Nasreen took her place with the other temple prostitutes inside the brothel as she had almost every day since the fall of Adyll. The room was overly warm, heated by the central fireplace against the cold winds blowing in from the north. A bead of sweat dripped between her naked shoulder blades, causing her back to itch uncomfortably. Her hair was now long enough to hang just below her shoulders, but the dry air inside the Room of Choosing caused it to simultaneously cling to her face and float weightlessly around her in a halo of electricity. The heat was better than standing naked in the cold, but not by much.
For the last week, Nasreen had refused the drugged wine offered by the procuress in hopes the young Narim prince would visit the brothel again. She wanted her head clear when she saw him, so that she would not be fooled by his false words of love and kindness. The image of him standing over the old oracle while the Locust King praised his valor still burned in Nasreen's mind like the fire that burned the Zora to ash. Now, she craved the stupor and disassociation the drink brought with it. The numbness would be preferable to sweating and itching in bored silence for hours.
Why do I keep thinking of him? Takri wouldn’t bother coming to the brothel. He is now Lord Prince Takri. A member of the royal house. He has access to the royal harem. What use would he have for a temple prostitute whose hair is still shorn from her vows?
Nasreen shook herself from her reverie.
Since the riots of the Day of Between, most of the Swarm were pulled away from the carnal delights of the temple brothel to perform extra patrols around the city. The last few days the only customers were priests rather than men of military rank.
Takri was military rank.
Why does he haunt my thoughts? I want nothing but to forget him, or to spit in his face and claw his eyes. I thought I felt the Lady move within me that day with him in our small room. Everything was safe. And now, nothing is safe.
A blast of cold air blew through the room from the brothel door, followed by the sound of soldiers’ voices conversing with the procuress. Nasreen and the other women straightened their posture for inspection by reflex.
It isn't him. It isn't him. Stop thinking about him. He isn't coming.
She kept her eyes downcast, looking only at the officer’s boots through the red haze of her veil as he approached with the procuress.
"This is the one. She is called Nasreen," said the procuress. "She is not yet ready for duties at the palace, as you can see. Nasreen, remove your veil and show them your hair."
Nasreen complied, keeping her eyes downcast as the procuress turned her around to display the length of her hair.
The procuress sounded nervous as she continued. "It is unfortunate that her hair curls. It has not yet grown to the appropriate length as described in the requirements laid down by our God and King for harem attendants. We would be very honored to send her at a later date," said the procuress. "Nasreen is too young and is still in training in the arts of pleasure."
"He has asked for this one, specifically. She is the one who served the Lord Prince Takri when he came to the brothel, is she not? She is as described. You can be assured of the Locust King's gratitude," said the highest-ranking member of the group. "Dress her appropriately. The King will not want her cold and shivering when she arrives for her audience. You should be honored, Procuress. She has made quite an impression on the newest member of the royal household."
"We live only to serve," said the procuress, bowing deeply. She hurried Nasreen out of the Room of Choosing, and down a hall to a dressing room full of garments like those worn by the holy prostitutes in the days before the Locusts came.
Nasreen could feel her heart thumping in her chest. As soon as she heard the door close behind them, she dropped to her knees on the floor, unable to catch her breath.
"I told you to take the wine, little sister. We all live in fear that one day we will stare into the eyes of death. I am so sorry." The procuress joined her on the floor and held her tightly as they both wept. "You are too young for this burden."
"Will he kill me?" asked Nasreen.
"I do not know," said the procuress. "Perhaps the young Lord Prince is simply taken with your beauty and his master wishes to provide him with a gift. I do not pretend to know what is in the mind of the strigoi-viu. But I do know the minds of young men when they first taste the pleasures of a woman's garden. You have done nothing wrong, little one. You simply exist, and that is enough for a man of the Swarm to wish power over you."
"What should I do?" asked Nasreen. "How can I go to the palace, even if it is to serve the Lord Prince? I cannot give myself to him after the death of the Zora. He was so gentle before. But now... I would rather the strigoi-viu killed me."
"You shall do as the Goddess did when she was taken into captivity," said the procuress, helping Nasreen to stand. "You shall wrap yourself in dignity and beauty and hold your heart separate from your body, preserving it only for yourself. And you will either return safely to us, or death will release you once you have served your purpose. You may choose your own garments, sister. Choose that which would befit the Lady in all Her glory. Silks to adorn your body. Jewels to adorn your neck and wrists. Perfumes to smell as sweet as Spring. Even if the cursed one takes your life you will make yourself so beautiful you will live in his memory for eternity."