The wind blew hard, raising clouds of sand that danced around the caravan. Aïsha pulled down her embroidered veil slightly, protecting her face from the golden dust. Beside him, one of his father's guards rode a horse whose sides were covered in thin plates of armor. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
— You are very silent, young mistress.
Aïsha did not turn her gaze away from the ramparts that loomed on the horizon.
— I'm thinking.
The guard nodded, before adding in a lower tone:
"You didn't want to come back, did you?"
She shrugged slightly, letting his silence answer for her.
— Did you miss Samakhrystal? another voice tried.
Aïsha turned her head towards the old nurse who had accompanied her to the oasis. His reassuring presence was the only thing that kept her from feeling completely alone.
— Non.
His tone was sharp, without appeal.
The nurse sighed and adjusted the shawl on her shoulders.
—Your father insisted that you come back. He must have a good reason.
Aïsha gritted her teeth.
— My father always has a good reason.
Her gaze fell on the ruby pendant she held in her hand. She turned it slowly between her fingers, lost in thought.
The guard hesitated, before whispering:
— You know... He often talks about you, when you're not there.
Aïsha suddenly raised her head.
— My father?
The man nodded.
— He always asks for news. He wants to know how you are doing, if you lack anything.
She pursed her lips, quickly looking away.
— He never said it to my face.
The nurse gently patted his hand.
— Some men don't know how to express what they feel.
Aisha did not answer.
The palace walls finally appeared in all their grandeur, the large solid wooden doors engraved with ancient symbols of Topaza slowly opening under the orders of the guards.
She took a deep breath.
—Everything looks the same...
But as she crossed the threshold, a strange feeling came over her.
Non.
Everything seemed the same… but everything had changed.
****
Ghadib's palace was a world of wealth and opulence, but to Raikuto, it was only a field of suffering.
From his first day, he understood that his existence here would not be that of a simple slave.
No, Abraham made sure he became something else.
Something more durable.
Something more docile.
Something useful.
And for that, he had to be broken.
Raikuto's days began well before dawn, even before the sunlight warmed the cold tiles of the palace.
Abraham woke him up with a simple press on the shoulder. A light touch, but relentless.
- Standing.
No margin for error. Not a second late.
The other servants were entitled to simple tasks: serving at table, preparing scented baths, maintaining the common rooms.
More Raikuto?
He was the only one who had to do the most thankless tasks.
Clear the sand. Day after day, he had to remove the golden grains that infiltrated everywhere, lifting shovelfuls under the stern gaze of Abraham. It didn't matter that the wind brought the sand back immediately afterwards. He had to start again.
Carry jars of water. Clay containers far too heavy for a child of his age. His back screamed in pain with every step, his arms trembled, but he had no right to stop.
Scrubbing the floors until they bleed. Kneeling on the hard stone, his hands immersed in basins of ice water, he had to polish every inch of the palace. What if Abraham didn't think it was clean enough? He was starting again.
The punishments were worse than the chores.
A delay? A day without water.
A complaint? A double workload.
An error? Everything had to be redone from the beginning.
Raikuto endured.
He was taking it.
But every day was torture.
Sometimes his body wouldn't keep up. His legs gave way beneath him, his paralyzed muscles refused to obey.
Then Abraham looked at him, impassive.
— Do you think you're tired?
Raikuto was panting, exhausted.
— Get up.
The child gritted his teeth, placed a trembling hand on the ground... and forced himself to obey.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because he accepted his fate.
But because he wanted to understand.
Why him? Why this particular treatment?
The nights brought no respite.
His body was too sore to sleep. His hands, covered with blisters, were still trembling under the thin sheets of the bed he had been assigned.
But he wasn't crying.
Not a tear.
Because the pain was becoming a habit.
Because he knew no one would come to help him.
Because he had decided to survive.
One evening, as he finished putting away jars in the warehouse, he felt Abraham's presence even before he spoke.
—You're not like the others.
Raikuto didn't immediately raise his head. He was too exhausted.
"I noticed," he whispered hoarsely.
Abraham approached slowly, scrutinizing the boy.
—The master wants you to be tough...so I'll make sure you are.
Raikuto clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm.
—Why me?
The steward stared at him for a moment, before giving a slight smile.
—It's not for me to answer that question.
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving him alone in the darkness of the warehouse.
Raikuto didn't move.
He didn't yet understand what it all meant.
But he knew one thing:
This treatment was not only cruel.
It was preparation.
But for what?
And why did Ghadib want him to become stronger?
****
Raïkuto was getting used to the hellish routine that Abraham imposed on him. Every day was exhaustion, every night was too short and restless sleep. But despite the fatigue, he kept his eyes open. He was observing. He memorized.
And that's how he noticed her.
Unlike the other servants, this woman had neither the submissive posture of slaves, nor their dull gaze. She moved with unusual grace, her movements precise and fluid. His clothes, although simple, were made of a finer fabric.
But what struck Raikuto was his face.
She looked exactly like the woman in the portrait Ghadib often stared at in his office.
One evening, as he finished cleaning a corridor adjacent to the inner gardens, he saw her sitting near a fountain.
The moon cast a silvery sheen on the water, and the woman seemed captivated by the reflections on the surface.
She whispered softly:
— Water... always water... memories don't drown...
Raikuto frowned.
He hesitated.
Then, driven by a curiosity he could not contain, he approached slowly.
—...What are you saying?
The woman flinched slightly, as if she hadn't noticed his presence until that moment.
She slowly turned her head towards him. His eyes were empty. Not intelligence, but emotion.
Raikuto felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Water," she continued in a low voice. She takes everything… but sometimes she gives something back.
He frowned.
— What are you talking about?
The woman stared at him for a moment, then tilted her head slightly.
—Who are you?
— Raïkuto.
A silence settled.
Then she whispered almost to herself:
— A name...
Raikuto felt that something was wrong with this woman.
"You… are you okay?"
She blinked slowly, as if the question itself was strange.
"I'm waiting," she finally breathed.
—Wait, what?
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
She looked down at the water again.
Then, as if something had just hit her, she stood up in one fluid motion.
— Water is a mirror... but not all reflections are real.
Raikuto didn't understand.
He was about to ask another question, but a cold voice sounded behind him:
"Don't linger, kid.
He immediately stiffened.
Abraham stood in the shadows of the corridor, his arms crossed, his dark gaze fixed on him.
Raikuto took one last look at the woman.
She hadn't moved.
She seemed to have returned to her silent world, as if their exchange had never happened.
"Now," ordered Abraham.
Raikuto clenched his fists, but obeyed.
As he walked away, he couldn't help but think about what he had just seen.
This woman…
Why did she look so much like the portrait in Ghadib's office?
Why was she talking like she was waiting for something?
And above all…
Why didn't Abraham want him to talk to him?
****
The palace seemed different to him.
Aïsha walked through the corridors without finding the familiar atmosphere that had once lulled her. The decoration had not changed, the servants still obeyed with the same rigor, but something was missing.
A strange feeling. As if, in his absence, a shadow had settled here.
Her father had summoned her, but she didn't want to talk to him yet.
So, she chooses to go to the gardens.
As soon as she passed through the arch that led to the green paths, she stopped.
A boy was there.
A servant.
He tended a terracotta watering can, pouring water with almost mechanical concentration onto the plants lining the stone path. He didn't look like an ordinary servant.
His black hair fell in messy strands across his forehead. His clothes, although clean, bore traces of water and dust.
But it was his eyes that caught his attention.
Deep black, with strange blue reflections in the sunlight.
Aïsha approached, curious.
—Are you new?
The boy barely looked up, nodding briefly.
- Yes.
She stared at him, intrigued.
—I thought my father didn't buy children.
Raikuto didn't answer.
He had heard this remark once before. He still didn't know what to think about it.
Aïsha narrowed her eyes, trying to guess what he was thinking.
—What's your name?
— Raïkuto.
She nodded before offering him her hand.
— I'm Aïsha.
Raikuto hesitated.
He glanced at his outstretched hand.
The nobles did not touch the servants. He was sure of it.
But Aïsha did not seem to wait for him to bow.
Then, slowly, he reached out his own hand and gently squeezed hers.
— How long have you been working here? she asked.
— A few days.
—And that's good?
Raikuto shrugged his shoulders slightly.
— It's better than the desert.
Aisha raised an eyebrow.
—Are you from the desert?
Raikuto looked down slightly at the watering can, as if hesitant to answer.
- I don't know.
She stared at him, perplexed.
— What do you mean, you don't know?
He didn't answer immediately.
— I don't remember.
A silence settled.
Aïsha understood that he did not want to say more.
So she changed the subject.
— Do you still do that?
Raikuto raised an eyebrow slightly.
— Water the plants?
- Yes. Is this your only job?
He shook his head.
—I do what Abraham tells me to do.
Aisha grimaced.
—Abraham is horrible.
Raikuto didn't answer.
But deep down, he agreed.
Aïsha please son menton, pensive.
—I'll tell you something...
She came a little closer and whispered:
—If one day Abraham punishes you for no reason, say that you work for me.
Raikuto narrowed his eyes, skeptical.
—Would that work?
Aïsha smiles mischievously.
— I may not seem like it, but my father listens to me.
Raikuto looked at her for a moment.
He didn't know yet if he could trust her.
But he had just understood one thing:
She and he lived in two completely different worlds.
Aïsha was still observing Raikuto with curiosity.
She had never seen a boy like him.
The servants always avoided meeting his gaze. They obeyed, responded briefly and disappeared as soon as they could.
He was different.
He didn't look away.
He wasn't afraid.
He didn't treat her like an untouchable princess, but he didn't look down on her either.
Aisha found this… intriguing.
She crossed her arms.
— You don't talk much, do you?
Raikuto lowered his head slightly, focused on his work.
— I speak when it is useful.
She raised an eyebrow.
—Did Abraham teach you that?
He nodded slightly.
- Yes. And he also taught me that a servant should not ask questions.
Aisha rolled her eyes.
— Did he also tell you not to smile?
Raikuto finally raised his head, surprised.
She smiled, amused.
—Are you still making that serious face?
He shrugged his shoulders slightly.
- I'm tired.
- Fatigue ? She frowned. But you haven't even been here a week!
Raikuto gave a bitter little smile.
—You should try to be a servant of Abraham.
Aisha narrowed her eyes.
—He treats you badly?
Raikuto hesitated for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.
— He makes sure that I am never at rest.
Aisha crossed her arms, thinking.
She knew Abraham. He was a cold, strict man, and his father trusted him completely to manage the household.
But she also knew he was cruel.
—What does he make you do? she asked.
Raikuto finally put down the watering can and leaned lightly on his knee.
— Clean rooms closed to other servants. Carrying jars of water through the palace. Move crates of goods in warehouses…
He paused before adding:
— Sometimes without drinking.
Aisha widened her eyes slightly.
— Without drinking?! But he knows it's dangerous in the heat!
Raikuto gave him a sideways glance.
—I think that's kind of the goal.
She felt a pang of anger rise within her.
— This guy is exaggerating! Does my father know about this?
Raikuto shook his head.
— I doubt it.
Aisha clenched her fists.
She didn't like Abraham.
But the idea that he could intentionally push someone to exhaustion bothered her even more.
She took a deep breath and resumed her usual smile.
— Okay, then listen carefully.
Raikuto raised an eyebrow.
—If Abraham gives you an impossible job, come see me.
—And what will you do?
She shrugged her shoulders, a mischievous smile on her lips.
—I'm Ghadib's daughter, right?
Raikuto stared at her for a moment.
He didn't understand why she was helping him.
He had never experienced this kind of kindness before.
But he knew one thing:
Aisha was not like the other nobles.
And maybe this girl could actually be useful to him.
- All right.
Aïsha smiles, satisfied.
—That's better. Now… come with me.
Raikuto hesitated.
— Where?
—I'll show you a place where Abraham won't be able to bother you.
And without waiting, she grabbed his hand and led him through the gardens.
Raikuto, surprised, let himself do so.
He didn't yet know where she was taking him.
But for the first time in days, he felt a little freer.
****
The banquet hall of Ghadib's palace was resplendent under the light of the hanging lanterns. Rich, colorful rugs covered the floor, and large carved wooden tables overflowed with exquisite dishes: roasted meats topped with spicy sauces, caramelized dates, fresh figs, and honeyed pastries sprinkled with almonds.
Conversations were going well, punctuated by the clinking of silver cups and the murmur of musicians playing a light tune in the background.
Raikuto, assigned to service, moved discreetly between the tables, observing without seeming to do so.
Ghadib, seated in the place of honor, listened attentively to a merchant in a gold-embroidered tunic, a certain Farhân, one of the greatest spice traders in Topaza.
"The situation on the caravan route is getting out of control, Ghadib. There's talk of raiders, but some say Amethysta sends her own men under the cover of bandit attacks.
A Sand Caste noble, clad in purple, shook his head.
—If it were true, the God-King would have already reacted. We have spies among them. We would know.
Another merchant shrugged.
—What if they use mercenaries? Rubellite has no shortage of them.
Ghadib gently tapped the rim of his glass, thoughtfully.
—If Amethysta really is operating in the shadows, then we need proof. Otherwise, any open accusation against them would put us in a weak position.
Farhân took a sip of wine before continuing:
— I suppose you already have ideas for solving this problem.
Ghadib smirked.
- Always.
Aïsha, until then silent, moved her fork in her plate without appetite.
The sound of conversation around her was an indistinct murmur.
She knew these discussions by heart. Commerce. The war. Power.
Everything his father cared about.
She glanced sideways at him.
He hadn't changed. Always this impassive mask, this way of dodging subjects that did not suit him.
She had enough.
She placed her fork down noisily on the plate.
- Father.
The conversations around them died down slightly.
Ghadib slowly looked up at her.
- Yes ?
Aïsha crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on him.
—Why are you still locked in your office?
The silence thickens slightly.
Ghadib took his glass and swirled it between his fingers before responding in a measured tone.
- I'm working.
— On what?
— Important matters.
Aisha pinches her lips.
—Since when are your business more important than me?
Some guests exchanged discreet glances, but no one dared to intervene.
Ghadib slowly put down his glass.
— Everything I do is for our family.
— That's not true.
The reply cracked like a whip.
The guests were silent.
Aïsha fixed her green gaze on her father's.
—You were always busy before, but since mother left, it's worse.
A chill ran through the room.
Raïkuto, who had just served a cup, stopped slightly, sensing the tension that had just built up.
Ghadib took a deep breath, visibly annoyed by this public confrontation.
—Aïsha, this is neither the time nor the place.
But the young girl didn't intend to stop there.
— So when?
A beat of silence.
Then his voice fell, lower, harder:
— You mean… mother?
This time, no one spoke.
Raikuto observed Ghadib's face. He remained impassive, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the table.
His gaze darkened slightly.
But he didn't respond immediately.
Finally, he said in a cold voice:
— Many, Aïsha.
—Why do you still refuse to talk about her?! she said, raising her voice.
Ghadib slammed his glass down on the table.
—This is not a conversation we should have in front of guests.
- The guests ?! Aïsha stood up abruptly, causing her chair to scrape on the floor. They all know you're obsessed with something! The whole house knows it! I want to know too!
The guests lowered their eyes, trying to make themselves forgotten.
Ghadib stared at her for a moment before responding, in an icy tone:
—It's not your problem.
Aisha's fists clenched.
— You don't understand anything!
Then, without waiting, she left the room with furious steps.
Raikuto glanced at Abraham. The steward did not move, as if the scene did not concern him.
His gaze returned to Ghadib.
The merchant just sighed, raising a hand to indicate to the musicians to resume their melody as if nothing had happened.
But Raikuto saw his fingers trembling slightly on the table.
He hesitated for a moment, then discreetly put down the tray he was holding and followed Aisha through the corridors of the palace.
****