The metal was still warm to the touch, but she couldn’t help her fingers running over it. She’d never dreamed that she would one day bloodwerk. One day be one of them. An Ember, like she was meant to be.
An Ember with a Duster’s heart.Papa’s voice whispered in her mind, full of pride.
She picked up the inkwell. Decorative vines wrapped around the wrist, embossed with beautiful precision. Without a doubt a request from Loot. Poison ivy. Sylah didn’t mind; it made the inkwell a unique piece of jewelry. Even the stylus was in the style of an ivy leaf pulled to a point. The final key to being a true Ember.
Jond was trying his on, flexing his hand in its grasp. His was simpler, plain but sturdy. One clean sheet of metal that molded around the base of his hand like a fabric cuff with a slot for the stylus to insert into his vein underneath.
They looked at each other and grinned like two desert foxes that had just caught their prey.
Papa, we did it. We’re going to take them all down. Every Ember who thought Dusters were lesser.
The sun had begun to dip in the sky, but it wasn’t until Sylah heard the clockmaster screech “sixth strike” that she realized how late she was.
“Maiden’s tits, I’ve got to run. She’ll be wondering where I’ve gone.” Sylah started to speed up, but the onslaught of Dredge-dwellers heading home for dinner stalled her.
“Shit, I’ll have to hop the rooftops.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, twelfth strike, during my lunch break. We should meet in the Ember Quarter so we can practice.” She pointed at her empty wrist, the inkwell safely hidden in her basket. “The water tower?”
Jond nodded. “Anyme go with you.”
“And you.” She ran up the nearest ladder and skipped across the roofs, her curses echoing behind her.