The Final Strife

The fabric stall was a sprawling menagerie of material. It was on the edge of the market, closest to the Tongue. The rows of clothing were empty of shoppers.

“Anoor would love this.” Sylah held up a gold and green jacket in distaste. “Honestly, you should see the stuff she wears.”

“May I help you?” The shop owner appeared out of nowhere. Jond sniggered behind her.

“I’m to check with the owner, a Miss…” Sylah looked at her list, “Kopa about an order for Miss Anoor Elsari?”

“That’s me.” Miss Kopa took the gold jacket out of Sylah’s hand and returned it to the rack. Sylah was surprised to see a brand on her wrist. The tailor was a Duster.

Although a lot of Dusters worked in the market, they rarely owned their own stalls, particularly one as big as this one. Embers wouldn’t buy from a Duster, so instead the Warden of Duty assigned Ember figureheads to own all the shops, and reap the profits. Because obviously it was okay if the person packing your groceries had blue blood if the shop was owned by an Ember, so it was still pure. Sylah wondered if the tailor got much business.

The seller nodded curtly and said she’d check in the back.

“No, it hasn’t arrived yet, you should try again tomorrow.” She turned away.

“Wait.” Sylah stopped her. “Do you have any cheap pantaloons and a tunic? Something less…obvious?” Sylah’s hand ran up and down her crimson pinafore.

The woman gave her a curt nod and then returned. “Will these do?”

One week ago, Sylah would have balked at the luxury of the material, but now she’d met Anoor and understood what the word really meant: the patterned clothes were…plain.

“Do you have somewhere to change?”

The woman jutted her head to the corner of the shop.

Sylah felt lighter once she’d removed the servant uniform.

“Thank you, can you put it on Anoor Elsari’s tab?” Sylah said to the tailor, who simply gave a tired nod. Sylah turned to Jond.

“Okay, that’s everything, let’s go.”

As Sylah and Jond walked toward the Duster Quarter, they saw a familiar face at the far end of the Tongue.

Hello, Sylah.

“Hassa!” Sylah grasped her shoulders.

You going to tell me what’s going on yet?Hassa jutted her chin at Jond, who stood there openmouthed. Who is this guy, anyway?

“Jond, meet Hassa. She’s a friend.”

Hassa quirked an eyebrow. And your drug dealer.

“She says pleasure to meet you.”

“We’ve met…” Jond said. “You can actually understand Ghostings?”

“Yes, it’s not hard.”

Especially when there’s something you have to trade.

“Since when?”

“I’ve been learning for a few years.”

Six years you’ve followed me around.

“What’s she saying?”