Sylah knew it was a ploy to keep her distracted, and she was grateful.
“Sure, let’s polish the silverware.”
—
“She’s out.” Kwame had found her while she was making a food order run for Gorn in the kitchens. “Anoor’s out. They’ve taken her to the infirmary.”
Sylah dropped her basket and ran. Her heart thumped so fast in her chest, it propelled her forward toward the infirmary.
Four days. Anoor had lasted four days with no water or food. She was the last competitor out. Sylah skidded into the infirmary.
“Anoor Elsari,” Sylah panted at an Ember dressed in white clothing. It was starched so stiff it gave the impression that it would stand up on its own, if only the woman would let it. Whether she was an orderly or a healer, Sylah wasn’t sure, nor did she care, as she gave Sylah all she needed with a wordless gesture down the hall. The infirmary stank of vinegar and peppermint. The floors were slick with cleaning fluid pushed along by a Ghosting with a sodden mop. The liquid helped Sylah slide along.
She peered into rooms as she passed them searching for Anoor. Then she saw Gorn standing vigil outside a closed door.
“How is she?”
“A healer is with her at the moment,” Gorn said.
“I’m going in.” Sylah was ready to push past Gorn with force, but the big woman stepped aside for her.
A healer with long, trailing locs was standing over Anoor, but Sylah paid him no heed. Her eyes were full of Anoor’s sleeping form. She was gaunt, her beautiful curves sucked away by darkness and dehydration. Even her hair seemed to have lost most of its bounce. Sylah reached for a curl, but a polite cough stopped her.
“Are you a friend?”
It was a covert way of asking why a servant was in the warden’s daughter’s room.
“Her chambermaid,” Sylah said automatically. “But yes, her friend too. Is she okay?”
“She will be,” the healer said. “I’ve checked her for signs of injury, but she’s just extremely dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion. Fluids and sleep are what she needs.”
Sylah nodded.
“Four days.” The healer chuckled and shook his head, his locs shifting behind his large ears. “My sister, she bet on the warden’s daughter here. Believes it’s in her blood.”
Sylah prickled. Did he know she was a Duster? She hoped not; Uka would kill him just for the thought.
He continued, “Maybe it is, I must say I am impressed, she does seem to be following in her mother’s footsteps.”
Anoor’s arm twitched in her sleep, and the sight of it chipped away at the whitestone of worry that Sylah had carried for four days.
“When will she wake up?”
“I’ve given her a sleeping tea. She should come around in a few strikes.”
The healer shuffled some papers in his folder and made ready to leave.
“I wonder how long she would have stayed?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear? Someone petitioned the wardens to let her out. Being the only one left, it seemed fair.”
Oh, Anoor, you bonded too closely with the darkness.
“Who was it?” Sylah asked.
“Pardon?”