The Final Strife

“I always forget you have critters. Hard to believe anyone had the God-given guts to sleep with you.”

“Hey!”

There were twelve of them, walking casually out of formation, their hands loosely by their sides and not on their runeguns like Sylah was used to seeing.

One of them waved at Sylah as she cowered against the glass.

“You all right there, miss?” A skinny officer tipped his soft cap in Sylah’s direction.

Were they talking to her?

“Y…yes, thank you, officer,” Sylah managed to spit out.

One of his colleagues elbowed him in the ribs, a young woman with cornrows ending in long plaits to her waist. Sylah’s fingers twitched for hers.

“Stop flirting,” the woman officer said as they passed Sylah.

“I wasn’t flirting! Besides, she’s a servant, I’m not about to go that low. An Ember servant is so…”

“So?”

“Weird?”

“My mum’s a servant in the Keep.”

“Oh, well, I mean, I just mean that Embers are made to be better, right? And Ghostings are meant to serve…So it just seems odd them taking up a Ghosting’s job.”

“There aren’t enough Ghostings to fill the jobs.”

“Ah, yes, that cursed sleeping sickness…”

Their words grew more muffled the farther they walked. It took several breaths for Sylah to push away from the window and stand on her feet. A wave of dizziness ran through her, and she craved a joba seed.

“Fuck.” She exhaled the word with a sigh.

That’s when she heard it. The loaded silence. Whoever had been following her was still there. She leaned down toward the straps of her sandals where her skirt hid the paperknife she had tied against her ankle. It was the sharpest weapon she could find in Anoor’s chambers.

“Eeyah!” She pulled out the knife, timed perfectly to imbed in the side of her attacker as he landed beside her. It was a Nuba attack move, but instead of her fist, it was a paperknife. At the last second she veered to the left.

“Jond. I nearly killed you.”

He launched himself at her in a hug. He smelled of basil and jasmine and home.

“The Ghosting, she tried to tell us, she kept pointing across the river, but I wasn’t sure, so I thought I’d come and see, I’ve been wandering the Ember Quarter since the tidewind ended.” He was rambling, his hands gesticulating along with his words. For a brief moment he paused. “I thought you were dead.” He raised his eyes to catch her gaze.

“So you know how it feels,” she said, her chin tilted to the right as she surveyed him.

He stopped, his mouth dropping open as he held her at arm’s length. “Sylah…” His hand reached out to her head. It was the sudden breeze across her scalp that told her the scarf had fallen down. She quickly wrapped it back up.

“No, let me see.” He pulled down the headscarf with gentle hands. Sylah wouldn’t meet his eye. Suddenly his warm hands were running through what remained of her hair.

“Sylah, you’re beautiful.”

She snorted, pushing his hands away.

“You and I both know I am not.”

“Sylah, your hair was not your identity. If anything, it was hiding you away, holding you back.” He trailed her jaw with his finger, and she shuddered, her knees knocking together. She would need more verd leaf tea soon. Or a joba seed. But as she looked at the softened features of Jond’s face as he looked at her, she knew she couldn’t break the promise to Anoor.