The officer at the front entrance had changed; instead a petite young woman guarded the door to the arena floor.
“Careful.” The officer stopped Anoor as she walked past. The officer’s voice was deeper than she expected. “There’s a woman attacking people. She apprehended one of my platoon.”
“I won’t go far,” Anoor said. She hoped the other officer wasn’t hurt.
“Hi, Anoor,” Kwame said sheepishly. He was standing in the shadows of the forest, and Anoor was glad for the breather from prying eyes. “Here.” He handed her a flask of water, but she shook her head; she didn’t want to need the privy halfway through the fight.
“Take it, you need to stay hydrated.”
She relented, taking off her helm and taking a big swig. The water was cool and refreshing.
“Thanks, I actually needed that.”
Kwame took back the empty flask and shifted his feet.
“What’s so important, Kwame? I’m a little bit busy.”
“Anoor, what if you lose and they see your blue blood?”
“You saw the tower, then.” Anoor’s shoulders drooped.
He reached out and touched her gauntleted hand. “You have the coolest secret in the world.” Anoor lifted her eyes to his. He wasn’t turning away from her, wasn’t discarding her like she feared. He was concerned for her.
“Is that all you came to say?”
“No.” Kwame looked around. “Will you come over here? There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”
It was then that Anoor felt the first wave of fatigue. She leaned on Kwame for support.
“What?”
Kwame was leading her into the trees, but her feet were beginning to blur together.
She saw Sylah emerge from behind some leaves, but Sylah was gone. Gone with the Ghostings. Anoor must be dreaming.
“A little help?” Kwame said. Anoor thought he was talking to her, but she couldn’t help, she couldn’t lift her head. Sylah filled her whole vision, the sun leaking through the gaps in the canopy setting her short curls aflame. She was easing Anoor softly to the ground.
“Just close your eyes, Anoor, close your eyes and dream of your win.”
It was an order, an order from a teacher to a student.
Sleep. And so she did.
Anoor woke with her face pressed against something moist. It smelled of earth and green. She groaned and rolled over, bringing her hand to her forehead. A clump of leaves resided there, and she pulled them off.
“What in the name of the Ending Fire happened?” Her head pounded like a stampede of erus, and her mind was as foggy as the dust they kicked up.
“Here, drink this.” Kwame appeared above her, another flask in his hand.
“Aho, no, I don’t think so.”
“No, there isn’t any poison in there, I promise.”
“Why did you drug me, Kwame? Did I see Sylah? Curse the blood, the fight, I’ve got to get back out there.” Anoor scrambled to her knees and noticed for the first time the clothes she wore.
“Where is my armor?” She picked at the front of her training clothes as if they offended her.
“Anoor, the fight already started.” Kwame had the audacity to look contrite.