The midday sun beamed down on them. The heat was almost unbearable. With a trembling hand, she wiped away beads of sweat from her forehead. The white headcover did little to ward off the heat. They trotted at a slow speed, the sound of hooves dulled on sand. Traveling during the day was dangerous, but they did so to avoid attention. The plan had been to travel by day, stopping at the wells for rest and then continuing into the night. She had taken the time to calculate all possible routes, and at their pace, it would take them seven days to get to the capital. Two days faster than a more lenient speed would allow.

Swavin.

One of the few green zones left in the empire. It was said to be an amazing city beyond what she could imagine, having spent her life amongst the dried-up Sahra mountains. The city was said to be so green that those unused to the color reported fatigue soon after arrival. However, the fatigue would pass after a few days.

It wasn’t that she had never seen plants or different flora; it was just that so far from the capital, there wasn't much. The Sahra mountains had plants that had become native to the arid landscape years after the Gods had left. Desert shrubs, cacti, and trees that grew funny. The trees collected water, causing their bodies to become plump, the bark soft and almost pillowy to the touch. Desert life had evolved with time, the leaves of plants curling up during times of heavy sun. The cacti seemed mostly unbothered. As much as she loathed her unfreedom, she was excited to see the capital.

Kalina looked out but saw only an ocean of sand as far as the eye could see. Dunes resembling waves. She had already become desensitized to the endless beige’s, yellows, and oranges. The sand only broken by orange mountains and stone formations. It would be the first time she traveled beyond the mountains since she had been brought there as a child. Somewhere in the far of her mind, distant childhood memories tried to break through, but she pushed them back. It was always the same few memories, only one being decent. Now was not the time. Maybe someday, when she was ready, she would allow herself to remember, but now…she sighed, was not the time.

She looked at Nikrin, who twirled a pepper grey beard between thick fingers, his other hand holding onto the reins. Nikrin was a blob of white on the horse—a man not only large in size but also in stature. The poor creature seemed to walk slower than the rest under the weight of the grand advisor.

Rumors had it that the advisor was great in many ways, his size being the least significant of his attributes. His looks deceiving. Nikrin had a way about him. He came off gentle. An elderly man with plump cheeks and lines when he smiled as if he had spent his life laughing. Which was far from the truth. The advisor had made a name for himself on the battlefield before his lofty position at the court. Even off the battlefield, he was cold and calculating. If one knew his legacy, it would have made it all less surprising that he had chosen to side with the seventh prince. However, with years his legacy had been forgotten, his demeanor playing a big role in this. Kalina, however, was forced to learn about everyone in the royal court, which was why she was not deceived by Nikrin. Not having been influenced by the personalities of those she learned about allowed her to have a better understanding of them.

It had been a few hours since they had started their journey and if memory served her well, soon they would get to the first well. The wells were mysterious formations left by one of the old gods. A god now known as the Goddess of wells. Once called under a different name. It was said that before the favor ran dry, the Goddess had sacrificed herself to fill the wells with magic and leave the people with water. The Well Goddess now holding one of the biggest following in the empire. As favor dwindled and the world dried up, the wells, still filled with favor, kept giving fresh water. No one really knew how they worked. If a well was running dry, a witch could be paid to fill the well with magic. Something the Sahra witches also specialized in.

Filling a well was a grueling and lengthy process that, at times, could take days. Bit by bit collecting favor from the desert, one grain at a time, and funneling it back into the well. She, too, was taught the art of filling. From this, they figured that the wells somehow taped into the powers of the earth to harvest water. When dried, the deep wells led to a circle of ancient runes at the bottom.

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One of her more trivial childhood memories had to do with the wells. When she still lived with her mother, she remembered sitting in an empty well, the sun beaming down on her, with no way to escape. It had burned her skin a deep red, and the pain lasted long after. The walls of the well were such a deep, vivid green. The emerald stone had mesmerized her for a while before the panic had set in. She was such a stupid child, allowing herself to be tricked by the other kids. Too trusting, she thought.

Shaking her head clear again, she looked out towards the horizon. It was just another bad memory. Another recollection to ignore.

Finally, the beige horizon was broken by a spot of color. A well. This one was made from ruby stones. Its walls reflecting brightly in the sunlight. Red like the crimson of a sunset.

“Young Valeha,” Nikrin’s voice broke the long silence. “Soon, we will stop to rest.”

My name is Kalina, not Young Valeha, she thought but said nothing.

“Of course,” she agreed. There was no point in defiance. Her only goal was to have conflict-free travel to the capital. Defiance had never served her well. It went against her existence. It went against what others expected from her. Sometimes, she wanted to scream, yell, throw, and thrash against her fate—against the existence already chosen for her. The feeling often collected in the pit of her stomach, making her nauseous.

The horses came to a stop at the well. The red stone even more ethereal up close. The wells had always drawn her to them. They piqued her interest and pulled her gaze. Carefully carved runes in rigid crystalline walls, all of different colors, like jewels scattered amongst the desert.

“You used to be so interested in the wells, Valeha,” Nikrin said, jumping down from his own stead. “When you were a child, so many moons ago, when we first traveled to the Sahra witches, each well would have your eyes light up.”

Kalina looked at the ruby earring hanging from Nikrin’s left ear, a color similar to the well. “They reminded me of gems.” Until her mother’s death, they had lived poorly. Her mother sold her precious jewelry to make life just a little more comfortable. Her father a shiver ran down her spine- her father was a cruel man she had never met, and until her dying breath, her mother cursed him. The contempt she had for this unknown man would sometimes seep into contempt for her own child. Otherwise, they mostly lived well. But she had always remembered the colorful gems from her mother's collection before they had been sold. Why did all these memories break through her barrier today? She sighed.

The excitement was still there. She had just learned to hide it.

Nikrin laughed, “In the palace, you’ll get tired of jewels. It’s too extravagant—jewels, magic ore, gold, marble—your eyes grow tired of such luxury.”

She chuckled, “I’ll keep your words in mind.”

“You might not believe me, but you’ll see.”

Nikrin kneeled onto the sand before the well. It had been a long time since she had seen this ritual. As a follower of the Well Goddess, he would have to say a prayer before drinking from a well. Forming a circle with both hands, he placed his hands on his forehead and prostrated himself down, and each time he whispered a prayer. He did it 8 times before getting up.

“A prayer for the Goddess to thank her for the substance of life that she had left for us,” he said.

Kalina nodded, still remembering his prayers as a child. They had stopped at many wells and at each one Nikrin would pray. 8 times at each and every well.

This well was full. Clear water filled up almost to the top, an infrequent sight for their time. It must have been filled for their arrival. Nikrin must have planned ahead, trying to make the journey a bit easier. Filling a well was not trivial or cheap, especially filling one fully. It would have taken at least two people skillful in filling and trained to pull favor to fill a well to the brim. She had counted that there would be at least nine wells in their path of travel. To fill nine wells, well, that would cost a small fortune at least. Was her existence really that important?

The seventh prince had never taken in a wife or concubine, and the harem remained empty. She had learned that some royal families abstained from having a harem and instead took in one spouse, but that was not the case here. The Prince could not risk taking in a concubine. The fight for the throne was harrowing. Many had already lost their lives, the royal harem, a cemetery, and whorehouse, if nothing else. It had been a miracle that he had survived long enough to leave the harem. And even more surprising that he was still alive.

For this person, she was the perfect concubine. The only one who could not betray him even if she wanted to. There was a strange longing for this man who she had never met and had only seen once so long ago that her child brain had yet learned to make memories. This desire went against her logic. He was a cruel and awful human being, but her heart desired to be near him.