“What?” Gorn appeared from her bedroom and joined them in the hall.
“What do you mean? Uka was there?”
“Yes; well, no. Yanis, she sent Yanis.”
“Who’s Yanis?”
“He’s a competitor, and he took the jambiya. He knew I wanted it, needed it.”
Sylah’s blood rushed to her face.
“Kwame,” Sylah simmered. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No, Sylah, wait!”
But Sylah’s rage gave her the speed to lope past Anoor in moments. Down the stairs she went, getting angrier each step of the way.
When she burst into the kitchen, a few people looked her way, some sensing the drama to come and drifting closer.
“Kwame,” Sylah barked at him.
His face was covered in flour, and his smile dropped when he saw her expression.
“What happened? Oh, no, did it not work?”
“You sold the information, didn’t you.”
“What?”
“You sold her out, you told the warden what we were planning.”
Kwame looked around him worriedly at the onlookers and held out a placating hand.
“Sylah, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but maybe lower your voice?”
“Was it for money?” Sylah was shaking. She felt the warning signs of the prickling in her legs. A seizure was coming, but she couldn’t stop now. “I knew I was foolish to trust an Ember. You disgust me, you know. You act like wealth is something that separates you from the others. But you are rich, don’t you get it? Your blood is the currency, but that wasn’t enough, was it?”
Sylah fell to her knees, her right leg jerking beside her.
“You earthworm, eat shit, Kwame, eat shit.” She tried to loosen her tongue to spit into the bread he was making as a big finisher, but the trembling was too much. Fingers dug into her shoulder.
“Sylah, oh, Sylah,” Anoor said, kneeling beside her. “Gorn, will you help me get her up?”
Large hands joined Anoor’s and lifted Sylah to a nearby seat.
Sylah hadn’t taken her eyes off Kwame. He wasn’t reacting like she expected. He looked horrified, but not ashamed. He rubbed at his eyes.
“Gorn, can you make a verd leaf tea?” The servants had dispersed at Anoor’s intervention, the drama halted by the warden’s daughter.
“Sylah, it wasn’t Kwame, it was me,” Anoor said quietly.
Sylah looked away from him, her gaze connecting with Anoor’s.
“What?”
“I told Yanis to come to the tower at eighth strike.”
“Anoor? You told that guy?”