Today, I begin my term as the Disciple of Strength. I am the youngest competitor to have won the Aktibar, the youngest disciple in the four hundred years of the Wardens’ Empire. My mother has not yet congratulated me. She never will.
—Uka Elsari’s journal, year 391
The next day Anoor dressed even more formally than usual. Suits were generally favored by the imirs and wardens. She needed to make sure that if they got caught, she was recognized as the warden’s daughter. She wore purple wide-leg trousers that trailed slightly on the ground. The matching blazer was the same plum color, a few shades darker than the army uniform. Anoor let the silk slip through her fingers like water as she walked.
“You know what to do?” Sylah asked her as they rounded the corner to the offices.
“No.”
“Anoor, we’ve been through this.” Sylah exhaled through her nose sharply.
Anoor grinned.
“Oh, you’re joking.”
“Yes, Sylah. We have been through it. A hundred times.”
It had been Anoor’s idea, though she’d later admitted to stealing it from a zine. The guard was the problem, so all they had to do was make the guard the solution. Sylah tugged on the officer’s uniform. It was slightly too short in the legs and arms, but it was the only one she could find at the launderers.
When she first put the purple uniform on, Anoor caught the horrified look in Sylah’s eyes as she stood in the mirror.
“You look good,” Anoor said tentatively.
The fear in Sylah’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by a crooked grin.
“I don’t look half bad, do I?” A purple headscarf was wrapped under the black helmet she wore, hiding her shaven status.
Anoor taught Sylah some basic military commands and formations based on what she had learned in the Keep.
“Just look important, that’s the main thing.”
“I don’t have a baton or a whip.”
Anoor frowned and then marched into the bathroom.
“Here,” she said, handing over what she’d gone to collect.
“Anoor, you can’t be serious.”
“What? The handle is black and long, like a baton. Just tuck it in your pocket so no one can see the sponge.”
“It’s a backscratcher.”
“No.” Anoor tucked it into her trousers and winked. “It’s a baton.”
All Sylah had to do was relieve the guard on duty and take his place. They were nearing the library.
“Aveed is still in their office,” Sylah whispered.
“Yes, well, it is the middle of the day,” Anoor said back.
“But, Anoor, we didn’t think about your mother. Her office is opposite the library, right?”
Anoor faltered in her step, and Sylah caught her. For a second Anoor was back there, in the dark, locked in with no food or water. No light. Her mother’s favorite punishment.
“If she’s there, we keep on walking. Okay?”
Anoor dragged her head up and down.