The Final Strife

We call on all corners of the world. The Zalaam are rising. The damage they reap on our homes puts us all in danger. We request aid and your armies.

Come with haste.

—Messenger from the Zwina Academy

The days passed in a grueling routine of training and more training. That morning Sylah had realized it had been over a week since she’d seen Jond.

“I have to go into town now,” Sylah said, wiping sweat from her brow.

“Oh? Has Gorn given you some errands to run?”

Sylah sensed the trap. Anoor knew Gorn had stopped giving her any tasks.

“No, I need to visit a friend.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Anoor busied herself with tidying away their weapons, and she didn’t look at Sylah when she said, “Are you going to see Jond Alnua?”

Sylah held back her immediate retort; instead she went for honesty.

“Yes.”

“Is he your lover?”

“I…I’m not sure that’s the right word.” Akoma, her Akoma.

“Well, do you love him?” Her voice had bite.

“Yes, but—”

“And you’ve been…intimate with him?”

“Yes, but—”

“He’s your lover.” She said it with the grave tone of someone being sentenced to a ripping. She was trying to force the sword into the scabbard, but she kept swinging wide.

“Anoor.” Sylah took the hilt of the sword and helped her guide it through the opening. “What Jond and I have…is something unusual.”

Anoor was looking down at the sheathed blade between them but didn’t speak.

“He knew my family…the ones who died…who were murdered.”

At that, Anoor looked up, shock in her eyes. It was the most Sylah had told her about the Sandstorm. Sylah continued, “Yes, I love him, but it’s a complicated love born of grief and anger and loneliness.”

“Are you still lonely?” Anoor’s question was a whisper.

Sylah knew the way to Anoor’s lips, had imagined it enough times, had imagined closing that gap between them. What she hadn’t expected was the warmth and softness that enveloped her as their lips pressed together.

Where Jond was stone, immovable and safe, Anoor was the tidewind, spirited and dangerous. And like the tidewind, her essence had found its way into the cavities and emptiness of Sylah’s life, relentlessly beautiful.

They broke apart, and Anoor spoke.

“Is this what you want?” Anoor’s breath warmed Sylah’s neck.

“More than anything.”