“Big deep breaths, ” Nira thought, “Big deep breaths, just like the other women taught you.”

She grasped as much air as she could hold, held it till it clawed for freedom, and then released it in a trickle.

Familiar hands, drenched in sweat, slipped across the door handle. Her heart, scarred with experience, hammered in her chest. Those knees, worn from persistence, strained under the pressure.

She was alone.

Nira settled into the long grim hallway. On either side were endless doors, all identical yet each carrying a unique and bitter memory. The only living soul in sight was a short attendant who stood at the far end and who probably couldn’t care less about her. All around her, the light of flickering lamps and the fading sun fought to illuminate the passage, the sun losing more ground by the second. Through the windows behind her and beyond the wall outside, she could see the bustling city sprawled towards the horizon, each of its glimmering lights representing a world that Nira would prefer to her own. This view was the only good thing about these trips, but even its beauty couldn’t stop her from feeling like a lamb volunteering itself to a pack of wolves. Still, that feeling was much more muted compared to her first time. That time, she-

“And your happy place. Think about your happy place.”

Life with her parents, that was her happy place, a better and more peaceful world than the one she lived in now. She could still remember the memories of her previous life, and she treasured them with all her heart; although sometimes, they felt as if they belonged to some other Nira. These memories were the only pieces of her past that she brought with her and the only things that kept her moving forward. One of her favorites was sneaking into the town bakery with the other kids to steal bread. She got caught and her father scolded her as he dragged her back home. She cried a lot that night, but she would still give anything to relive that night one more time. Another was her mother reciting bedtime stories like the one about “The First Hero,” Avicenna, when she was young. She loved that story, but looking back, there were a lot of gaps her mother filled, since the stories she told were long and the books small. Oh, what she would do for just one more story about Avicenna or “The Five Creators” or anything at all at this point. She missed their stories, their voices, their love… she missed them.

Nira snapped back to reality. That was then. No amount of wishing or reminiscing or begging was going to return her to that world; there was only one thing that could and that was...

Money.

Money was the answer to any questions life asked her. Freedom from this nightmare? Odilia said that would cost five silver. However, that was a sum far too large to be worth thinking about right now. Buying good food and drinks for herself and her friends? That cost just a few dozen copper a night. Much more achievable, even though she knew she shouldn’t throw money away like that around; she was an adult now.

After all, life had asked her an unusual, but attractive, question in the shape of a small wooden carving of her old town’s famous church, a physical reminder of her old life. She needed it. Yet like all tough questions posed by life, the answer was not straightforward; it’s twisted part owed itself to the merchant's demand for one entire silver coin. It was an absurd request, but she had to, because in two days, the merchant would leave for greater profits. After that, only god could answer if and when he would return. Merchants with artisanal skills were rare. Merchants who had been to her old town, even rarer. And merchants willing to negotiate with a lowborn, the rarest of them all. Thus, this might be her only opportunity to get a fragment of her past while she remained stuck inside these castle walls. And yet, she was a few hundred copper short of the complete solution.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The castle bell rang to inform all that the sun had set and night was beginning. It was time...

After a quick glance at her bright red dress to make sure everything was in order, a small adjustment of her dark arm and ankle sleeves to ensure her markings were hidden, and a few fingers through her hair to tame any rebellious strands, she took in one last deep breath…

And firmly knocked on the door and spoke with all her courage, “Hello, this is Nira and I am your partner for tonight. May I enter?”

She waited. A few seconds passed.

Nothing.

This had never happened before. She gave a helpless look to the small attendant down the hall, who only returned a muted shrug. She never received instructions on what to do if they didn’t answer. They always answered.

She repeated her knock and statement again, this time a little louder.

Still nothing.

Nira was now in uncharted territory. She thought back to some of the stories her friends gossiped about, but none of the other women had ever told her a story like this. She had heard of rare situations where the noble might ask for no woman to be sent, but if that were the case, Nira wouldn’t have been sent in the first place.

She had already confirmed with the attendant that her guest had entered the room and had remained inside. On top of that, she heard the occasional sounds coming from inside the room. They weren’t anything blatant. Only the quiet creaking and rustling of someone shifting their body. Maybe he was sleeping, but it was only sunset. Nobody slept this early.

Maybe she was making up the sounds and she had misinterpreted the attendant. Communication with their kind was a challenge. Instead of words, they preferred communicating through gestures muffled by their large robes. Due to their deformities, they never emerged from their uniform of dirt brown robes and face veils. In fact, Nira had never seen one derobed. Even their hands remained gloved and only a small mesh slit, hiding the customary pair of glowing golden eyes, gave any clues to their emotion.

Nira slowly tested the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked. Tiptoeing further, she continued her hesitant intrusion into the room. She wasn’t really sure why. Maybe it was from fear of Sir Bucken’s wrath if she returned without some note of respite from tonight’s aristocrat. Maybe it was because this was what she had always done and she knew nothing else she could do. All lies she told herself. She opened the door because she needed her past back.

Entering the room, she saw a weary, but young, man working on some important looking papers in the dim light of the few lamps that were turned on. His wooden table was covered with a mix of open books and papers, and an assortment of leather bags of different shapes and sizes littered the ground. The wall next to Nira housed entrances to a closed bathroom and an open kitchen. Under the draped window on the farside of the room sat a small chest, probably belonging to the man. Beside it, and a little offset from the wall, was an untouched bed. A few chairs were evenly spaced around the room’s edge for servants to wait on for their master’s needs. But this was all the room held, and it was palpable that this was one of King Leopole’s poorer rooms.

However, the quality of the room fit the man. Both were… plain. The man wasn’t wearing embroidered and gilded royal garments or even a colorful tunic displaying symbols of his national or regional obligation. He just wore a simple tan shirt with brown pants. Stranger still, there was a distinct lack of a prestigious and imperious aura emanating from him as it did from the other royals and nobles Nira had been with.

He was probably the noble’s servant, but then where was the noble? The attendant had seemed certain that he was definitely inside the room.

The servant appeared deeply engrossed in whatever he was working on, so she stood motionless. Given he had the ability to read, she didn’t want to risk interrupting in case this servant ended up being one of the few that had high standing with the noble or had a wicked sense of humor with some strange power. However, her stillness was not that of a small rock, but instead more akin to a tree rustling in the wind. Both blended well into the background of life, yet only one could gently break a person’s concentration. A muted clearing of the throat, a light sway in the stance, a focused stare, never at, always above the master. These were skills one gained after years of servitude, and they were a servant or partner’s best tool in making their presence known.

However, her years of skill proved worthless against the man’s focus, as he continued to take notes in random bursts while scanning through the endless pages and books on his desk. Nira was stuck waiting until she could wait no longer. She didn’t have all night to woo her client; she had to work fast and efficiently if she wanted her coin.

“Excuse me, where is your master,” she finally inquired, making sure irritation didn’t seep into her voice.

The man paused his scrutinous examination of the documents and looked up at her. He gave her a quizzical look at first, but after glancing down at his own clothes, the man let out a soft chuckle as he got up.

“Apologies Miss…, I don’t believe I caught your name. What may I address you by?”

Now that she clearly saw his face, she noticed he was much older than she had initially thought. He was probably in his mid to late thirties. An age where one’s body gives up trying to hold its youth and starts welcoming the fatigue of age. Like autumn giving way to winter, it was an immutable principle of life.

“Nira.”

“Thank you. Apologies Miss Nira for my current appearance. I have only a few proper clothes left after a long journey, and I do not wish for them to spoil them during my leisure. Tomorrow and the day after, It will be prudent for me to dress well, because those days are of utmost importance… hopefully,” he had begun with great enthusiasm but ended faintly. That last word was just a whisper, as if he was afraid of something.

He shook his head as if to clear that previous hiccup in tone, and then continued, cheerfully and loudly, “Nonetheless, I am Varus Levedi of the Lev family. You may call me Sir Levedi, Sir Varus, or anything you wish as long as it is not profane or ill-intentioned. You are the prostitute the king sent, yes?”

Nira felt bubbles of rage festering, and there was little she could do to control it. She hated that word, prostitute – no, hate was too weak of a term, she wished to see those that used it writhe in pain. However, she could not say it was far from the truth. While Nira did have other responsibilities like cooking and cleaning, most guests did not make much use of them. Their own servants would handle those duties to their master’s fancy. There was one sole skill her masters wished from her. Still, the word mocked all the effort and suffering that she and the other women had to go through. None of them had asked to be here and to be ridiculed for the decisions that others forced them to take… Nira could feel a few veins popping, a fiery anger flowing-

“Deep breaths. Take deep breaths,” Milda’s voice echoed.

She calmed herself and replied, “Partner. Please refer to me as your partner.”

“Of course, partner. Please, make yourself at home and feel free to use anything here as your own. I will be quite busy tonight, so do as you wish.” And with that final message, Sir Varus sat back on his chair and continued his work.

Nira wasn’t sure if that was in jest or not. She hadn’t detected any malice in the instruction. However, she knew well enough - from first hand encounters and stories - that many times, a hunter is kindest right before the kill. Terrifying memories welled up inside her, but she quickly capped them. This was no time for a breakdown. This was no time to show emotion. Tonight, she would keep her head focused on only one thing: the noble’s wallet.

She made her way onto the bed. There was nobody else in the room, a strange sight that Nira hadn’t ever seen before. All the nobles she had previously attended brought servants of their own. Some two. But most three or four. Maybe he didn’t have any money. He didn’t seem all too rich, since what kind of real noble runs out of clothes. But he was all she had. She stripped down to her undergarments and sat in the most tempting pose she could muster, accentuating all her best features, but when she looked back at the man, he was still deep in his work.

Nira waited for some intermission in Sir Varus’s concentration. And waited. And waited some more. About a half hour must have passed before she decided nothing was going to change.

“Umm, Sir Lidi- Sir Levi-” she stumbled, and then recovered, ”Sir Varus, will you not join me in bed?”

The man looked back up, this time a little annoyed. His pencil kept tapping on the page it had been writing on.

“Sadly, Nira, today I have a lot of important work that needs to be finished. It is prudent I complete it with the utmost speed. Maybe another time.” And immediately, he dove back into his work without waiting for a response.

“But it is a cold night, and it would do us both good to warm each other up.”

He looked up once again, this time his tapping faster and staring harder. He glared coldly for a few moments and then sighed. He got up, grabbed his murky blue coat from the coat rack, and threw it upon her.

“Here, be careful with it.” And again, went back to his study. After a momentary pause and without ungluing his eyes from his work, he added “Also, feel free to use the blanket that is kindly placed upon the bed and the clothes you so graciously removed. It may be a surprise to you, but they have a wonderful ability to retain heat.”

“But if I have a blanket and a coat, you have nothing. Surely you will need something to warm you up as well, no?”

“I appreciate your concern for my health, but I'm doing rather well. I do kindly ask though that you make use of that blanket at this time to catch up on some sleep or some other activity that will limit our interactions.”

Nira felt a knot in her stomach. This was not how it was supposed to happen. She needed copper from this man. Service in exchange for a tip, that was the implicit exchange. It always was...

She needed to make this work. With the women rotating duties and the king hosting fewer and fewer guests as of late, it might be four weeks before she got another partner, and by then it would be too late. If work was keeping the man chained, then Nira only needed to use a little charm to free him from its shackles. A little bit of motivation could steer the night in the right direction so that everything could be proper again. And she had just the plan.

She silently dressed herself and cautiously shuffled to the small kitchen that was connected to the bedchamber, constantly keeping an eye on Sir Varus to make sure he was not disapproving of her action. Though as expected, he gave no notice.

The kitchen opened itself up naked to the living chamber, as there was no wall separating the two. King Leopole always ensured that there was food for guests, no matter the time and place. Usually he had standards, but looking around today, the food was as lackluster as the rest of the suite. However, if Nira had one talent in this world, it was cooking, acquired through the constant help she gave her mother back in Hanbur. It was the sole job she had liked. She just hoped she could still rely on that buried experience as there were only two things worth praising in the room. Neither one of them the food.

Above a lengthy wooden countertop that ran along two bordering walls of the room, a faucet emerged from the wall and emptied itself into a small stone basin embedded into the countertop; this was the first wonder of the room. It may have been easy to overlook, since the wonder wasn’t in fact the faucet itself, but the fact that Nira was on the third floor. Hanbur had nothing like this; all the cooking was done on the ground floor with water carried in barrels from the well. None of her old friends would have believed that something like this was possible. The other wonder was the combination oven and stove which was fueled by a single fire rock. Count Olesten did have one of these in his master kitchen, though Nira and the other servants were never allowed to even come near it. Up close, it was an unbelievable device. A metal top, heated by the fire rock inside, was surrounded by small supports to hold a pan or pot. Underneath, there was an opening to a stone oven, and between the oven and stove were a series of buttons to control the machine. Above the entire device, a funnel led any smoke through a chimney to the outside. It was fascinating how this device could function with only a single rock and no flame.

Populating the countertop were a spice rack, a small basket of assorted fruits and another of vegetables, and a wooden block holding two knives - one small for peeling and seeding, and the other big for everything else. The sickening aroma of overly ripe fruits permeated the air, choking Nira. Below the countertop, a few cupboards found their place, and on the last wall, a small pantry found its. From its ajar door, three likely-stale Renuvion long breads, wrapped in cooking paper to mislead as to their quality, peeked out.

Searching through the cupboards only brought more disappointment in the form of a few measly pots, pans, and clean rags. Much of the metalware appeared to be new. In fact, Nira had never seen any meal cooked in the kitchen for a guest. On the rare occasions someone used the kitchen, it was usually the guests’ servants using its snacks for extra replenishment during their stay. The entire kitchen was redundant seeing that guests and their servants usually ate lavishly with the king for every meal. Partners were forbidden from using it at all, and if they tried, Odilia had warned that the servants would snitch on them. Servants usually didn’t like outsider lowborns, like Nira or the other partners, becoming close with their master and usually did everything in their power to make these lowborns’ lives miserable. But that was the world. Nira’s world.

Fully opening the tiny pantry door, Nira saw a table occupying the entire pantry. Hanging above it, a shelf hugged the wall, holding an assortment of pickled, baked, and salted vegetables. Underneath the table was a big sack of flour and a jug of olive oil. All that was of little importance when Nira finally found a tiny ray of hope. On the small table, on which the long breads sat, were two vintage wine bottles. Nira picked them up to examine them. They weren’t aged for a long time, so they wouldn’t be worth a whole lot, but nobles loved wine. It was the first lesson she learned in the kitchen in Hanbur.

Just like you couldn’t use a hammer to plow the field, every tool was only effective in its particular environment. Wine was best when paired with a snack, and what snack could be more apt for Nira to make than creamy and savory ummus: a famous dish from the Southern Valley that was found in every home and tavern during the spring and summer. Because of the notion that it was a poor person’s spread, the only homes that didn’t carry it were ones of noble birth. In spite of this, it wasn’t actively hated - merely avoided - and most nobles would eat it given the opportunity, especially privately on the road.

Nira turned on the fire rock oven, feeling an instant wave of heat as it warmed. She grabbed a towel from the cupboard, and walked to the faucet. Its walled origin and bending design made a mystery of what magic it used to bring water. Towel in hand, Nira quickly soaked it with water and put it aside. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the biggest pot from the cupboard and filled it with water in case she required it later in the night. While the device was magical, it was also strange and Nira didn’t want to test her luck with it twice in the same night. It was best to leave it alone.

She wet the outside of one of the long breads with her towel and wrapped it with some wax paper. When she placed it in the oven, the water would be absorbed into the bread, reverting the age of the bread by at least a few days. It was a simple technique, one that every poor chef knew.

While waiting for the oven to heat up, she went to the pantry and grabbed a jar of cooked nohut, the jug of live oil, and tree nut paste. Nira loved nohut. It was a small tan vegetable that grew all across the Southern Valley. She took the nohut and began mashing it in a pot, periodically checking the oven to see if it had become hot enough. Once it was hot enough that she couldn’t hold her hand in it for more than a few moments, she placed the bread inside. The rest of the dish came together with a few simple steps: add a few splashes of live oil and one-sixth serving of sesame seed paste to every serving of mashed nohut, squeeze one limone, mince one garlic, sprinkle a dash of spiced salt, and finally, mix it all together. The outcome was a creamy tan paste that made for a wonderful snack in the late hours of the night - or honestly, at any time. She ate a quick spoonful as a reward.

Finishing the ummus took just enough time for the bread to soften and warm up. Perfect. Quickly taking it out of the oven, she cut a few slices and put them on a plate. Next, she took a few scoops of ummus, put it in a bowl, placing it beside the plate. Finally, from the small pantry she grabbed a jug of wine, and from under the cupboard she found herself a noble glass - the ones which looked like a giant bowl balanced precariously on a stick and while they looked pretty, made it pretty difficult to down a cup of wine. With that, she was done. She would have tried for something better, but ummus and bread with a glass of wine would have to do under the circumstances. She was actually a little proud. It had been so long since she cooked, that some nights, she was afraid she had forgotten. It was good to know that her mother’s teachings still had a place in her and hadn’t become lost to the void. However now, it was time to reach the man’s heart… through his stomach.

She walked out of the kitchen with bowl and plate in hand, putting on a cheerful smile that people of servitude were all too familiar with. A smile that said ‘even though you make my life miserable, I am happy to be serving you.’

Sir Varus looked up and his eyes popped open. “What is that? For me?”

“Yes, I see you have been working hard, so I thought a little snack might be in order.”

“I appreciate the thought. I -”

“I have one more thing as well.” Nira said as she placed the plate and bowl on the table, and rushed back to grab the wine. She needed this to work.

Nira returned from the kitchen with the wine glass and bottle, only to see Sir Varus curiously examining her dish.

“What is this? We don’t have this back in Istria.”

She placed the glass and bottle on the table beside her dish.

“It is ummus, and it is common where I am from, especially around this time of year. There are lots of variations on the dish, but for you today, I have made a simple and classic version. With it, I have prepared some bread, but back home, we eat it with anything. Vegetables, fruits, sweets… you name it, we probably dip it.”

“Well Nira, that sounds wonderful, but unfortunately-”

Her heart sank a little, dangling on a thin string of hope over a barren pit of despair. Those weren’t the words she wanted.

“It is something you must try when you visit The Kingdom of Estand.”

“Apologies, but I am not in an adventurous mood.”

“I put in a great deal of effort.”

“It is evident you did, but-”

“You must be famished after working so hard.”

“Nira, I must really apologize after all the effort you put in, but the king has already fed-”

“Please. Here. Please try it. It’s good,” Nira said, her hands beginning to shake as she tore a piece of bread, scooped some hummus with it, and offered it to the diplomat. Her string of hope was fraying as her heart swayed over the pit.

“Nira, it is really not in my best interest to eat this lat-”

“Then try the wine. The wine is good; it is some of the best we have.” Her voice and body quivered as she struggled to maintain her professionalism. Her plan, her beautiful plan was falling apart in front of her eyes.

“I am sorry. I know you must have put a lot of-”

She poured the wine into the glass she held in her hand. The same hand that was trembling like a child out in the cold. She tried to rectify her mistake, but it was too late; she had poured too much and too fast. Nira could only watch in horror as the crimson liquid splashed out of its intended vessel and rained over the table. Getting into the bread. Into the ummus. And into the papers and books sprawled across the table. The string of hope snapped and her heart fell, finally shattering in the depths of despair.

THUD. Sir Varus slammed a fist on the table and rose.

“Three times... three times you have inconvenienced me tonight. First, I wanted you not to come in; you came in. Second, I wanted you to not interrupt my work; you tried to seduce me. Third, I asked that you just rest… the simplest conceivable task, yet you go out of your way to ruin all of this afternoon’s efforts. If I have not made it clear yet, let me be clear now, I do not wish to be intimate with you. I do not wish to eat the food you made. I do not wish for you to be in this room. As I stated before, my work is extremely time sensitive, and every second I deal with you is time wasted dealing with garbage,” And after a short pause and a deep sigh in a vain attempt to collect his temper, he added, “Please leave.”

Anger sparked inside her. Anger that, the one time she needed a real noble, fate had provided her some paragon of virtue and hard word. Anger that the merchant who charged exorbitant prices did so knowing Nira had no other option. Anger at where this world had placed her. And anger at what it took away. Nevertheless, one more try. She had to for there would be no other chance.

“Sir, I know I have made mistakes, but there must be something I can do. Something that can make your stay here more bearable. I promise to make no more mistakes, and-”

“You are making one right now.”

“Sir, I need the money. I need to earn the money, because there is a-”

“Your financial problems don’t concern me, and after this horrid performance, I would not even give you a copper piece.”

“Couldn’t you spare some change. I only need a few hundred copper pieces. I will satisfy any of your pleasures, name it and my body is yours. Please, I beg of you, use me, abuse me to satisfy any of your needs. Cooking, cleaning, … anything, I need the money. The carving, the merchant wants money for a carving. One entire silver. I am only a few hundred copper short. Sir, please, this carving is important. This is my one chance, and if I don’t get the copper pieces, then I will be stuck here without my past. That work you are doing, someone must have paid you to do it, no? You should have at least some money? Please, anything.” Nira collapsed onto the ground in front of Sir Varus. It was humiliating begging for money from a man that she despised. Her parents spent years feeding her, teaching her, making her into a proper woman only for her to end up debasing herself in front of a stranger. She put up the best smile she could even as small rivulets of tears ran down her cheeks.

“Look Miss Nira, I am not doing this work for any greater power. My king, King Arelcus of the Istrian Confederacy, agreed to lend me his supplies and connections in exchange for this diplomatic mission. That is the extent of the payment that I receive. Some communities near my estate provide me with food and materials, but that is out of gratitude rather than compulsion, for my estate helps them with trivial problems in exchange. There is a reason I don’t take money as payment. For each payment I take is just another person I am indebted to, and I cannot spend my life working for any particular person. The project I am working on can have no masters, for I am creating a machine that will make the lives of the many much easier by reducing how much work one man has to do, and thus, it belongs to everyone.” With a twinkle in his eyes, Sir Varus continued with pride, “It will help farmers grow their food, millers refine their wheat, milkers churn their butter, it will be integral to society as we know it. I see it changin-”

Nira snapped.

“YOU ARE REFUSING ME FOR SOME FARMERS!”

Sir Varus looked bewildered. It appeared that he hadn’t calculated she would respond like this.

Still, a small chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched down to be level with her. “Nira, a woman like you should be thinking about where you want to be in the future, not trying to make some money for some silly item. The world is full of opportunities, so don’t get so focused on something small that you are willing to throw everything away. You have to respect yourself.”

He sighed and continued, “As for the money, why don’t you place yourself in my boots? Wouldn’t I be a fool to give money to every single beggar I encountered? You need to learn how to earn that money properly, and not beg for charity. Now stop crying because whatever you feel this money could do, it is not as important as you think it is.”

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME? WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT WHY I NEED THE MONEY? YOU KNOW NOTHING, YOU NOBLE SHAFT SCARFFER!”

Sir Varus’ face immediately filled with contempt as he rose up and said, “Alright, I really do not wish to deal with this right now. Please leave my room, and if you can’t do that, then do anything but touch me, come near me, or speak to me. Don’t even look at me. Don’t even think about looking at me. I want pure silence now. Have I made myself clear?”

Nira nodded, tears still streaming down her face. Cravings for vespum built up inside her. Without giving a second thought if Sir Varus would approve of it, she picked herself up, grabbed the wine bottle, and went to the otherside of the bed and collapsed in the tight space between the bed and wall. Screw it, if he wanted to remove her, he would have to do it himself; she would enjoy every little bit of luxury she could while she was here. If today’s transgressions were reported to Sir Bucken, she would get at least three sets of whippings and two months of docked pay, so what were a few more? Not that it mattered. She had lost her one chance at adding a piece of her happy place to this hell. Behind her, Sir Varus settled into his chair, the sounds of pages rustling in his hand and the pen scraping against the paper quickly returning to the room. This was her life. Nira took a massive swig of the wine and let it numb the pain, little by little.