On Fire’s Wings by Christie Golden

the child began to flail. “You can stand. Hold on to the side. That’s it.”
    The water came to midchest on Kevla. She was breathing quickly, but remained admirably calm as she found her footing.
    â€œMany a boy-child has panicked the first time in the pool,” Sahlik said. “Even Tahmu’s son Jashemi did. Yet you are already standing. Very good. Now, let me wash your hair and body. From now on, you will be able to do this by yourself. When we are done, I will teach you how to use the brush and the oils, so that you may be presentable to the mistress of the House of Four Waters.”
    Kevla’s body and hair were scrubbed and oiled. Skin and hair, clean and perfumed, gleamed in the torchlight. Sahlik tossed Kevla’s old rhia into a woven basket in which other items of clothing were jumbled. From a second basket, the old woman withdrew a garment that, to Kevla, seemed impossibly white and fresh.
    She reached out and touched the fabric, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “It is so beautiful,” she breathed. “Surely you cannot mean for me to wear this? Is this not more fitting for the khashima? ”
    Sahlik chuckled. “Yeshi would be outraged if anyone suggested she wear this. You’ll soon learn the quality of her clothing. This is standard for all of the young women of the household. It’s a working garment. You’ll be getting something better soon, once the seamstress has had a chance to take a fitting.”
    Kevla’s lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears. She gulped and forced them back. “Of course,” she said. “A servant to the khashima must reflect her mistress’s style and wealth.” She slipped the rhia on, but despite her attempt to sound worldly, her small brown hands kept touching the fabric.
    Sahlik plaited her hair, clucking her tongue at its coarseness and shaggy length. “You will need a few days before you are ready to serve the mistress,” she said. “This hair must be cut and oiled repeatedly. And these hands—you will stop biting your nails at once. Yeshi likes long, painted nails and she likes for her women to have them, too.”
    â€œCertainly,” Kevla replied immediately.
    Sahlik sighed. She turned Kevla around to face her. “Listen to me, Kevla. I will tell you the truth of what life here will be like. Tahmu is a great man, a kind master. We are fortunate to serve in his House. But you will not see him much. Your mistress will be his wife Yeshi. She is beautiful, and quite aware of that beauty. Her world centers on herself, and that is not a bad thing for those who serve her as long as they remember that. It pleases her to have her handmaidens be healthy, pretty, and adorned nearly as lavishly as herself. She likes them smiling and happy and enjoys giving them gifts and treats. Serve her well, put her at the center of your world, and your life here will be a very pleasant one.”
    â€œAnd…those who serve the khashima poorly?”
    A tendril of the dark, oiled hair had escaped the braid. Gently, Sahlik tucked it back in place with a gnarled hand.
    â€œYeshi once had a servant that was almost as close to her as a sister. When Yeshi found her trying on her cosmetics, she ordered the woman beaten and turned out onto the streets. The last I saw of her was her back, as she walked away from the House. Blood was beginning to seep into her white rhia. ”
    Kevla swallowed hard. “I will seek to please my mistress,” she said firmly.
    â€œI’m sure you’ll succeed. So, this is what you wear when you are serving Yeshi. Tahmu is forward-thinking for a khashim, and does not demand that his women constantly wear the veil, but there are times when tradition demands it. Have you ever worn a veil?”
    â€œNo, nor did my mother.”
    This did not surprise Sahlik; halaans were hardly known for womanly modesty.
    â€œThe veil is to be worn when you venture