CHAPTER 8

She takes a cream-gold-colored saree that is neither too wide nor too narrow and has it fitted Nivi style. After a twist around my waist, he passes the pallu, that is, the loose end, over my left shoulder until it slides down my back revealing the tiny lace choli that covers my breasts. Then it passes through my head covering it completely, letting it fall down my right shoulder until it wraps around my neck, it remains in an ethereal sari in nivi style.

They make me sit at a dressing table, on top of it the wood is full of perfumes and makeup of all colors. They outline my eyebrows and smoke my eyelids in gold and brown, with black bordering my eyes making them stand out. They go over my skin with a smooth foundation matching my light tone and paint my lips in a glossy dark cream shade.

From one of the chests they take out a line of joined gold rings that pass through my forehead, small medallions hang, in their center a strip of the same material falls, this joins another piece of gold that arches under my cheekbones with small filigree hanging up to cover all that area of ​​my face.

In my region, women in the family who are not married do not show their faces unless the head of the family allows them to do so. And of course I can't, Leceth doesn't want someone to mistakenly recognize me as the slave who recently cleaned their rooms.

At least today I will enjoy my work.

Agata makes a gesture for me to stand up, puts my heels on to games and guides me towards a large mirror that exceeds me in height. I am stunned by what I see.

I look pretty, really pretty, I've never thought that I'm even pretty. But looking at me now I can't be more wrong, even if it's wrong for me to say so.

__ You are the spitting image of Isabella __. He approaches me slowly supporting his hands on my shoulders __. Your mother would be excited to contemplate the beautiful woman you have become.

I know I must not cry or I will end up destroying all the work, but I really have a hard time not.

__ My girl, today everyone will remember who you are, you are Suhaila Korkmaz, the daughter of the Tsar of Black Gold.

Our eyes meet through the fine glass, in theirs a glint shines that I cannot understand.

My heels clatter across the shiny floor, echoing down the desolate corridor. Everyone should be at the dance by now and my late entry will cause me to be the center of attention. For years I learned that this is the worst thing that can happen to you, to be the center of attention is to have a sentence on you. My heart is beating at an exorbitant speed, my hands are shaking, and the air I inhale barely passes the lump in my throat.

For the first time in my life I will attend a dance, for the first time I will be introduced to hundreds of people with the name that belongs to me by birthright. For the first time I will be able to look at everyone without feeling ashamed of myself, or having to lower my gaze.

The question was: Will I get it?

I will be able to wear the best fabrics, the most dazzling jewels and luckily my face covered. But I can't hide from myself. After all, underneath so much luxury, so much good taste, only a slave hides.

A slave, two simple words that separately did not mean much. But together they frame the destiny of a being born to be free.

I have always believed that the sense of freedom is a mental state of belonging, which lies in the subconscious of the individual.

It may be true, in the end, for each human being the needs that shape and measure their state of freedom varies according to their circumstance. The difference between them and a slave is simple, how could you long for something you've never had and even know its meaning? How do you want what you don't know?

A slave does not choose what she eats, even when she bathes and even less when she sleeps, your body is so exhausted that it does not allow you to refuse. Not only are you the property of someone, you are also the property of your own body, of that container of meat in which you are locked until finally one day the glorious and expected death will embrace you.

That is our freedom.

Among the slaves there is only one rule: Never have hope. It should never be broken, because that day, your mind will be your worst enemy, it will charge you with reality for every pretentious fantasy, it will punish every wandering longing with suffering.

I learned it long ago.

And that is what keeps me looking at the two great golden doors that rise in front of me. They guard the entrance to what should have been my life, to what was taken from me and that today they will make me contemplate as a sign of their power over me.

I take a deep breath and signal Brazy to open the doors. In a silent movement they respond by giving way to what they hide. The soft notes of a violin fill the bustle of the people, the chandeliers on the ceiling shine, leaving shades of color thanks to the light that caresses the fine crystals that decorate them.

There is no going back, I move slowly along the floor that I have polished so many times, this is my home after all. Slave or not, this is the place where I was born, so I have nothing to fear.

Yes Suhaila, you can __ I tell myself __. Just smile when you must and keep quiet, hopefully you'll steal some food for the girls without getting caught and in a couple of hours you'll be back in your hovel without a scratch __. After all, what can go wrong?

Shit!

She was sure to go through a lot tonight, but going from being perceived isn't one of them. More than fifty people turn to see whoever entered the great hall. And in case it is not obvious to the stragglers that someone is entering.

.¡.¡.¡

A spokesman taps his cane three times on the marbled floor of the staircase, thus drawing the gaze of the whole room towards…. My.

__ Suhaila Korkmaz, Dawn Star, princess of the Black Gold Tsar, sister of the New Black Gold Tsar.

.¡.¡.¡ Rattle with the cane again.

Why don't you take the cane and stick it through the ...

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Over a hundred people look directly at me, in their elegant clothes, dazzling jewelry, and high-quality masks. In their hands they hold glasses with drinks, they whisper to each other making the murmur that floods the room more audible.

My legs are like jellies, they tremble like leaves in winter, but they do not allow me to run towards the shelter of their inquisitive glances. Everyone expects something from me, but what?

__ What do you think you're doing? __ Brazy takes me by surprise making me jump __. Already move.

I slowly deny __. Nor crazy __ I answer in case my refusal is not obvious.

Brazy snorts irritably behind me __. Suhaila, you can't stay here all night __ argues to the point of a nervous breakdown.

__ Yes I can. And I'll do it! __ I sentence more and more convinced.

All those people look at me like you are hungry waiting for their prey.

__ Suhaila __ whispers.

But I don't know, I can't think of anything else other than all those people.

__ Suhaila __ retry.

My mind is running short.

__ Suhaila!

__ What? __ I blurt out a little loud and if God still has mercy on me, no one will have listened to me.

__ You are not alone __ he whispers.

__ What have you said? __ I don't think I'm listening well.

__ You are not alone Suhaila. Take a good look around you and you will notice that you are not alone.

__ Of course I'm not alone, there are a hundred people looking at me __ Dug, isn't it obvious.

I swear I hear him slap his forehead in frustration.

__ I don't… I mean… Just look! __ blurts out annoyed.

I look around the room, but I can't see what ...

But right there, in the middle of so many crowds, two slim arms are raised joining their wrists and forming a cross with their hands as if they were tied.

It happens so fast that I'm afraid it's my mind wandering. But not far away, next to the column, two other arms imitate the gesture. I know that sign well.

It is the symbol of slavery.

Another one in the distance, and another and another. They are my friends, they are here.

__ You see, you're not alone __ whispers Brazy in a tone loaded with warmth just for me __. Now go down those stairs for a damn time I have to close the door __ roars with his characteristic bad humor.

__ And so ladies and gentlemen is like Brazy spoiled the longest speech of his annoying existence __ I scoff at which is followed by a snort of frustration from him, one of those that you indicate to me that either I come down at once or he throws me headlong himself.

I take the first option.

I inhale a great breath of air and descend the steps one by one. Not in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined being here, at least not like Suhaila Korkmaz.

But I prefer it before having to see who approaches me at a brisk pace. Show your best smile full of fake love.

__ My Dawn Star, you look beautiful, my sister __. I never thought I could hate the meaning of my name, just hearing it being pronounced by his lips can cause such an effect.

__ Leceth __ is the only thing I can say without throwing up.

His hair is well arranged, he wears a Khalat which is a loose outer suit with long silk sleeves, along with a Sherwani, it is a narrow pants, all royal blue with opaque gold fabrics. On his waist he wears the Kirpán that years ago belonged to my father. It is a symbolic weapon, similar to a dagger carried by the Orthodox Sikhs as a symbol of resistance against oppression and injustice.

There is a joke in such bad taste, being a slave trader.

At least now I know that my brother is not without a sense of humor.