Alizeh lowered her eyes at that, saying nothing. She thought Miss Huda was being intolerably cruel.
“Oh, very well,” the young woman said, collapsing into a chair with a touch of theater. “You need not speak it aloud if you find the confession so torturous. I was merely curious. After all, you hardly know me; I was only wondering why you cared.”
The nosta glowed warm.
Stunned, Alizeh said, “You wondered why I would care if your mother might actually murder you?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
“Are you— Are you quite serious, miss?” Alizeh knew Miss Huda was serious, but somehow she couldn’t help asking the question.
“Of course I am.” Miss Huda sat up straighter. “Have I ever seemed to you interested in subtlety? I’m in fact quite known for my candor, and I daresay Mother hates my lack of refinement even more than she hates my figure. She says my mouth and hips are a product of that woman, that other woman—which is how she refers, of course, to my biological mother.”
When Alizeh said nothing in response to Miss Huda’s obvious effort to shock her, the young woman raised her eyebrows. “Is it possible you didn’t know? That would make you the only person in Setar ignorant of my origins, for mine is an infamous tale, as my father refused to hide his sins from society. Still, I am quite illegitimate, the bastard child of a nobleman and a courtesan. It’s no secret that neither of my mothers have ever wanted me.”
Alizeh continued to say nothing. She didn’t dare.
Miss Huda’s performance of indifference was so obvious as to be painful to witness; Alizeh didn’t know whether to shake the girl or hug her.
“Yes,” Alizeh said finally. “I knew.”
She saw a flicker of emotion in Miss Huda’s eyes then, something like relief, there and gone again. And just like that, Alizeh’s heart softened toward the girl.
Miss Huda had been worried.
She’d been worried that Alizeh, a lowly servant, had not known of her parentage; she worried a lowly servant would find out and judge her harshly. Miss Huda’s attempt to scandalize had in fact been an effort to out herself preemptively, to spare herself a painful retraction of kindness, or friendship, upon discovery.
This was a fear Alizeh understood well.
But that Miss Huda would lower herself to be bothered by the worthless opinion of a snoda taught Alizeh a great deal about the depth of the young woman’s insecurities; it was information she would file away in her mind, and not soon forget.
Quietly, Alizeh said, “I would’ve found a way to protect you.”
“Pardon?”
“If you’d told me,” Alizeh clarified, “that your mother had been trying in earnest to murder you. I would’ve found a way to protect you.”
“You?” Miss Huda laughed. “You would’ve protected me?”
Alizeh bowed her head, fought back a renewed wave of irritation. “You asked for my confession—for the thought that crossed my mind. That was it.”
There was a brief silence.
“You really mean that,” the young woman said finally.
Alizeh looked up at the gentle sound of the girl’s voice. She was surprised to discover the sneer gone from Miss Huda’s face; her brown eyes wide with unvarnished feeling. She looked, suddenly, quite young.
“Yes, miss,” Alizeh said. “I really mean it.”
“Goodness. You are a very strange girl.”
Alizeh drew a deep breath. That was the second time today someone had accused her of being strange, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.
She decided to change the subject.
“More to the point,” she said, “I’ve come to you today to talk about your gown.”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Huda said, eagerly getting to her feet and moving toward the large case. “Is this it, then? Can I open—”
Alizeh darted for the box and claimed it, bracing it against her chest. She stepped several steps back as her heart beat hard against her sternum. “No,” she said quickly. “No, this—this is something else. For someone else. I actually came here to tell you that I haven’t finished making your gown. That, in fact, I won’t be able to finish making it.”
Miss Huda’s eyes widened in outrage. “You— But how could you—”
“I was dismissed from my position at Baz House,” Alizeh said quickly, grabbing blindly for her carpet bag, which she hauled into her arms. “I desperately wanted to finish the commission, miss, but I’ve no place to live, and no place to work, and the streets are so cold I can hardly hold a needle without my fingers going numb—”