I rolled remnants of the last scarf Myra had made for me between my fingers. I could picture her small hands making another, the way her eyebrows pulled together when concentrating. I always reminded myself that I should not become attached. People like me did not have the right to attachments in this territory. But Myra complicated that rule every time she smiled.
The pastries needed one more glaze of herb-infused sugar. A touch of sweetness made children more willing to eat things good for them. While brushing the surface, I paused when a soft chime announced an incoming message from my assistant l.
He had simply agreed. His daughter mattered more than pride.
I read the message. “The palace accepted the fee request,” she sent. “The transfer is in progress.”
“Good. Continue recording
