Anoor’s body pressed against Sylah’s, her hands slipping under her shirt and up the cooling sweat of her lower back. Sylah arched against her touch, and Anoor took the opportunity to nip at her neck toward her collarbone. Her body was aflame as Anoor’s fingers made their way down. She groaned as Anoor trailed the thick, curly hair at the apex of her thighs.
If Anoor was the tidewind, Sylah was fire.
—
They lay with their backs against the dummy, their legs intertwined. Two colors swirling in veins through tangled limbs. Midday had come and gone, and Sylah hadn’t gone to see Jond.
“This is a pretty good pillow, you know,” Sylah said into the comfortable silence.
Anoor’s laugh tinkled.
“I think I prefer my own bed.”
“Of course you would, you were born into feathers and luxury.” Sylah had only been teasing, but Anoor went silent.
Suddenly she sat up, her bare chest leaning against Sylah’s.
“I’ll give it away.”
“Anoor, that’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s not right, me having all of this and the Dusters, the Ghostings…they have nothing.”
“Look, I understand you want to help, and living frugally is a start, but it doesn’t really help the Ghostings and Dusters.”
“What do you mean?” She settled her chin below Sylah’s and looked up at her, hazel eyes gleaming.
“Well, think about what you’d do if you don’t win—”
“You don’t think I’m going to win?”
“That’s not what I said, is it?” Sylah tweaked her nose. “I’m just saying…if you don’t win, which you will, how can you work to influence the court?”
“Hmm, I’d start a rebellion.” She sat up suddenly. “Maybe restart the Sandstorm.”
Sylah didn’t need a third Sandstorm to navigate. “Maybe.” Sylah began to get up. “I do have to go, you know.”
“To see him?” This time the jealousy was laid bare.
“Yes, but then I’ll be right back for more…” Sylah leaned in and kissed Anoor’s pouting lips then whispered, “Training.”
Anoor’s laugh painted Sylah with a foolish grin.
—
Sylah hovered outside Jond’s villa. Her basket was heavy with the weight of the journal that rested there, made heavier with guilt. She had finally stolen it the day before and finished reading it that night. Uka’s words were brutal; her hatred for Anoor ran deep. Deeper than she’d imagined. It brought tears to Sylah’s eyes.
The journal was also filled with the military stratagem of the empire. It even outlined the spies, including some Dusters, she had hired in the revolt of the hundred, an uprising ten years ago in the coal mines of Jin-Hidal. The information would be priceless to the Sandstorm. But still Sylah’s hand hesitated as she lifted her knuckles to Jond’s door.
Jond. Her Akoma. And now there was Anoor. Anoor. Sylah could still smell her sandalwood oil on her skin.
There was that foolish grin again.
The door opened after one knock.
“Sylah,” Jond said in shock. He was dressed simply, clothes one wore if they wanted to disappear in the Dredge.
Sylah dropped the smile.