“Going with knowledge, truth, or duty?”
Anoor smarted that he had left out strength. “Not sure yet.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He went back to kneading.
“Just started your shift?”
“Yes, bread doesn’t bake itself. Well, it does, I suppose, but you have to put it in, and I guess add wood to the fire…Oh, hello, Gorn.” Kwame straightened up slightly and brushed some flour off his servant attire.
“Your father keeping well, Kwame? His hip better?” Gorn asked, not unkindly.
Anoor started. She never thought of Gorn knowing other servants. She never saw her talking to anyone else, and she never seemed to go anywhere unless by Anoor’s side. It felt odd that she would have her own life away from Anoor. But it made sense: both Gorn and Kwame were Ember servants.
“Yes, much better. Thank you for the salve,” Kwame said with a bow of his head.
“Not a problem.” Gorn gave him a curt nod. “We must excuse ourselves. Miss Elsari is feeling a little tired this evening.”
Kwame turned back to Anoor and winked. “The party still going on?”
“Oh, I think it will be for a few more strikes yet.”
“All right, well, good night. I’ll send up some fresh milk bread for when you wake.”
Anoor squealed, her cheeks dimpling. “Thank you, Kwame.”
—
They continued up the stairs to her chambers. The walk always made her knees ache. She never missed her mother’s home, but tonight she was longing for the bloodwerk elevator that had once terrified her as a child. One day she scratched off one of the bloodwerk runes and the whole cage dropped. They were lucky they were only a few handspans off the ground. Her mother and grandmother were with them. If they had been at the top, she would have wiped out the entire Elsari family.
Gorn unlocked the doors to her chambers. The air was cool, the smell familiar. She shrugged off her dress as she walked toward her bedroom.
“Anoor, are you going to leave that there?”
“Well, it’s sheep fodder now, would you mind throwing it out tomorrow? And have Hiba stop by. I’ll need her to measure me for a new dress.”
Anoor didn’t hear Gorn respond. She closed her bedroom door and leaned on it and exhaled. It had been a long day. She began to remove her jewelry, piece by piece. The rings clanked on the floor as she dropped them. She should really put them away in her dressing room, but Gorn could do that tomorrow. The inkwell came off last. Her mother had presented it to her on her twelfth nameday. Pure platinum, the manacle wrapped around her wrist in an intricate woven pattern, like the finest wicker. The top of the inkwell fanned out like a metal cuff, just below her elbow. It was an unusual style, but it had to be to hide the catchment on the inside. The matching stylus hung on a golden chain between her breasts.
Anoor looked down at the jewelry, and her shoulders slumped. Choice Day, but what was she going to pick? She thought of the zine by her bed and wondered if she could train to be an inquisitor. She loved solving crimes in fiction, and it couldn’t be that difficult in real life. But to do so she’d have to choose the guild of strength and train under her mother’s lackeys.
Her thoughts clouded with the memory of pain, but she pushed it away and cradled her arms around herself. Her undergarments shimmered in the breeze. She looked up, and the brightness of the moon caught her attention. The window was open. The window was open?
Her heart lurched inside her chest, the koftas threatening a second appearance.
Someone was in her room.
“Are you Uka Elsari’s daughter?”
The woman jumped down from the window with the stealth of a desert fox.
“Answer me.”
Anoor opened her mouth to reply.
“Are you the Warden of Strength’s daughter? Tell me.” Her hair kept her face in shadow. It cascaded down her back in plaits filled with beads and dirty fabrics.
“Are you here to kill me?” Anoor was surprised she wasn’t scared. Someone must have figured out who she was. Maybe she could ask the girl before she killed Anoor.
“No, I…I just wanted to meet you.” Her voice was rough, uncomfortable to listen to.