaves of the mud pits. “You heard your master! Move!”

Talitha cried out in agony as she felt the leather of the whip slice open the already burning wound upon her shoulder. Kabir had struck that spot deliberately, knowing that she was already in immense pain. With all the strength she had left to give, she pushed herself forward, straining immensely against the massive weight of the millstone. Her legs shook and quivered and her arms pulled with all their might as she felt the yoke choking against her. She knew that it would be the ultimate test of her strength and endurance, and that those above her wouldn’t hesitate to push her limits. A lash for every turn would have her back glistening in scarlet blood before the day was over. The groan of the millstone suddenly came back to life as it began to turn, coupled with Talitha’s anguish and the crack of leather against her already scarred back. It was a symphony of complete defeat, one that would echo in the ears of all present for an eternity in their nightmares.

Not for Princess Aliya. She was now satisfied, and it was music to her ears, clapping her paws together once in a swift motion of pleasure. “Serves her right,” she said to Zeshom Noor. “Just look at her. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from this, my friend. Use this punishment a bit more regularly and you’ll have even the most stubborn slaves falling back in line. I’m sure she’ll never again meddle in your affairs or dare to cross a noblewoman without being asked.”

“Perhaps it is something I could consider utilizing more often,” Zeshom Noor said, gritting his teeth. He knew there was a fine line between dishing out the millstone punishment without restraint; he couldn’t just endanger the lives of his slaves without just cause. They were investments that couldn’t be killed off with one swift stroke. Then again, he had promised Talitha of her punishment if she ever got out of line again, and now he had no choice to carry out his threat.

“Now, shall we continue to browse your stock, Zeshom Noor?” Princess Aliya said, stepping back under the parasol that was held by her attendant and basking in the feathered fans as she began to walk away, throwing one last spiteful look to Talitha as she torturously labored. “I do hope that none of them are as intrusive and interruptive as these most recent two who have dared cross our paths, otherwise I might be leaving on very short notice! As for that one called Isai, however, you’ve convinced me of his worth, that’s for sure!”

As the tears slipped down her cheeks, Talitha knew the penalty for sinning this gravely. Perhaps this was why slaves such as herself had been downtrodden for centuries, kept in line through fear and misery that couldn’t be matched anywhere else in the universe. But as she turned the millstone with all her energy, letting her pain be the engine that drove her, she found the smallest refuge in the fact that this couldn’t go on forever, even if she wouldn’t be alive to see its end. There was a reason she had seen what she’d seen last night, for some Sivathi had decided that enough was enough.

Soon, she’d be among them, fighting for the freedom that so many cried out for.