The Final Strife

In a bout of anger Jond pulled the headscarf off Sylah’s head. “Look at her hair, it’s shaved.” Sylah’s head lolled this way and that.

The officer inspected it. “Hardly. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He idly stroked the runegun by his side with a long finger.

“Let’s go back to yours, Jond,” Sylah murmured in his ear. Her hot breath sent shivers down his spine.

Sylah hadn’t been to his little piece of home yet, hadn’t asked about it either. He found himself wondering when he’d last tidied up. Not that she was in a state to know what was two handspans in front of her anyway. She’d have to sleep it off for some time yet.

Sylah was furiously sticking her tongue out at the officer, so Jond quickened their pace and led her into the cool air. The tidewind was still a few strikes away, but the breeze seemed frantic with anticipation.

A competitor, a son of an imir for sure, thundered past them on an eru. The carriage on the eru’s back was bursting with young women. Jond swallowed his disgust as they walked in the dust of their wake.

“Where are we going?” Her steps were getting surer the farther they got from the Keep; the cool air seemed to be clearing her head.

“My place isn’t far, it’s south of the Ember Quarter.”

“How long have you lived there?”

“Not long.”

—

The joba trees on his street were lovingly cared for. One of his neighbors had begun to decorate their tree with trinkets and jewelry. The trend had gotten out of hand, each Ember trying to prove their worth with the quality of the jewelry. Jond could barely sleep with the racket they all made in the tidewind.

“This is me.” He led her up a set of stairs to his flat on the third floor of a tall villa. At one stage she had begun to shiver, so he’d put his arm around her. As he let her go and reached for the keys, she felt that loss of warmth piercingly. “Are you okay? Do you want me to walk you back to the Keep? You seem a little more aware of your surroundings now.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Yes, I’m sure. I will stay here tonight,” she said. He unlocked the door.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, you take the bed.”

Once they entered the hallway, he pulled the metal tidewind shutters down, the clang making her jump. She gave him a tentative smile.

She looked lost standing in the middle of his home, her orange suit so bright against his humble belongings.

“It’s just the one room, there’s a privy out back and stove in the corner.” For some reason he felt shy and embarrassed by his homestead. “The Sandstorm had to pay out a lot for this place, but it made sense being close to the Keep. Plus, the views are great.”

A wicked gleam ignited in her eyes.

“Show me.”

He pulled down the hatch above him, revealing a ladder.

“After you, my Akoma.” She snorted as she grasped his outstretched hand. Whatever tension had been between them dissipated in that moment.

—

Akoma. Jond hadn’t called her that in six years.

She still remembered when they’d learned it. Jond’s foster mother, Vona, was teaching them the basics of the human heart out of a Duster school book.

“And this is the Akoma, the largest artery in the whole body.” Vona pointed to the page of a stick figure in the battered book. “It carries fresh blood away from the heart.”

“The best one to slice,” Sylah whispered to Jond.

He smirked beside her.

Later that day they had lain side by side watching the stars before the tidewind came. It became their nightly ritual since they learned that the twinkling lights were little sparks of fire leagues away, left over from the Ending Fire.

Jond’s hand rested comfortably in hers. They lay shoulder to shoulder in the sand, their heads looking upward.