Are you feeling better? I ask the mammoth.
A single-worded reply: Yes.
Whenever I whisper to animals, each one makes a distinct sound of its own. While Agni’s voice is whip-smart and snappy, the mammoth’s voice is deep, almost fatherly in its gruffness.
“Ayy! Girl!” A whip snaps against my ankle, stinging it. “Get away from there unless you want me to sell you with the beast!”
I dodge the other hit and run, my heart heavy with regret. The man’s comment also reminds me of why I’m here.
I force myself to look elsewhere, to ignore the other animals in chains, until I see it in the far corner of the market—the stage where humans put themselves up for auction. The auctioneers, a middle-aged man and woman, sharply assess each candidate, dismissing cases where they suspect foul play or lack of consent. I wonder if anyone ever considered the consent of these captured animals.
A prickling sensation at the back of my neck gives me pause. I turn, expecting to see the mammoth’s horrible owner, perhaps even a thanedar. There is no one. Nothing, except a sinking feeling that I might have bitten off more than I can chew.
16GUL
“Name?” The male auctioneer looks up to assess me.
“Siya.” I pick a name commonly found throughout Ambar—a name that will likely be forgotten.
“Parents’ names?”
“I’m an orphan.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen years today.”
He holds out a yellowing scroll so old that I’m afraid it will fall to pieces at a single touch. “Hold the scroll for a moment.”
I do—and it turns green in my hands. He nods and takes it away.
“The scroll tells me you are of age, which is why you must listen to what I say carefully. If you are sold today, you will have to sign a contract. Indenture contracts are magical in nature and can bind you to another person for ten years or more. Do you understand this? This is not a joke or something to do because your friends dared you.”
I swallow hard. “I understand.”
“You have a village girl’s accent, but you look healthy and well cared for. Why are you selling yourself today?”
“I lost my position in my mistress’s household last week. This was the only way to get work at the palace.”
“How did you lose your position?”
“The master died, and they needed to cut expenses. Half the staff was let go.”
The story is perfect—so perfect that I expect the auctioneer to challenge it, to find that single thread that will unravel everything and have me tossed out.
“Hurry, Ghayur!” the female auctioneer shouts from the stage area. “We need to begin soon!”
The auctioneer shakes his head and waves a hand in the air. A strip of gold cloth appears.
“Tie this around your wrist. You will wait with the others in the back. When we call your name, you will come out on stage. Understand?”
I nod. I follow a trail of people to the back of the stage; they have gold ribbons tied around their wrists as well. The female auctioneer’s thick white bangles click together as she checks over the humans they expect to fetch the most coin: A farmer, built like an ox, muscles bulging like the man on King Lohar’s emblem; a wispy young woman with stringy hair, shooting butterflies from her fingertips; and at the very end, a man of unearthly beauty, his skin golden in the sun, his yellow eyes missing nothing.
“You will go first,” the auctioneer tells them. “We will take you out as a lot.” She then glances at me and two others—a dark-haired girl of my age, wearing a red ghagra and choli, and an elderly man—and grimaces. “The rest of you will be called at the end, one by one.”
“I thought they always saved the best for last at these things,” the girl in the red ghagra says out loud, commenting to no one in particular.
“Human auctions don’t work that way—especially not when Ambar Fort is buying,” the old man says quietly. “The palace buyers don’t like to be kept waiting.”
My throat tightens.
“What about the rest of us?” The girl sounds as tense as I feel. “Aren’t we being sold into the palace, too?”
“Perhaps. The stables, the laundry, and granaries in the Walled City also require workers.”
“I didn’t leave my position in Ambarvadi to work in the Walled City,” the girl mutters under her breath. She turns to me and asks: “What’s your story?”
I repeat exactly what I said to the auctioneer named Ghayur.
“You were with Shalini Bai, weren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, the girl continues talking. “Such a kind woman. And what a tragedy! One day her mate was alive, and the next day dead without a word. Everyone in the neighborhood was so devastated.”
“Oh, yes!” When I see her staring, I hastily draw my expression into one of sorrow. “It was terrible.”
Then, after a pause, I risk a question of my own: “Why wouldn’t you want to work in the Walled City? It surrounds Ambar Fort, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s not Ambar Fort or the palace itself, is it?” the girl says. “You’ll be lucky if you even see a royal in the Walled City, let alone get to serve one.”
“So you can’t get into Ambar Fort if you live in the city?” I ask, feigning innocence. Pretending to be naive has often served me well in such instances, and today is no different.
“Of course not!” the girl responds imperiously. “You need a special badge, which is checked by the guards. I hear they’ve added more security measures recently—the servants’ old badges and turban pins were replaced with new ones.”
I nod, digesting the information. I hadn’t heard about the new security measures—but then I hadn’t had the chance to sneak into the city for the past two months. A moment later, cheers erupt behind the stage, the sound vibrating in my chest.
The yellow-eyed man watches us expressionlessly. Next to him, the farmer fidgets with something in his hands—a toy? I wonder, before his eyes connect
