The Final Strife

“Yes.”

And so Anoor had placed Sylah’s vial of blood into her inkwell ahead of the trial of bloodwerk. It was a private gift that no one would ever know about. A precious gift just for her. It gave her more confidence than she knew she could muster.

Two deep-set eyes were watching her. Jond, Sylah’s friend, was still in the competition. For a fleeting moment Anoor wondered whether Sylah wanted Jond to win over her. Anoor dismissed it and wrapped her arms around herself remembering the feel of Sylah’s embrace during the night.

Jond held her gaze with an unreadable expression. Was it hate?

Anoor broke the stare first and turned to her left. Efie was there, a mountain of muscle, her red braids pinned up for the first time. Again, she wore her rose gold armor.

Uka continued, “The trial will take place in three rooms. Each room can only be escaped with the use of bloodwerk runes. The four competitors who complete all three rooms first will go onto the final trial in two weeks’ time, combat.”

Speed, that was what Anoor needed. Speed and focus…Jond wouldn’t stop looking at her. She felt his stare graze her skin.

“Armed with just their inkwells and their knowledge, each competitor will begin in a replica of the same room. Fifteen in total…but only four can win. I wish all the competitors luck and speed.”

The competitors were herded to the starting line, a chalky strip of white in front of twenty wooden doors without handles. Anoor cast one look down the line at Jond and bared her teeth.

The horn blared.

Pushed open with bloodwerk runes, the wooden doors swung wide. Anoor entered, shrugging off Jond’s glare. The door slammed behind her, making her jump.

The crowd’s screaming lessened to a hushed murmur as the trial began, though it was more unsettling than their cheers. Anoor blocked them out using the exercises she’d learned during Nuba practice and looked around.

The room was small and roofless, so the audience members could watch from above. The walls were made of sheets of wood, constructed just for the trial. She wondered how many Dusters had built it.

It was empty save for a barred door at the other end made of thick steel. She automatically tried it. Locked, of course. This was the test, get through the door and into the next room.

She rifled through the runes in her mind. She could use Ba to separate the bars, then a combination of Kha and Ba to create friction through a series of supplementary runes. The heat would blow up the lock in moments.

But who was Jond?

She shook her head, pushing him from her thoughts. She needed to get through this trial. She drew the runes and stood back as the friction caused the bars to explode. The door opened, and she stepped through into the second room.

—

The roofless rooms were specks in the distance, but Sylah could see the shape of Anoor’s curls and her eye line followed their shadow.

“She’s doing well.” Kwame sat next to Sylah.

She’d apologized over and over, but the lightness in their friendship wasn’t the same as it had been. It made her ashamed to be around him, knowing she was the one to cause the fracture.

“You think so? That one to her right is ahead of her slightly—no, my right. Is that Efie, the granddaughter of the imir of Jin-Gernomi?”

“Looks like it; on the other side, who’s that?”

“Jond Alnua,” Sylah said. She could recognize the silhouette of him ten leagues back.

“Looks like he’s last.”

Sylah cursed—hadn’t Jond been practicing? She’d missed a few lessons with him over the last week, but that was because of Anoor more than anything else.

She rubbed her brow, trying to press away the guilt that had burrowed there. She still hadn’t given him Uka’s journal. She wanted to read it first, that was all, then she’d give it to the Sandstorm. But with Anoor’s training regime there had been no time to read it without Anoor seeing.

There was a flash of bright red light, and suddenly Jond was through his first room.

Sylah breathed a sigh of relief.

—