She would have stayed there all night if her cramps hadn’t come. She dreaded going back to face the anger in Sylah’s gaze. Sylah had hated her in that moment, truly hated her. She had felt it like the burning of a flame. The invisible blisters it left still brought her pain.
Now that her mooncycle bleeds had come, she needed to get home. Anoor lived in fear of being caught out when they started. It was why she liked wearing blue, just in case she wasn’t close enough to her chambers to stanch the flow.
She pulled together a few volumes and checked them out with Bisma, her brisk goodbye surely offending him, but she felt a moistening between her legs that needed urgent attention. Anoor part-ran, part-waddled back to her rooms. She didn’t even realize she had left the zines neglected on the library desk.
—
Sylah had two options. Turn left down the small lanes of the Duster Quarter or cross the river to the edge of the Ember Quarter. Jond or Lio’s. In the end the wind made the decision for her, pushing her farther across the Tongue to the Ember Quarter.
Sylah knocked on the shutters and hoped Jond could hear her.
“Jond? Jond? Will you let me in?”
A few seconds passed before the shutters started to judder upward.
A bleary-eyed Jond peered from behind his door. “Sylah?”
“How’s it hurting?”
“What you doing here?”
“Can I stay here tonight?”
“Stay?” His mouth quirked up into a smile, pushing his ears back into his unkempt curls.
“Yes, please.”
He moved out of the doorway to let her pass. Once he had locked up, he joined her by the kitchen counter. Sylah had already got out the firerum and was sipping her second shot.
“That kind of night?”
Her shoulders drooped, her teeth worrying the corner of her mouth. “Jond, do you ever think about what Papa would have thought about all this?”
Jond didn’t reply straightaway; he busied himself with pouring his own drink. “All what exactly?”
“You know, me and you.”
He coughed on his drink. “Well—”
“Not that kind of me and you. I mean, the Sandstorm…Anoor.”
“What’s this about, Sylah?”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just wondering if we’re doing the right thing…”
“Huh?”
Sylah cocked her head at him. “She thinks I’m helping her to win, Jond.”
“Are you forgetting that she abducted you and stopped you from fighting in the Aktibar?”
“I know, I know, but she’s one of us, in a way. She’s a Duster.”
“No, she isn’t. She’s one of them. You’ve said it yourself, she believes what they believe, that Embers are better.”
Sylah thought of their argument earlier. She’d used the word “Nowerk” like she was commenting on the weather.
“It doesn’t matter anyway; we both know she’s not going to win. She’ll never be good enough for the final trial.” Jond poured Sylah another drink.