The Final Strife

Sylah shrugged. “I needed to learn how to order more joba seeds.”

“Most people can do that without learning what the Ghostings have to say. Their communication was, after all, sacrificed after the Siege of the Silent.”

“That was four hundred years ago.”

Turin nodded politely. “Still, I petitioned to have their language taken away from them, but there’s not much they can do. They are made for servitude, and I can’t have the Embers taking their feet, can I?” She laughed.

Sylah’s leg began to tremble, her anger given life.

Marigold returned with the letter tucked under their armpit. They handed it to Maiden Turin, who handed it to Sylah.

“Don’t lose it now. I lost one of my nightworkers trying to get this information.” Her voice was the forlorn sound of someone losing profits.

“I won’t.” Sylah tried not to grind her teeth.

It was then that Hassa appeared. Sylah had never been more glad to see her friend.

“Hassa!”

The girl’s eyes flickered to Turin and back to Sylah.

Outside,she signed with the twist of her shoulder and limb.

“Thank you for your time, Turin.”

The maiden stood, and a plume of her fragrance drifted toward Sylah. She smelled of clean sheets and radish leaves, a heady combination.

“Goodbye, Sylah.” Turin slipped away to another room.

Sylah stood dazed.

Hassa tapped her on the shoulder. She’s gone.

“Huh?”

Turin, she’s gone. You understand now why she gets so much business.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Then why are you standing around looking like a paying customer?

“Oh, shut up.”

Hassa walked with Sylah to the door. How are you doing?

“I’m doing okay, I might have brought a friend along, by the way. We have some questions for you,” Sylah warned Hassa as they exited the maiden house.

Hassa’s smile was crooked. You don’t have friends.

“I guess that’s still true.”

Where is this friend of yours?

“Oh, fuck.”

Anoor was nowhere to be seen.

—