bathe first. She would only be later and there would be too many people around the stables to risk it now. As she ran, she worked her fingers through her hair, getting the knots out as she tamed it into something that wouldn’t get her fired on the spot. Her clothes she could do nothing about, but at least her apron would mostly hide how worn and old they were.
Ilaja saw her coming up the street, panting as she ran, and the other woman’s eyes widened as Zalia hurried to the edge of the patio. There were already customers in the restaurant, drinking and eating in the cool air of early morning.
“Where have you been?” Ilaja demanded. “You’ll be fired for this!”
Zalia ran up and stopped before her, panting desperately. Ilaja looked at her in disgust. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ilaja sniffed. “The cook’s already sent word to the owner. He’s not going to care why you were whoring around.”
Zalia stared at her in shock. She and Ilaja had never been friends, but she’d never expected this kind of response from the woman. “I wasn’t whoring!”
“I saw you leave with a man,” Ilaja snapped. “This is supposed to be a wholesome place.”
Zalia’s world reeled. “I wasn’t whoring!” was all she could manage to repeat. The customers were starting to look in their direction with what seemed to Zalia to be delight. “What did you say to them?”
“I just told them what I saw,” Ilaja said and turned away, returning to her customers with a smile.
Zalia felt sick. Ilaja hadn’t been joking when she said Orlil would fire her, and from the way she was smiling, Ilaja didn’t care. There wasn’t nearly the business there had been in past years and being the only waitress would mean more tips for her. Trying not to cry, Zalia went to get her apron and work her tables. If he stayed true to past history, the owner wouldn’t be around until midmorning. Perhaps if she made a good enough impression on her customers before then, she wouldn’t lose her job.
It wasn’t easy. Zalia was so stressed, she messed up several orders and even flubbed a pitcher of water, almost dousing a customer who mercilessly berated her for her mistake. Ilaja’s smirks didn’t help either as the woman passed her several times, beaming at her own customers. All of them seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Zalia’s misery. Zalia tried to tell herself she was just imaging things and no one was against her, but her fear was too great. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. There wasn’t much left for a woman of her station in Meridal, save to become the whore Ilaja had already called her.
No one would want her then, she thought desperately. Her father would be so ashamed; only what else could she do?
It was close to midmorning; more customers were taking seats in the restaurant. It looked as if she’d lose her job on one of the busiest days they’d had in months. Zalia put a pitcher on one table and turned to the next to set down their pita and hummus, the same dish she’d served to Devon the previous day. None of this was his fault. He’d done nothing but treat her with respect, and Ilaja had disliked him from the start.
Someone sat down at the table behind her, the chair scraping against the stone. Zalia finished setting out the meal and turned around.
“Hi,” One-Eleven said.
Zalia gaped at him, her heart hammering. He was as unbelievably handsome as before, his carriage utterly different from Devon’s as he sat there grinning. He was wearing simple clothes, but he was so beautiful that everyone looked at him. Even Ilaja was gaping. No one recognized him for what he was, Zalia realized. Then again, how could they? He wasn’t behaving like a battle sylph and there was no reason for one to come and sit at their restaurant. Well, there was, she thought after a moment, wasn’t there?
As if he could read her thoughts, and some of the stories said the battlers could,
Ilaja saw her coming up the street, panting as she ran, and the other woman’s eyes widened as Zalia hurried to the edge of the patio. There were already customers in the restaurant, drinking and eating in the cool air of early morning.
“Where have you been?” Ilaja demanded. “You’ll be fired for this!”
Zalia ran up and stopped before her, panting desperately. Ilaja looked at her in disgust. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ilaja sniffed. “The cook’s already sent word to the owner. He’s not going to care why you were whoring around.”
Zalia stared at her in shock. She and Ilaja had never been friends, but she’d never expected this kind of response from the woman. “I wasn’t whoring!”
“I saw you leave with a man,” Ilaja snapped. “This is supposed to be a wholesome place.”
Zalia’s world reeled. “I wasn’t whoring!” was all she could manage to repeat. The customers were starting to look in their direction with what seemed to Zalia to be delight. “What did you say to them?”
“I just told them what I saw,” Ilaja said and turned away, returning to her customers with a smile.
Zalia felt sick. Ilaja hadn’t been joking when she said Orlil would fire her, and from the way she was smiling, Ilaja didn’t care. There wasn’t nearly the business there had been in past years and being the only waitress would mean more tips for her. Trying not to cry, Zalia went to get her apron and work her tables. If he stayed true to past history, the owner wouldn’t be around until midmorning. Perhaps if she made a good enough impression on her customers before then, she wouldn’t lose her job.
It wasn’t easy. Zalia was so stressed, she messed up several orders and even flubbed a pitcher of water, almost dousing a customer who mercilessly berated her for her mistake. Ilaja’s smirks didn’t help either as the woman passed her several times, beaming at her own customers. All of them seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Zalia’s misery. Zalia tried to tell herself she was just imaging things and no one was against her, but her fear was too great. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. There wasn’t much left for a woman of her station in Meridal, save to become the whore Ilaja had already called her.
No one would want her then, she thought desperately. Her father would be so ashamed; only what else could she do?
It was close to midmorning; more customers were taking seats in the restaurant. It looked as if she’d lose her job on one of the busiest days they’d had in months. Zalia put a pitcher on one table and turned to the next to set down their pita and hummus, the same dish she’d served to Devon the previous day. None of this was his fault. He’d done nothing but treat her with respect, and Ilaja had disliked him from the start.
Someone sat down at the table behind her, the chair scraping against the stone. Zalia finished setting out the meal and turned around.
“Hi,” One-Eleven said.
Zalia gaped at him, her heart hammering. He was as unbelievably handsome as before, his carriage utterly different from Devon’s as he sat there grinning. He was wearing simple clothes, but he was so beautiful that everyone looked at him. Even Ilaja was gaping. No one recognized him for what he was, Zalia realized. Then again, how could they? He wasn’t behaving like a battle sylph and there was no reason for one to come and sit at their restaurant. Well, there was, she thought after a moment, wasn’t there?
As if he could read her thoughts, and some of the stories said the battlers could,