Sapphire Crescent by Thomas M. Reid

pillows to escape the intrusive brightness. “It’s too early,” she groaned.
    “Too bad,” Jaleene replied, yanking the covers away
    from Emriana and grabbing her by the arm.
    The girl did not fail to notice the lack of honorifics
    on the handmaiden’s part that morning.
    She must definitely be in a foul mood, Emriana realized.
    Opening one eye, she looked at her personal servant and saw the tight expression on the other woman’s face. Emriana groaned again.
    “Did Uncle Dregaul yell at you?” she asked somewhat timidly, sitting up when Jaleene pulled her by her hand.
    The woman’s expression tightened further, wordlessly confirming the girl’s question.
    “You have a full day ahead, including a visit to House Pharaboldi,” Jaleene said briskly, ignoring the issue of her own guilt in the previous night’s escapades. “Mistress Hetta instructed me explicitly to make sure you were up and ready to go by eight bells.”
    Emriana groaned again. She had completely forgotten the tea that afternoon with Denrick. Sitting around in the Pharaboldis’ parlor in an uncomfortable dress, sipping tea and nibbling daintily on tiny cakes while Denrick clumsily courted her was the last thing Emriana wanted to do that day. She flopped backward onto the bed again, sighing heavily.
    Jaleene simply grabbed her by both arms and hauled her completely to her feet, then guided her toward her bathroom.
    “I’ve already gotten a bath ready for you, Mistress Emriana. Get started while I prepare your
    outfit for the tea. When we’re finished, you are to go straight down to breakfast. Your grandmother wishes to speak with you before you depart for House Pharaboldi.”
    “Aren’t you coming with us?” Emriana asked, already stumbling toward her private bath, stripping off her chemise as she did so and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor.
    Jaleene sighed as she followed the girl, picking up the garment.
    “No,” she replied, and the strain in her voice made Emriana pause and turn back. “I must have an extended conversation with Master Dregaul today,” she explained. “My duties at the house, indeed my very future, are being called into question. I’ve already been warned that your presentation and timely appearance at breakfast this morning will be used to gauge my usefulness to the household.”
    Emriana’s eyes bulged at the notion that her own personal attendant, who had been taking care of her since before she could remember, might be let go.
    “Jaleene, no!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “He can’t blame you for last night. You didn’t even know.”
    “It’s my responsibility to know,” the other woman replied softly, the look in her eyes pained.
    Emriana felt the weight of guilt press down upon her, but she shook it off.
    It’s not right, she silently fumed. Uncle Dregaul cannot hold her responsible for my actions. I’m not a little girl anymore, and she can’t be expected to keep up with me day and night.
    “He’s not going to do that to you. I won’t let him. I’m going to go talk to Grandmother right now,” she said, turning to find something to wear.
    “Please,” Jaleene replied, shaking her head, “just get to your bath and get ready. If you really want to help me, don’t anger your uncle any further.”
    dearly, than from Uncle Dregaul, whom she didn’t mind annoying in the least.
    “All right,” Emriana said at last, trying to put on a happy smile for her grandmother’s sake.
    “Oh, don’t pretend you want to do this,” Hetta said, chuckling. “I know you better than that, my dear.”
    It was true. Hetta had a way about her, an ability to read people and know exactly what they were thinking or planning, and precisely how they were likely to react in any given situation. It was how she and her husband, the first Obiron, had been so successful in business. Even though he had been the spokesperson during their business negotiations, it had been Hetta who had the shrewd