“I’m sorry, but I’m really just the messenger here.”
Messengers carry guilt too.
“What are you two talking about?” Anoor said as she returned with the map.
“Nothing.”
Anoor laid the map out on the table. “Here it is.” And she pointed to the top right corner.
Some of it is missing.
“Exactly.”
You didn’t say it wasn’t whole.
“It could be that the rip is from where I pulled it from the frame I found it in, but it wouldn’t explain that patch of land, right there.” Sylah’s hand joined Anoor’s at the top of the map.
Hassa’s features always moved precisely; it was important to convey her meaning and message. But now her eyes were shining, beads of sweat sprinkling her brow. She was fevered, excited.
It was then that the door unlocked. Hassa darted to the shadows and Sylah rolled up the map and tucked it between her breasts in her pinafore.
“The table’s not set,” Gorn grunted as she entered with the steaming food.
“Oh, sorry,” Sylah mumbled, rushing to get the crockery from the drawers in the dresser in the hall.
“What are you doing here?” Gorn nearly dropped the tray of food as she spotted Hassa crouching in the corner, her eyes wide like prey caught in a net.
“I asked for a Ghosting to help arrange my clothing. I want it sorted in color order and Sylah was busy.” The lie slipped smoothly out of Anoor’s mouth with confidence. Sylah was envious at the ease with which she lied.
Gorn let it pass, either accepting the lie or knowing she wouldn’t get the truth.
“Go to the bedchamber then, there is no clothing in here.”
Hassa bowed her head, but Sylah caught the irritation pooling in her eyes. She was going to have to sort through Anoor’s dresses for at least half a strike. Sylah muffled her laugh.