“Shuika.”
“I like that.” Khawla leans back against the sink as though perfectly at home. “Well, Shuika, your benefactors have decided to hire me on as a maid.”
“There must be some mistake.” Shay frowns. She may have grown a bit sloppy of late, but surely the bone-eaters don't intend to replace her. “We don't need a maid. I already do the cooking and cleaning and look after the brothers.”
“Of course you do.” Khawla unties the apron from over her clothing and hangs it from a hook on the wall next to Shay's. “But who looks after you?”
Shay shakes her head. She grabs her own apron but twists the garment in her hands rather than puts it on. “Why would I need anyone to look after me?”
The maid laughs irreverently. “Why would a bunch of bone-eaters need someone to look after them? They're hardly children!”
Shay shakes out her apron with more rigor than required. She loops it around her waist and pulls the strings tight enough that the effort of breathing distracts her from the girl's words and what they might mean.
If the bone-eaters stop needing her, what else does she have? “I still don't understand why you're here.”
“Think of it this way,” Khawla says, and while speaking, she gently loosens Shay's apron before she can cut off the flow of blood to her legs entirely. “Everyone needs an occasional day of respite. I'm here so you can have yours.”
Khawla returns Shay's apron to the hook.
Shay sighs in relief. A day to herself doesn't sound so bad. Perhaps she can finally sleep off whatever is ailing her. As she deliberates over what to call it, her memorysupplies Hind's description of her grief when she lost her husband. She said it was like an empty hole consuming her from the inside out. Shay thinks that's how she feels, but how can someone grieve what they never had to begin with?
Khawla smiles. “How about I make us tea? Sowing season has brought fair weather. We could sit outside and chat. Get to know each other.”
“But … there's much to do, Lalla.” Shay is already thinking of the things she'll need to teach Khawla about each brother's particular likes and dislikes. Their temperaments and moods. Who is allergic to what and who takes which medicines. “And besides, we must never go outside.”
Khawla's smile slips, stopping just short of a pout. “Why on earth not?”
“Ard Al-Ghul is dangerous.” Shay glances at the window. Only now does she notice how sunny it really is. The fog that perpetually shrouds Tarik's property and spills over to their lawn is still intact, but scattered light has finally managed to seep in. It makes everything look soft and glowing. How did resting season pass so quickly? It's been moons since she's stepped outside the bone-eaters’ dwelling.
“Everywhere is dangerous.” The maid shrugs like someone who isn't afraid of anything. Shay considers what Deebi said about the other humans in Ard Al-Ghul and concludes that's likely accurate. “That's why it's safest to always travel with a friend.”
Safe.Shay doesn't remember the last time she felt that way.
“There's a bloodsucker living next door,” she blurts out, desperate to impress upon Khawla how close the danger is. “When I came here, he attacked me. I don't know what I would have done if the brothers hadn't come along.”
The tang of Tarik's coppery breath, the black pulse of his hypnotic eyes, the helplessness of having her dreams invaded, rear up in her mind, as fresh as if the attack happened only yesterday. The rancid taste of the antidote going down, the burn of spewing venom coming up, are memories imprinted on her throat. She lowers her head to hide the tremble of her chin.
“That's awful.” Khawla waits for Shay to lift her eyes. “I am sorry that happened to you.”
Shay blinks, the threat of tears a sting in her eyes. Suddenly, Khawla leans forward and hugs her, surrounding her with warm skin and soft fabric and the strange sensation of being held. Shay's sure this can't be the first time she's been hugged. However, she can't recall a specific incident that proves otherwise. Ghita always limited her physical touches to the briefest pats on the back, a rare and hard-earned form of recognition.
She thinks she should do something with her arms, if only she could muster the strength to lift them. Instead, she stands there, letting herself be held in a tender squeeze. Shay lets go. And somehow, she feels stronger. The memory of what the bloodsucker did and her fear of him don't go away, but they seem more bearable, like maybe she doesn't have to carry that weight alone.
“Do you think we could sit near the window?” Khawla asks at last. “Maybe open it a crack? If you're comfortable with that.”
Shay nods. She proceeds to gather tea leaves and sugar while Khawla fills a kettle with water. But her head swims with questions. “Khawla?”
The maid hangs the pot over freshly lit coals, then turns to her. “Yes, Lalla?”
Shay means to inquire about her situation. She wonders what dire straits could have possibly left the maid with no alternative other than taking a position under the employment of bone-eaters. The pay can't possibly be adequate enticement.
Belatedly, it occurs to her that question might come across as rude. Moreover, the maid could ask Shay the same question in return. She'd have to explain why she's a wanted criminal. She'd have to talk about Hind. And how can she admit that she was rejected by her own mother?
“Um …” Shay stammers, her throat bricking. She's revealed enough—too much really—about herself so soon. She pivots. “Deebi mentioned that there's a mint bush growing out back.”
The maid's eyes widen in delight. “I'll go right now and clip some.”
Shay withdraws a pair of sheers from a drawer and silently hands them to Khawla. She swallows and, with a slight tremor in her hands, pushes the window pane a quarter of the way up. Cool air gentles her cheek. As her eyesdrift partly closed, something moves in the grass outside, almost camouflaged, but not to Shay, whosensesthe snake as well as sees it.
