21. Remember This — 2016.03.14
Ahad grinned and looked at Shukri.
“You’re saying I should buy it? Why the silence?”
Though his words were light, they could not easily be ignored. Especially since he was the master of Talramakan.
Shukri replied slowly to his words.
“This is an item put up for auction. I believe it would be proper for you to acquire it through the auction.”
Ahad chuckled.
“For someone whose only training is in swordsmanship, you speak remarkably well.”
Ahad’s hand pushed Ilsia away again—cold and careless, as if she were nothing more than an object. Bitterness spread through her heart.
In the desert, slaves—and women—were no more than this. The harsh truth sank deep into her chest.
Looking back, Hashar, and even the Caliph, had treated Ilsia quite politely. She had grown accustomed to their civility and had forgotten how men of the desert handled women.
“Anyway… Dekarim wouldn’t sell such a precious item just for money. What’s his purpose?”
Ahad tilted the corner of his mouth. With a crooked smile, he flicked his fingers.
“Speak honestly. I’m willing to cooperate with you.”
For a moment, it was tempting, but Shukri cut him off firmly.
“If I were to reveal my mission recklessly, how could I perform as an assassin?”
“Ah… so this is about Dekarim, huh?”
Ahad stepped closer to Shukri. Standing close, he looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.
“Then… would assassinating the Sultan also be possible?”
His tone was casual, as if asking about something trivial.
Shukri answered without the slightest hesitation.
“If the price is right, I can do it anytime.”
It was a response that almost seemed to invite Ahad to seriously commission him. Only Ilsia, standing nearby, worried silently, aware of what Shukri might be thinking.
“Hooh…”
Fortunately, Ahad seemed pleased with Shukri’s answer. He spoke with satisfaction.
“Very well, I like that.”
He grinned and extended his hand toward Shukri. When Shukri took it, Ahad smiled broadly.
“I hope we can be helpful to each other from now on. Let’s make this a good partnership.”
Then he added, in a tone that sent a chill down the spine:
“I have many enemies, after all.”
“…I look forward to working with you.”
“Yes, yes.”
Ahad turned to Ilsia again, frowning slightly.
“This merchandise needs some grooming. I can’t put it up for auction like this.”
Ilsia glanced down at herself. She had tried to dress up, but apparently, Ahad found it far from enough.
“I’ll take care of it. Leave it to me for a while.”
Patting Shukri’s shoulder lightly, Ahad reassured him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not stealing it. I have my manners, you know. I’ll make sure she’s presented properly before sending her to the waiting area for slaves.”
Ahad clapped his hands sharply. From the door where the women had disappeared earlier, a group appeared, their faces covered with dark cloth.
They gently but firmly pulled Ilsia along. Like sand swept by the wind, she was dragged away in an instant. Shukri’s eyes followed her anxiously, but he could not intervene.
If he tried to stop Ilsia here, it would arouse Ahad’s suspicion. He could not let Ahad focus on her unnecessarily.
Ahad slung an arm over Shukri’s shoulder and spoke in a friendly tone.
“Come on, the sellers have a place to wait. Shall we go there? Maybe have a hookah while we’re at it?”
Shukri didn’t answer, but Ahad’s excited voice filled the space.
“Today’s auction will be very interesting.”
Ilsia had prepared for the possibility of being separated from Shukri upon arriving at Talramakan.
But she had not prepared for Ahad to interfere.
She glanced at the women arranging her appearance. They moved efficiently, methodically placing jewelry, adjusting her clothes, applying makeup. This was clearly not their first time handling slaves—they had probably dealt with many before.
After draping some cloth over her face, they brought her new clothes. Ilsia recoiled.
‘How is this even considered clothing…?’
It was little more than a flimsy piece of cloth. She wanted to refuse but reminded herself of her status as a slave and reluctantly wore it.
Once dressed, the hopelessness intensified. The garment barely covered her, and even the slightest movement would reveal her skin.
She had underestimated entering Talramakan’s auction as a slave. Regret surged, but it was too late.
She tried to stay as still as possible. When she finally stopped moving, the preparation seemed complete.
One of the women silently helped her up, covered her eyes again, and led her somewhere else.
Ilsia was moved through the winding underground maze of Talramakan. To disorient her, they made her spin several times while standing in place.
Eventually, she was trapped in an unknown room. A deep male voice spoke.
“Wait here until the auction begins.”
With a thunk, the door closed.
Ilsia immediately removed the cloth covering her eyes.
“Phew…”
She sighed and looked around. The small room was tidy. There was a bed, a sofa, and a table—just enough for a premium slave to wait before auction.
Ahad had complicated things, but Ilsia had prepared for the possibility of being separated from Shukri.
If she ended up alone in the waiting area, she could detect Devaris’ location and send a signal to Shukri and Dekarim. Fortunately, the pill she had hidden in her mouth to signal them was not taken.
Confirming the room was empty, her first act was to remove her handcuffs. Using a small, sharp pin hidden in the cloth of the cuffs, she worked the keyholes until the cuffs fell off.
She tucked the pin into her clothing and muttered:
“I thought I was going to suffocate in there.”
After loosening her wrists and testing her movements, she approached the door.
“I need to get outside first…”
Pressing her ear to the door, she sensed only one presence—likely the same guard she heard when entering the room.
She knocked lightly. A small square window at the top of the door opened with a click. A man peered through and asked gruffly:
“What is it?”
Ilsia rested her pale, delicate fingers on the window sill. He flinched at the touch. She smiled at him, making her request casually.
“Could you open the door for a moment?”
Suspicion and unease shone in his eyes. Ilsia acted as if nothing were wrong.
“I’ve been stuck underground and it’s suffocating. Just open it for a moment.”
She traced the edge of the window with her fingers. The sound made him curious.
“You should be able to handle someone like me…”
Her hand slipped through the gap and caressed his cheek.
“I could easily control someone like me with one hand.”
The guard looked at her pale skin under the dim light. Her fingers seemed fragile enough to snap with a little pressure. The subtle temptation was tempting. Knowing he shouldn’t touch a slave, yet…
In the end, he could not resist. He swung the door open.
And that was it.
“Gah!”
He fell to the side, a thin dart in his neck.
“Men, honestly…”
Ilsia shrugged, removing the dart and placing it back in her sleeve, then surveyed her surroundings.
“Let’s see… this should be about right.”
It was a maze, impossible to predict which path led where.
But it didn’t matter to Ilsia.
The king of Devaris could sense his people when nearby. The range was short, making it usually useless—but now, among the waiting areas for premium slaves, she could sense where Devaris was. That faint feeling guided her.
This is it.
Moving stealthily, she spotted a room guarded by two men. She detached a piece of her jewelry and threw it on the floor, making a loud clatter.
“What’s that?”
One guard walked over to pick it up. Ilsia pulled him suddenly, planting a dart in his neck. He fell without a sound.
The other guard rushed over, only to meet the same fate. Ilsia searched them and found a key.
Holding the key, she froze at the door. She only needed to open it to confirm Devaris’ presence.
“….”
Her hand trembled. She took a deep breath and turned the key. The door creaked loudly.
The room was dark. In the center, a beautifully adorned woman sat, a long blanket over her knees.
Her hollow eyes moved weakly, and Ilsia immediately recognized her.
“My god… Isanna!”
She rushed forward.
Isanna had been her maid, who once cared for her. Seeing Ilsia, a spark of life returned to her dying eyes.
A gag was in her mouth, and her wrists were chained to the chair.
Ilsia removed the gag. Isanna called out, disbelief in her voice:
“Princess…?”
Her cracked voice tore at Ilsia’s heart. She hugged her tightly.
“Yes, it’s me… Isanna…”
Except for Ilsia, there were no women among Dekarim’s people.
The reason was simple.
Eight years ago, humans prioritized female Devaris. Like livestock, female Devaris sold for much higher prices. Escape was nearly impossible. Protecting even one, like Ilsia, would have been impossible without Hashar.
Ilsia checked Isanna for injuries. Her body was scarred from knife cuts. Her skin was lumpy from repeated self-inflicted wounds to feed on blood.
Ilsia’s gaze fell on the blanket covering her legs. She reached out.
Nothing remained below her thighs. Her legs had been amputated.
White washed over Ilsia’s mind. She could not speak, only stared at her, heart shattering at the weak smile. Tears poured out uncontrollably.
“Why… why…?”
She swallowed the words she could not voice.
“I’m sorry, Isanna. I’m so sorry…”
Despite trying to remain composed, she wept like a child, pressing her face to Isanna’s lap.
It was all her fault.
‘I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough, and you suffered because of me. I wasn’t enough…’
She remembered being lost in Hashar’s affairs while Isanna endured horrors.
“I don’t deserve to be called a queen.”
Despair pierced her like needles, and she sobbed violently.
Isanna placed her hand on Ilsia’s head, speaking calmly:
“Don’t cry.”
“Isanna… it’s all my fault…”
“You’ve always been tearful, haven’t you?”
Isanna smiled faintly.
“It feels like a dream to see you, Princess. I could die now with no regrets.”
Ilsia felt the weight of Isanna’s concern. Fighting back tears, Isanna spoke.
“I was pregnant.”
“…What?”
Ilsia, stunned, stopped crying.
“After that day eight years ago, as a slave, I was used by countless men. I didn’t even know whose child it was. But it was mine.”
The words were almost unbearable. Yet Isanna continued calmly.
“They took my child before I could nurse it properly… I could never see it again.”
She did not cry.
“Someone told me my baby had been offered to the nobles curious about young Devaris. That infant…”
She didn’t cry.
“Princess… I want to see my baby.”
There was nothing left to grieve—her soul had long since dried into venom.
Isanna looked at Ilsia resolutely. Ilsia realized:
From the moment her child died, Isanna had already been dead inside. Only the shell remained.
“My child’s name was Hamid.”
Isanna kissed Ilsia’s tear-stained cheek. Trembling with anger and sorrow, Ilsia watched as Isanna smiled beautifully.
“With your hands to guide me, I could rest in peace.”
How could Ilsia refuse her? It was the last gift she could give.
“Isanna, please…”
Holding onto her last hope, Ilsia tried to stop her. But Isanna slowly closed her eyes. She was ready. Calmly, she whispered:
“Remember us, your Majesty.”
And Ilsia had no choice but to grant Isanna’s final wish.
