“What do you mean?” Anoor wasn’t sure what hurt more, the anger or her head.
Kwame reached for Anoor’s hand. “Sylah’s gone to fight in your place.”
“What in Anyme’s name are you talking about?” Anoor started to get up, but Kwame held her shoulders, guiding her back to the ground.
“If Sylah isn’t back in five more minutes, you’re to find Hassa and leave the city.”
“What has she done…” Anoor wanted to scream. This was her fight to lose.
“She couldn’t let you risk everything, Anoor.”
“So what? The two of you concocted this plan together? What, to save me?”
Kwame flinched.
“I don’t know how long Sylah’s planned it. She always had the second vial of sleepglass from the stealth trial. I thought it was in case I messed up on the officers’ doses, but…” He lifted his shoulders weakly. “She couldn’t let you die today, and neither could I.”
Kwame scuffed the dirt with his shoe. “I didn’t just do it for you, though, Anoor. You never saw me as just a servant. I know I’m not a Duster, and I can’t imagine what it must be like to be on the other side of the river, but the world should be more equal than this. Now with this knowledge, the truth that everyone can bloodwerk, you can reset the scales, you know? And that’s why I think you should be the next disciple.”
They both heard the clanking of someone running in armor at the same time. Sylah entered the forest. The sword by her side dripped red blood.
“What happened?” Anoor demanded.
“No time. Talk later. Quick, put on the armor.”
Sylah was quivering and stumbling as she flung the pieces of green armor to Anoor. Her withdrawals were worse than Anoor had ever seen them. A part of her wanted to fetch her some verd leaf tea.
“You won?” Anoor couldn’t believe it.
“Put on the armor,” Sylah shouted. “Help her, Kwame.”
“No, I don’t want this victory, it isn’t mine.” Anoor frowned.
“Don’t be a monkey bullock, this isn’t a time for pride,” Sylah hissed. She had stripped to her training clothes, the warm armor a line on the ground between them.
“She’s right. This isn’t just about you,” Kwame said.
Anoor knew it to be the truth. She was the disciple the empire needed. Anoor reached for the armor. The three of them pieced her back together into the warrior she had become.
Sylah was shivering uncontrollably now. Anoor could see her muscles were cramping, though Sylah smiled through it.
“May I be the first to congratulate you, Anoor Elsari, Disciple of Strength?” And as she grinned, Anoor saw the red seed jammed between her front teeth. The gravity of Sylah’s sacrifice hit Anoor in the chest harder than Jond’s axe could have done.
“Go, go.” Sylah pushed her lower back through the trees.
“Take her to the infirmary,” Anoor shouted to Kwame. She didn’t wait for his nod before she was running, launching herself through the arena entrance and into the screams of the crowd beyond. She let herself hear them. They chanted her name and waved and cried. She could have drowned in their approval.
She looked up at the podium. Her mother wasn’t clapping along with the other guild leaders; instead she stood poised at the edge of the stage, as if at any moment she was going to launch herself into the core of the arena. Her mouth was parted ever so slightly, her eyes a blank stare.
Anoor met her gaze. With a cry she thrust the sword into the air. Her mother flinched. Uka saw the move for what it was, a plunge into the beating heart of the empire as it was.
Things were about to change.
Block by block.