Anoor nodded.
“Not long.”
Anoor had an urge to read her mother’s journal, to remind herself the demon in her mind was just a person, if a cruel one. She looked at her bedside cabinet and back to Sylah. No, the words were hers. Once words are let out of their confinement, a secret can latch onto emotions and distort the purity of the pain. Sylah would call it self-pity. Anoor called it self-preservation.
She looked at her inkwell on her desk, the stylus as always on a chain around her neck. She wouldn’t need it this time. This time she wasn’t trying to break out; she would be trying to stay in.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Anoor said, sitting next to Sylah, their shoulders touching.
Sylah lifted her eyebrow.
“My mother gave me a gift, really. She revealed the trial to me before anyone else. At least I know what’s coming.”
“What’s coming is your nightmare manifested.”
“But think of the other competitors. They’re pacing their chambers wondering what’s coming up, whether they’ll be swimming in eel-infested waters, or jumping from the highest platform into the Marion Sea. They have no idea how their minds will be challenged.”
Sylah patted her knee.
“You have the most impressive way of finding the light in a dark situation.”
Anoor covered Sylah’s hand with her own.
“Let’s hope that helps me through the trial.”
—
The officer came for her just before noon and marched her across the courtyard to the great veranda. They wouldn’t be competing in the arena today.
There were just thirty-three competitors left. Jond Alnua was standing apart, but Anoor observed him from afar. A woman moved in front of her line of sight, and Anoor recognized the henna-dyed hair of Efie, the granddaughter of the imir of Jin-Gernomi. It was braided in her customary plaits that ran down over her breasts. She was wearing the chest plate armor from the tactics trial. Rose gold, swirling with embossed flowers. Anoor had admired the armor when she first saw it.
Anoor wore her loose-fitting training clothes, knowing she’d need to be comfortable. She wished she had knotted her hair up above; it would have made a good pillow.
“What do you think it’ll be?” a warm voice said from behind her.
She turned and saw it was Yanis. He was more handsome than she remembered. He moved to stand beside her. Although he was out of uniform, his movements were precise, as if he were marching to battle. His hair coils were freshly wound.
“I’m not sure,” Anoor replied.
“You scared?”
Anoor looked at his profile, her eyes trailing the strong lines of his jaw.
“No.”
“Me neither.” Yanis smiled down at her from his great height, but somehow he didn’t make Anoor feel small.
Anoor’s mother was walking through the great veranda toward them.
“Good luck,” he said.
“You too.”
“Competitors,” Uka greeted them. Her afro had been pulled into a tight bun on her head, and her resemblance to Yona struck a chord in Anoor that made her feel very alone despite Yanis’s close proximity.
Uka continued, “Today we test your mind. We look for the strength within, for the body is just a puppet for what lies behind our eyes. As you will have seen in your correspondence from me, the Day of Ascent has been brought forward to one mooncycle and one day from today. That means those who complete this trial will enter the bloodwerk trial in two weeks’ time as you may need some time to recover.” She didn’t smile, but her eyes did light up. “Then two weeks after that, a mere mooncycle from today, the trial of combat will commence. Be sure to collect your weapon before then.” Uka looked Anoor in the eye, and her eyebrow twitched.