Today I start my first journal as a disciple of the empire. Mother has stressed the importance of the truth. I find it ironic. I wonder how much they know. Now I have access to the warden library, I will search for the truth.
—The journal of Anoor Elsari, year 421
Sylah felt ten times heavier with the weight of exhaustion. It took her a few tries to get her eyes fully open. When she did, the sight couldn’t have been sweeter.
Anoor was reading a book next to Sylah’s infirmary bed. Her shoulders hunched as she leaned forward into her research. So different and yet still the same.
“How’s it hurting?” Sylah croaked at Anoor. The infirmary was as sour smelling as Sylah remembered. She could hear the din of other patients and healers in the rooms beyond hers, their talking an incessant hum.
“I should be asking you that.” Tears filled Anoor’s eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re alive,” she murmured. She closed the book and added it to a stack beside Sylah’s bed.
“Are you sure? Doesn’t feel like it.” Sylah tried to sit up and winced. Her muscles felt like they’d been pounded like fufu flour.
“You’ve been unconscious, Sylah; your heart rate dropped too low, Kwame had to carry you here. The healers weren’t sure you’d wake up.” Anoor stood, dashing away the tears on her cheek. “You shouldn’t have taken that joba seed.”
“I had to, Anoor.” Sylah reached for Anoor’s hand, but she was too far away.
“No, you didn’t.” Anoor looked at the window, the afternoon light softening her frown. “I was so angry that you took away my fight.” She turned to Sylah, a small smile on her heart-shaped lips. “But I understand now. Things are already shifting.”
“Are you still angry at me?” Sylah said quietly.
Anoor looked away again.
“I am angry at you for so many things. But not for that sacrifice, not for the risk you took for me.”
Sylah nodded, though Anoor wasn’t looking.
“The Sandstorm made a mistake leaving you.”
Anoor’s shoulders tensed, pulling taut the red suit she wore.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Anoor said with authority.
Gorn appeared, a rare smile breaking up the straight lines of her face as she saw Sylah.
“You’re awake.”
“Hi, Gorn. Yes, wholly alive, though wholly in pain.”
“Anoor, it’s nearly time.”
“Time for what?” Sylah interrupted.
“She didn’t tell you? It’s the Day of Ascent.”
Sylah flung herself forward in the bed. “Wait, I’ve been out a whole day?”
Gorn looked bemused.
“I have to go, I have to hide. The Sandstorm…” Sylah swung her legs out of the bed.
“Sit down, it’s fine, no one’s tried to kill you yet,” Anoor said, waving her back under the covers. “One of the perks of being a Disciple of Strength is that I’ve got my own personal guards. Where I go, they go.”