Book 5: Memorial

Amval

I stand in front of Ingrid, my hands clasped in front of me because I’ve learned that, combined with the longer sleeves I told Nur I needed for religious reasons, is the best way to hide the occasional gestures I need to stir the wind around us. Only meeting her outside or by the high, arched and nearly always open doors on the lowest floor isn’t quite enough. I saw her in the kitchen the day after I broke into her room, asking Umit what had burned last night. Mother always said I smelled like a home fire, but burned is another way to put that, I suppose, and I can’t risk Ingrid realizing who I am for such a foolish reason.

“Why should I trust you?” She narrows blue eyes at me. “You’ve been following me around for days, and you just happen to have access to the information I’ve been looking for?”

“It does sound negative,” I say slowly, “if you are looking for reasons to distrust me.”

“Well, we agree my mate was murdered.” She crosses he