The water’s scent was delicious. “What is in the water?” I asked, and opened my eyes to see the chiri dipping a cloth into the water before running it down my arms. I watched as the cloth wiped away the blood. The bruises remained. Nothing could wash those marks away.

“It’s called lavender, miss. Master requires his High Monas to be bathed in it. It’s his favorite scent.”

I nodded, then rested my head back against the tub. The chiri washed my body, careful not to touch the bigger, darker bruises. I stared up at her as she worked and asked, “How did you become a chiri?”

She stilled, then dropping her eyes, she said, “My father sold me to the Wraiths. I was ten.”

My eyes widened. “Your father sold you?”

The chiri nodded. The cloth stopped on my arm as she felt the heavy weight of my shocked stare. She sighed. “Starvation forces desperate people do the most despicable things, miss. My mother had died, there were six of us, no food.” She shrugged. “I understood why he did it.” Her gaze lost focus as she continued, “Though I’m sure he had no idea where I would be sent.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hearing the edge of sadness in her plain words. The chiri flickered a watery smile my way. Only the left side of her mouth lifted, the right too deeply scarred to move. As I studied her tied-back dark hair and her dress, my heart clenched. I asked, “And they raised you to be a chiri?”

This time, she withdrew her hand, and then, after a pause of several seconds, she shook her head. Eventually she met my eyes and replied, “I was brought in to be a mona … just like you.”

I stared at her. Then, without intention, my gaze fell upon her scar. Clearly seeing my confusion, she added, “I made the mistake of resisting the training.” She pointed at her disfigured cheek. “This was my punishment.”

“Why? How?” I asked, feeling a flood of sadness wash through my soul.

The chiri’s bottom lip trembled, but she pulled herself together enough to answer, “Acid. They threw acid over my face.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I was punished for rejecting a guard’s advances. So he ensured I would never look beautiful again.” She paused, then added reluctantly, “It was at Master’s instruction. He came to see how the new wave of monebi were progressing. He saw my defiance and decided to make an example of me. He ordered me to stand forward, then instructed the guard I’d refused to ruin my face.”

Ice crept up my spine. My eyes drifted to my rope-marked wrists, to my heavy bruising and thighs. Yes, I thought. Master is more than capable of ordering such a cruel act.

“I’m so sorry,” I said in a hushed voice. When I looked up, I saw something new in the chiri’s eyes—a kinship. A common understanding of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of Master’s cruelty.

“What did you do?” the chiri asked, and commenced cleaning my body.

I dropped my hand into the water, watching as it rippled around me. “I don’t know,” I confessed, repeating the action just for something to do. “He was so angry, his eyes so possessive of me. It was as if he was furious that he wanted me so much. It was as though I was being punished for how much he wanted to take me.” I shook my head. “Which I do not understand. Master has made no secret of how much he wants me since I was elevated to this High Mona status.” I looked to the chiri and asked, “So why, now, does he seem to resent it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. I could see the confusion I was feeling showcased on her face. Moving to the head of the tub, the chiri made quick work of washing my hair.

Just as she was rinsing out the soap, I asked, “Do you have a name?” My eyebrows pulled down and I asked, “Do I have a name … I can’t … I can’t remember?”

The chiri dropped down to crouch by my side. She studied me, seeming to search my face for something. Eventually, her shoulders slumped and she said, “Yes, miss. I once had a name, though I haven’t been called it for many years.” She took in a breath and continued, “You will, too. We all have names, all who are enslaved in this place. We were all someone once, though Master makes quick work of making us forget.”

“A name,” I whispered, and tried to rack my brain for what I was called. But it was to no avail. The only name I had, the only identity my brain could find was 152. I was 152, I had only ever been 152. “I don’t remember,” I said sadly.

The chiri went to move, but I reached out and took hold of her arm despite the protests of my aching muscles. “Wait,” I begged. The chiri froze. “Do you remember your name? Do you have a name?”

The chiri’s face paled, and then I knew. She did. She remembered her name. I sat up as quickly as I could manage and pushed. “What is it? Please, tell me.”

The chiri shook her head, biting her bottom lip as her eyes glossed over. Her head dipped forward and she said, “I could be killed for telling you, miss. It is forbidden by Master for any of us who remember to speak of it.” Her arm began trembling beneath my touch, and she said, “I know what he is capable of, and although I hate this life, here in this prison, I still want to live. I live for the day we will be free. I remember the outside world. Not all of it, but enough.” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I remember the sun and the fresh air. I won’t lose hope we’ll get that again.”

Deflated, I sank back into the water. “I understand,” I said soothingly, and meant it. I would never put her in danger.

I stayed in the bath for a few more minutes, then the chiri helped me out. As she did every day, she dried my hair and then led me to the seat in the side room, fixing my hair and beautifying my face. I watched her as she picked out a bright red dress. Only this dress was different from the others. It was made of a fabric so sheer that you could see clearly what was underneath.

As the chiri took my hand for me to stand and then began to wrap me in the dress, securing it at my shoulders, I frowned. Reading my confusion, she said, “Master ordered me to dress you for seduction. I’m to take you to him now.”

I swallowed in trepidation and replied, “Okay.”

As the chiri walked toward the door, she suddenly turned and stopped dead. I wondered what was wrong. Dropping her chin to touch her chest, she whispered, “Maya.” I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what she had said, when she met my eyes with her own and repeated, “My name … my name is … Maya.”