Sylah looked at him in confusion. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.”
A warm smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his shining eyes. He was dressed in a sharp suit, ready for his winners’ banquet. Sylah wondered what the clothes looked like on the floor.
“So you’ve figured what out…?”
“The journals, how to get them. I’ve scouted it out, and I think I’ll be able to get in using my blood, as I’m Uka’s daughter. I’m going to go tomorrow, during the tidewind.” Sylah omitted any mention of Anoor and the map. He didn’t need to know she’d be there, or that there was another reason she wanted to get into the library.
“Took you long enough,” he said and winced when he saw her withering expression, “I’m just saying, the Sandstorm ask me every day…”
“Why don’t they ask me?”
“We’ve been through this, Sylah, they need to trust you, and right now…they don’t.”
“Why don’t they trust me?”
Jond frowned and tilted his head as if the answer were obvious. “You gave up on the mission, Sylah.”
“I did not give up, the Sandstorm was gone. You were gone.”
She had given up. She hadn’t just given up, she’d suppressed every memory of them with the aid of the joba seeds.
He laughed, not unkindly. “Look, if you get the journals then all will be well. Okay?” He held out a hand to her, leading her to a chair by his kitchen counter.
She remembered the paper. “I made you something.”
Jond took it, his severe jawline softening in a smile. “You wrote this?”
“Yes, Anoor’s teaching me how to write.” Sylah wasn’t sure why those words bubbled up guilt inside her gut.
“It’s a bit…rough.”
“Hey!” Sylah grabbed the paper out of his hand with so much force it ripped the corner. “I’m still learning.”
“Clearly.” He laughed.
“I could teach you too, you know,” Sylah said, sensing that somehow Jond disapproved.
“That’s okay, I know.”
“Wait, what? The new Sandstorm taught you to write?”
He shrugged. This new Sandstorm were more connected than she knew.
“They’ve gained a lot of knowledge over the years,” Jond conceded.
“Sounds like it.”
Sylah wondered, not for the first time, about who and what the Sandstorm had become.
“I know you’re frustrated,” he said, reaching for her hand. “But it’ll be worth it when all the Embers are gone, and the board is reset. Everyone equal. No more bloodwerk to segregate us.”
“All of the Embers? What about us?”
What about Kwame? Annoying, insistent Kwame, who had thrust his friendship on her like a rash she couldn’t shake.
Jond’s fingers entwined in hers.
“We’ll be exceptions.”