Chapter 5
Mila
Mila clutched her heavy basket closer, its contents shifting against her hip as she padded down the dusty street. The sun beat down on her neck, but she barely noticed the heat. Her thoughts kept drifting back to those violet eyes.
“Get it together,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on the basket. “He’s just another Niri.”
A Niri who’d stood up for her. Who’d haggled with that leering vendor without expecting anything in return. The memory of his deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
The evidence chip pressed against her other hip through the pocket in her dress. That was what mattered right now. Not some handsome security guard with kind eyes.
“Focus on what’s important.” Her voice came out shakier than intended.
She turned the corner and picked up her pace toward Kurg’s compound. Yet as she strode down the road, her thoughts wouldn’t stop drifting back to Brivul. How his scales had gleamed in the sunlight. The way he moved, so fluid and powerful… No. She couldn’t afford to think about him. Not with Priscilla’s safety hanging by a thread. Not with stolen data burning a hole in her pocket.
But his gentle touch when their hands had brushed…
“Stop it,” she hissed, forcing her feet to keep moving forward. “You’re not some lovesick teenager.”
The market crowd thinned as she approached the compound’s sector. Soon she’d need to put on her invisible mask again. Head down, eyes lowered, spirit crushed—everything the perfect slave should be.
So why couldn’t she stop thinking about how he’d looked at her like she was worth something?
The kitchen’s familiar warmth enveloped Mila as she pushed through the service entrance. Steam rose from copper pots on the stove, carrying the scent of tonight’s dinner preparations.
Priscilla’s face lit up at her entrance. “Did you get the spices?”
“Everything on the list.” Mila set her basket on the worn wooden counter. “Even managed to get fresh herbs.”
“Show me.” Priscilla’s fingers danced over the purchases, sorting them into neat piles. “Oh, these basil leaves are perfect.”
The evidence chip weighed heavier than ever in Mila’s pocket as she watched her sister’s enthusiasm. The council would surely reward someone exposing corruption—maybe even with freedom papers. But if Kurg discovered who had betrayed him…
“You’re quiet today.” Priscilla muttered, interrupting Mila’s thoughts. “Something happen at the market?”
“Just tired from carrying that basket.” The lie tasted bitter. “These need to go in the cold storage.”
“I’ll take the meat down. You handle the spice cabinet?”
The sisters worked in silence, their movements a well-practiced dance around each other in the cramped space. Every clink of jars being arranged reminded Mila of the chip. Every step across the stone floor echoed with possibilities and dangers.
“Remember when we used to play hide and seek down here?” Priscilla’s voice drifted up from the storage cellar.
“Until that time you knocked over an entire shelf of preserves.”
“Worth it, though. Your face when you found me…”
The memory of her sister’s giggles twisted something in Mila’s chest. One wrong move, and she’d never hear that sound again. But staying silent meant staying slaves forever.
“Did you hear about Tenna?” Priscilla emerged from the cellar. “They sold her yesterday. Just like that, gone.”
The words hung in the air between them—another reminder of how precarious their lives were. How easily they could be separated.
“At least we’re still together.” Priscilla squeezed her hand.
Mila squeezed back, the evidence chip burning against her leg. She had to find a way to use it without risking Priscilla. She had to.
Later that day, the marble floor gleamed under Mila’s brush strokes, her knees aching against the hard surface. Sweat trickled down her back as she worked.
Heavy boots echoed down the corridor. Strange—the guards never patrolled this wing during cleaning hours.
“You. Get up.”
The gruff voice made her stomach clench. Three of Kurg’s personal guards loomed over her, their faces twisted in identical sneers.
“Is something wrong?” Mila kept her voice steady, careful to maintain her submissive pose.
“Master Kurg wants to see you.” The tallest guard grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. The brush clattered to the floor.
“Wait, I need to finish—”
“Shut up.” His claws dug into her skin.
The second guard seized her other arm. Their grip crushed her biceps as they marched her down the corridor, her feet barely touching the ground.
“Please, what’s this about?” Her heart hammered against her ribs.
A sharp shake made her teeth rattle. “Said shut up, slave.”
They dragged her past startled house servants and through winding hallways she’d never seen before. The opulent décor grew more elaborate with each turn—crystal chandeliers, gilt-framed mirrors, plush carpets that swallowed their footsteps.
Did he know? Had someone seen her in the comm room? The chip felt like it was burning through her dress.
The third guard walked behind them, his presence a looming threat. “Boss says this one’s been snooping around.”
Mila’s blood turned to ice.
They turned down another corridor, this one lined with security cameras tracking their progress. The grip on her arms tightened until she couldn’t feel her fingers.
“Almost there, little spy.” The guard’s breath was hot against her ear. “Master Kurg’s been wanting to chat with you.”
The guards shoved Mila through ornate double doors into Kurg’s office. The scent of expensive cigars and leather assaulted her nose. Behind a massive desk carved from rare bloodwood, Kurg’s bulk filled an oversized chair.
“So.” Kurg’s voice cut through the silence. “Care to explain why you accessed my private communication terminal?”
Her mouth went dry. “Master, I-I was just cleaning the comm room—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His fist slammed the desk. “The logs show someone accessed restricted files.”
“The screen lit up when I was dusting.” Mila kept her eyes on the plush carpet. “I must have brushed against something. I didn’t mean—”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Cold sweat trickled down Mila’s back. The guards’ grip tightened on her arms.
“I would never dare to—” Her voice cracked. “Please, master. I’m just a helpless slave.”
Kurg’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “A helpless slave who’s suddenly very interested in my private affairs.”
“No, master.” The words tumbled out. “I only clean where I’m told. I don’t know anything about—”
“Enough.”
Mila’s heart hammered so hard she feared it would burst. One wrong word and Priscilla would pay the price. The thought of her sister gave her strength to keep her voice steady.
“I swear on my life, master. It was an accident.”
Kurg studied her, his yellow eyes narrowed. The silence stretched until Mila’s legs trembled from the effort of standing still.
“Teach her a lesson.” Kurg’s words suddenly pierced through the silence.
The first blow caught Mila in the stomach. Air rushed from her lungs as she doubled over. The second strike snapped her head back, copper flooding her mouth.
“What did you see in those files?”
“Nothing.” Blood dripped down her chin. “I swear—”
A boot connected with her ribs. Pain exploded through her chest as she crumpled to the floor. The plush carpet did nothing to cushion her fall.
“Still playing stupid?” Kurg’s voice floated above her. “Hit her again.”
Knuckles crashed into her jaw. Stars burst behind her eyes. The evidence chip pressed against her hip, a reminder of why she had to endure this.
“Master, please.” Each word sent daggers through her ribs. “It was just an accident.”
“Wrong answer.”
More blows rained down. Her world narrowed to pain and the taste of blood. Priscilla’s face flashed through her mind. She had to protect her sister, had to keep quiet.
“You’ll regret the day you were born, slave.” Kurg’s boots appeared in her blurred vision. “Take her away.”
Rough hands seized her arms again. Her feet dragged across marble floors and then concrete. Cool night air hit her face as they emerged outside.
Metal scraped against metal. They tossed her into what felt like a cargo hold. Her shoulder slammed into something hard. The doors clanged shut, plunging her into darkness.
The engine rumbled to life. Every bump sent fresh waves of agony through her battered body. She tried to track their direction, but pain made it impossible to focus.
Priscilla would be waiting in the kitchen, wondering where she was. The thought hurt worse than any blow.
The vehicle lurched to a stop, and footsteps approached the back doors.