“I don’t mind,” Sylah said.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you later for training. I better go.” Fear of her mother had overtaken the rebellious streak in Anoor’s eyes.
“Yes, see you later.” Sylah didn’t hear Anoor’s reply as she sunk her whole head under the water.
—
Ardae. Sylah didn’t want to think about it. It seemed Embers didn’t know how to celebrate like the Dusters in the north of the city. In the Duster Quarter, the day would be filled with fried yams and laughter. Offerings to Anyme would be made with firerum, and the Maroon would pull down their tidewind shutters so the party could continue until the early strikes.
At the Sanctuary, it had also been a special day. It was their only day off from training in the whole year. They’d have a feast of fufu and groundnut stew. Each Stolen would be given a small glass of firerum to toast with, and with no Abosom to bless their meals, Papa would do it himself in his booming voice.
“We all survived the Ending Fire, Embers, Dusters, and Ghostings, because Anyme made us equal in the sky’s eye. So, we will rise and we will fight for our place. We thank Anyme for guiding us down this path. Anyme bless.” He held his shot of firerum high.
“Anyme bless,” they called back and drank their shots in time with him.
The alcohol fizzed in her veins. Jond was seated next to Sylah, his teeth shining white in the moonlight. Jond had just turned sixteen. He was older by two years, but he drank the firerum without flinching. Fareen sat opposite them both.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispered under his breath. Sylah could tell Fareen was trying to listen.
“What surprise?”
“Come with me.” He held out his hand and winked.
Sylah shot Fareen an apologetic look as they slinked away.
“Jond, where are you taking me?”
“Shhh.”
“Jond, why are you taking me to the barn?”
Huda, the eru, was asleep, her tail hooked under her claws.
“Just a little farther.” They stopped in a pool of darkness. Sylah reached for his hand. It was sweaty like her own. “Can I?” he whispered, and she tasted the firerum in his breath.
She nodded, leaning in to him as his hands slipped around to the small of her back.
He broke away from her kiss and reached for her hand.
“Blessings this Ardae,” he said, the epithet that accompanied a gift. She looked at what he had placed in her hand.
It was a small braid of red and blue thread.
“It’s for your hair,” he whispered. “An Ember’s blood, a Duster’s heart.” He murmured the words against her cheek.
Sylah pushed herself up and reached for a zine. There were stacks of colorful zines around the chambers, always within reach of a cozy chair or the bath.
“Inquisitor Abena and the Hundred Paths.” Sylah murmured the title and began reading. She got three pages in before giving up. If she could predict the ending that fast, it wasn’t worth reading in her eyes. She reached for another.
“Oh.”
Her hand touched a hardback book. She leaned out of the marble bathtub, hooking her arms over the edge. The title read A History of the Rights of a Citizen. Anoor had been reading more and more recently, learning about the privilege she was raised in. It made Sylah proud.
She looked at the next book in the stack. It was one of the red leather-bound journals from the library. Not the oldest one, which they pored strikes into, but a journal they pulled from the middle. Anoor must have been reading it in the bath before she got waylaid by her research. Sylah went to the folded page and picked up where Anoor had left off.
“Blah blah…I don’t care what you had for breakfast.”
“Interesting…This Warden of Truth, Gada, was in power a hundred and fifty years ago.” Sylah skimmed through the pages, looking for something, anything.