“What are you doing here anyway?” She turned the questioning on him.
Jond exhaled, letting go of his irritation and concern. “You could thank me for saving you, you know.” He gave her a lopsided grin, and it made her stomach squirm in an entirely different way from the joba seed urges—though both were needs.
“Who said I wanted to be saved? How did you even find me?” she said, ignoring the feeling.
“Everyone wants to be saved, Sylah, you more than anyone.”
Sylah snorted out a laugh, then sobered. “Are you staying here from now on?” She thought of her single bed and wasn’t entirely opposed to it.
He chuckled darkly like he read her mind. “No, I’m set up in the Ember Quarter, it’s closer to the Keep for the trials…plus I’ve got to act the part, be the Ember they see on the outside, even if I’m a Duster in my heart, you know?”
Sylah did know, though the part she had acted was very different from his, the part of a downtrodden Duster.
“How did Mama react when she saw you after thinking you dead for so long?”
Lio had always loved Jond the most. His eyes crinkled in the corners, and he dropped his voice. “Anger and love often get confused.”
Each Stolen had been assigned one dedicated guardian. Sylah’s was Lio, Jond’s was a woman called Vona.
Blue blood burst through Vona’s mouth as the runebullet entered her skull.
Sylah squeezed her eyes shut from the memory, and she started to reach for her satchel, where her joba seeds lay. Jond touched her on the wrist, and she jumped.
“Lio was happy, and a little sad, I think. Sometimes hope does that to you, makes you a little sad, right?”
Sylah watched him in silence, torn between suspicion and genuine happiness that their earlier meeting had not been a drug-induced dream. She settled on a growl and stormed away into the living room of the house. It was a little larger than the Ghosting villas still in use in the Dredge; those used as homes were often just the one room. Lio’s home had four: two rooms upstairs, two rooms downstairs. A stove out back and a small joba tree out front. Just ordinary.
Sylah sank into a wicker chair and put her dirty feet up onto the table. Jond followed her in.
“What do you want, Jond?”
“I told you, Sylah, we have until tomorrow night to sign up to the Aktibar—”
Lio entered the room carrying a tray. Sylah took her feet off the table.
“Eat your food.”
Lio’s stare settled on Sylah until her hand reached for the kissrah. The bread was the texture of gauze but thinner. Sylah tore away a few layers and used her fingers and thumb to soak up the groundnut stew with the bread. It was both utensil and sustenance. The food was lukewarm; Lio hadn’t checked the temperature.
“You should enter the Aktibar.” Lio spoke once Sylah had finished half of the stew. Though her stomach churned, Sylah’s mind was a little clearer after having eaten.
“You told her?” Sylah was annoyed.
“Well, when someone comes back from the dead, they owe you some answers,” Lio said dryly as she spooned three sugars into her coffee. “I talked it through with Jond earlier; I think you should do it. You were the only child out of the Stolen that I truly believed could have gone all the way.”
“What?” Sylah couldn’t believe her ears, mouth, eyes, or nose.
Jond bristled.
“But there’s nothing left of the Sandstorm.”
“Jond has been telling me to the contrary.” Lio sipped her coffee. She didn’t wince at the scalding liquid.
“How can you just replace them?” The words spat out her mouth toward Jond.
The silence was too loud. Sylah needed to get out. She ran up the stairs in a few bounds.
The only barrier between her and her mother’s sleeping quarters was a flimsy curtain, and she shoved it to the side in frustration. Their rooms were separated by more than just the cloth. Sylah’s side was messy, her bed rarely slept in, with the faint mildew smell of clothes put away before they had dried.