Take up the Embers’ burden,
And reap your own rewards:
Dissent from the blue,
Malice from the clear,
The hate of those you guard,
The blame of those who fear.
It is the Embers’ burden,
To guide the citizens and lead,
Until Anyme calls,
Will we be free from this deed.
—An Ember’s Burden, lyrics by Anj Ubdul
The messenger woke her up. She didn’t know it was a messenger until Jond returned with an envelope in his hand.
“What time is it?” The sheets had tangled their way around Sylah’s long legs. She lay nude and spread-eagled among them.
“Not sure, looks around sixth strike, but the clockmaster hasn’t called yet.”
Sylah groaned. “What is it?”
“It’s the instructions for the trial of stealth.” Jond sounded bemused.
“What? Give it here.” Sylah grabbed it out of Jond’s hand and began to read.
“The trial of stealth will begin upon reading this letter.”
Sylah sucked in a breath.
“You have until the beginning of the final trial to retrieve your weapon from the north watch tower. There are twenty weapons and forty competitors. The weapon will be your aid in the trial of combat. You cannot be seen by the armored guards who watch over the room where they are kept. If you are seen, you are disqualified. If you fail to retrieve your weapon you are disqualified. Choose wisely…Regards, Warden of Strength, Uka Elsari.”
Sylah’s eyes were flicking left to right, thinking through the implications.
Jond leaned on the kitchen counter, his trail of navel hair just visible behind their discarded glasses from last night. “So the trial runs up until combat, and the weapon you select is the weapon you have to fight with?”
“Sounds like it.” Sylah folded the letter back into the envelope, running her thumb over the wax seal of the guild of strength.
“Want to come with me to scout the place?” He moved to turn the stove on for breakfast, his bare backside making Sylah crave coffee beans.
“I better get back to Anoor, she’ll be worried about all this.” Sylah dreaded facing up to the words she’d said in anger.
“Of course.” He said it lightly, but he didn’t kiss her goodbye.
—
The clockmaster cried sixth strike when Sylah left Jond’s apartment. The streets of the Ember Quarter were quiet except for the Ghosting cleaners dusting the joba trees that lined them.
Sylah dragged her feet through the entrance toward the courtyard into the Keep; shame made her footsteps leaden. Would Anoor forgive her?
“I looked everywhere for you,” a voice said to her right.