The Final Strife

“Exactly, and now it’s mine.” His tone was mild, pleasant, his smile kindly.

“I don’t understand.”

“Thank you for letting me know about your plan. It really was easy to just follow you in.”

“Yanis, give me the jambiya.” She ground her teeth, anger building behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Anoor, but I can’t.”

Anoor brought up the sword and drew it across her body, moving into a defensive position, though her muscles struggled with the weight.

“Good footwork, your upper body has a strong foundation. But I’m guessing we don’t have time to play-fight.” He was complimenting her, a smile still playing around his lips.

Anoor inched closer, close enough to knock the jambiya from his hands. But the closer she got, the closer he had gotten to the stairs.

He cocked his head to the side.

“Your mother sends her regards.”

The words pierced her sharper than the tip of a knife, and she stumbled back.

“What?” Her hesitation sent Yanis running down the stairs.

The scream started in the sour pit of her stomach and worked its way out. But when it reached her lips it wasn’t a scream after all, it was a growl.

—

The waiting was the worst part. Kwame had gone back to work but assured her the deed was done. Sylah paced in their chambers waiting for Anoor to return. Had Sylah slipped up? Had she missed one of the officers? What if one of them had been sick and missed his shift?

No, if something was wrong, Sylah would know by now.

She looked down into the courtyard below, but the view from Anoor’s room didn’t show the northern tower. Only a quarter of a strike had passed, but it felt like longer. Sylah rubbed her brow. All she could do was wait.

Sylah remembered the tube Hassa had given her and went to retrieve it. Pulling open the leather strap, she tipped out the contents onto the desk.

“Shit.”

Sylah rubbed her eyes, looked again.

“Fuck.”

She reached out, touched it, felt the parchment as real as the skin on her arms.

“How?”

Sylah opened the drawer next to her and retrieved the map. She pushed it flat against the edge of the parchment.

“They fit. Maiden’s tits, they fit.”

Hassa had given Sylah the other piece of the map.

—

As soon as Sylah heard the door open, she jumped up and went to greet Anoor. Sylah was triumphant with the truth; a lightness of validation had settled on her. There was more out there. More.

“Anoor what’s wrong? Wait, that’s a sword.”

“My mother, she took the jambiya.”