Sylah wasn’t sure why she was here. Anoor had been miserable with the news that the trial was going to take place in the tidewind, and she was under some sort of false illusion that Sylah was her emotional support.
Sylah snorted and spat on the ground near her feet. It drew a few stares, none more so than Anoor, who was incredulous.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Your wish has not been granted.”
Anoor pulled a face at her, ready to launch into a debate about the issues of phlegm, when Sylah interrupted her.
“Got to go.” A Ghosting she recognized moved around the forge with a dustpan and brush strapped to either limb.
“Hassa!”
The Ghosting looked up with a wry smile as if she’d been expecting Sylah to find her here. She unstrapped her equipment.
Hello, Sylah.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks, how are you?”
I’m well, and you?
“I’m…well too.” Sylah looked around them, but no one paid the Ember and Ghosting much heed. It was as if their servant attire cloaked them in invisibility.
Still teaching the warden’s daughter to fight?
Sylah rubbed her neck. “Trying to.”
Does she know who you are yet?
“Hassa,” Sylah hissed, “can we not talk about that here?” Sylah’s eyes darted up and around the room once more. No one blinked their way.
As you wish,Hassa signed, though her smile was playful.
“Quite the operation they have here.” Sylah waved her hands around the forge. There were at least fifty armorsmiths working in teams with servants to fit and style all the competitors’ armor. They used bloodwerk-operated presses to mold the metal around their bodies.
A young woman with red hair pulled into two plaits was instructing a disgruntled armorsmith to their left.
“I want flowers, embossed around the front and back, and I want the armor to be rose gold.”
“Miss, we don’t have the required chemicals to oxidize the metal rose gold.” The armorsmith was pleading.
“Find it.”
“We can—”
“I am Efie Montera, the granddaughter of the imir of Jin-Gernomi, do you realize that? And this…is what I want.”
The armorsmith’s shoulders seemed to cave inward. He slipped away to source the chemicals.
Sylah laughed. “She looks like fun.”
Lots and lots of fun,Hassa added.
“What’s that?” Sylah pointed to a smear of black on Hassa’s arm.
Paint. We lost another to the sleeping sickness. I was there to help burn their belongings.
Sylah took an instinctive step back, then cursed herself when she saw Hassa’s hurt expression.
“I’m sorry, are you all right? Did you know them?”
Yes, I knew themwas all Hassa replied with. There was a glint of anger in her friend’s eye. Your master is looking for you.
Hassa pointed an arm to Anoor, who was looking wildly around the room.
Sylah scowled.
“She’s not my master.”
They’re all masters to me, Sylah. Even you.With that, she returned to her sweeping.