Page 116 of Alien Burn

A plain hand towel. Sereya had seen dozens like it on the staff carts.

“That belongs to the residence.”

“Does it? How silly of me.” Roemary handed it to her anyway. “You always kept track of those things.”

Sereya set it on the table.

“They still have people who do.”

The woman with the blue fabric lowered it into her lap.

Roemary laughed. The sound was so warm that Sereya almost flinched.

“Listen to her. A little attention and she forgets me entirely.”

She stepped closer, reaching to smooth Sereya's collar. Sereya caught the impulse to stand still a fraction too late; the fingers were already there, turning the edge of the fabric down.

“You've been very busy,” Roemary murmured. “Rooms. Breakfasts. That charming boy in the garden.”

Sereya moved back.

Roemary let her hand fall. To anyone watching, she had finished helping.

“I have an appointment.”

“So did Vessik.”

The name struck harder than the touch.

Roemary saw it. She tilted her head, pleased to have found something that still worked.

“People notice when you disappoint them, darling. Even here.”

“I never agreed to take him anything.”

“Is that what we're saying?”

Sereya's tongue felt thick. The gallery was bright, the doors open. She could see the guard's reddish face beyond Roemary's shoulder, the curve of a horn against pale stone.

She could go to him.

“It's what happened.”

Roemary glanced toward the windows as though something outside had caught her attention.

“Naliese.”

Sereya stopped breathing.

It was barely a sound. A name said with the casual softness of someone remembering a favorite restaurant.

For one sick instant she expected someone to turn. To recognize it. To look from the name to her face and put back everything that had been taken apart to keep her alive.

No one moved.

The woman in the chair was folding her blue fabric.

“Such a pretty name,” Roemary said. “I hate to think of beautiful things being forgotten.”