The letter took me eight drafts, and I was not entirely satisfied even with the eighth, but Anora knocked on the door and said, “Must I wrench it from thy hands?”

“It’s not…” But I wasn’t sure what it was that the letter was not, and Anora’s courier was waiting. “All right.” I folded and sealed the letter and handed it to Anora.

“Good,” Anora said, quite sternly, as if he expected me to argue.

I said nothing.

When Anora came back, I said, “I had quite intended to ask thee about something else.”

“Oh?” said Anora, and I explained about the twenty-three bodies, one of which was Osmin Temin and one of which was the last remnants of a revethavar.

“Well, the Temada must want Osmin Temin’s body,” Anora said.

“I don’t think they’ve been notified,” I said. “At least, I have not done so.”

“Azhanharad took care of that,” Anora said.

“He did?”

“I thought he told thee.”

“Maybe he did,” I said. “My memory of that morning is … not clear.”

“Thou wert badly injured, even though thy body shows it not. But thou dost not need to worry about notifying the Temada.”

“I must be thankful to Azhanharad,” I said.

“It is his duty,” said Anora.

Over dinner at the Chrysanthemum with Anora and his junior prelates, Anora told me that he had managed to find suitable housing for the thirty-seven foundling girls. The fifteen thirteen-year-olds and ten fourteen-year-olds had been taken in by another foundling school, this one in Tenemora. Three of the twelve fifteen-year-olds had been able to go to the jobs they had secured for when they turned sixteen and had to leave the school. Thus, the problem was now reduced from thirty-seven girls to nine, which was, as Anora said, much more manageable, and they could be made comfortable, temporarily, in Othalo Prenevin’s ulimeire. I told him Iäna had agreed to ask his wardrobe master to ask the other wardrobe masters of Amalo if they could use an apprentice, and Anora said, “I think in truth that may be our best chance. The Amal’othala is so exercised with other matters that he refused my request for a second audience.”

“Oh dear,” I said.

Anora shrugged. “He has thought I am a nuisance for years. This changes nothing.”

Othalo Vidrezhen said, “Many of the girls do not want to work for a prelate.”

“Oh?” said Anora. “They tell you what they won’t tell me?”

“I’m a woman,” Vidrezhen said, as if that were explanation enough. Then she smiled suddenly. “Othala Celehar, one of them wants to work for you.”

“For me?”

“She said she doesn’t know how to be a secretary, but she’s sure she can learn.”

“I hope you told her I have no staff,” I said. “I couldn’t afford staff even if I had anything for them to do.”

“I did,” said Vidrezhen. “She was very disappointed.”

I wondered which of the girls it was, but decided asking would be foolish.