The Final Strife

“What point is that?”

She pulled out some letters from her bejeweled bag. “I’ve created a backstory for you. You will be my chambermaid. It’s the only way you will be able to get access to teach me. My mother is quite strict about my acquaintances; she’s never let me have a chambermaid before.” Anoor swallowed. “But I am of age to run my own household now. This way she can’t disagree with me without taking it up with the Warden of Duty. Though she won’t like it…the Warden of Strength isn’t used to not getting her way.”

Sylah felt her eyebrow twitch. “What is she like? Warden Uka?” she asked lightly.

“I think she’s a good warden, maybe, I guess…everyone’s afraid of her. She’s quite mean, and she doesn’t like me all that much.” From what she’d seen, Sylah agreed with her.

“Fine, I’ll do the chambermaid farce, but I won’t be cleaning a thing.”

“But it’ll be expected that you contribute to the running of my household.”

Sylah huffed through her nose.

“And what do my duties entail?”

“A chambermaid is required to clean the chamber. Gorn has been doing these tasks so far, but it’s more proper to have a chambermaid. You’ll support the chief of chambers. That’s Gorn. You’ll bring up my food, prepare my clothes, brush my hair—”

“Nope.”

“Do the laundry.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Clean the privy—”

“Okay, let’s stop right there. Here’s how it will go. I understand the need to keep up this facade. But—” Sylah slammed her hand on the floor. “Anything behind closed doors like the bed-making and clothes-selecting nonsense is all you. Including the privy. To everyone else, I’ll happily play the chambermaid.”

“Fine.” Anoor pouted. “But you need to learn to be subservient in public.”

“Fine.” Sylah’s mouth twisted in a bitter scowl. “I get freedom to leave at any time.”

“After the working day and during your lunch break.”

“All right.”

“All right, then.”

Anoor beamed. “Here’s the backstory. I made up this character, Uncle Gallo, he’s been—”

“Is it in that letter?”

“Yes.”

“Then you don’t need to repeat it. I can read.” Sylah snatched the letter from Anoor’s hand, reveling in the look of hurt on her face.

“I didn’t know your name, so I left it blank,” Anoor said in a small voice.

“Lylah of Ood-Raynib.”

“Is that a lie?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your real name?”

Sylah thought about it. Papa Azim had named her; he named all the Stolen with names of power, names that would one day be paired with the title of warden. It might not be her that would own that title, but if she learned to bloodwerk, maybe it would be Jond. Sylah pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Sylah Alyana of Ood-Zaynib.”

Anoor laughed, revealing dimples and an infectious smile. “Is that a lie too?”