“Can I not just take verd leaf tea?”
The healer laughed harshly. “That old weed? It does nothing. Less than nothing. It is high in caffeine, that’s all. It’s been a remedy among the lower classes for some time because it grows cheaply on the riverbank. Clever, eh? Who came up with that one?”
“Oh.”
Sylah winced as she grabbed the bag, her muscles aching.
“Will I ever not be dependent on it? Will I ever heal?”
“It is unlikely.”
Unlikely.The thought still echoed in her mind. Now the bag of powder bulged in the pocket of her pantaloons. The drug was her salvation once again. But it was different this time. This time it was survival, not oblivion, she strived for.
She walked up the stairs toward the kitchens and paused. What if, as Disciple of Strength, Anoor’s chambers had moved? No, Anoor wouldn’t move, Anoor would want to stay close to the servants.
Sylah was right, and their chambers were just as she’d left them three days before. A lifetime ago. She went through to the bedroom and pulled out the few possessions she had left. Her inkwell was there, and she strapped it to her arm. The prototypes of the runebombs she had been working on, which she stuffed in her pockets, and a journal where she’d been practicing her writing.
Sylah flicked through the innumerable babblings of “the desert fox lunged through the trees” and “the Abosom prayed in extreme weather.” She ripped out a blank page and wrote Anoor a short note: the last secret she had to tell Anoor, the address to Lio’s villa in the Duster Quarter. Sylah marveled at her handwriting, a gift from the woman she loved. She folded the note and left it on Anoor’s pillow.
Sylah left Anoor’s chambers and walked to the west side of the Keep toward the business district. With everyone out in the courtyard celebrating the Day of Ascent, the corridors were near silent. Every sound she heard reminded her of a knife unsheathing, every shadow looked like Jond.
Sylah walked down the corridor to the library, her boots echoing through the empty rooms of the offices, and stopped in front of the stone door.
Sylah withdrew her stylus and wrote the rune combination that should have given her access to the library, if Uka had been her mother. The stone remained steadfast. Sylah tried again, the runes perfectly drawn, as flawless as they had been the very first time she had drawn them. The stone door did not swing open.
Sylah rested her forehead on the uneven whitestone. The grooves dented her forehead painfully. Anoor had not lied.
Uka was not her mother.
Sylah lost the last facet of the identity she had been given.
“Blood means nothing after all,” Sylah whispered against the stone.
Sylah made her way to the stables feeling lighter, different. She was rid of the weight of expectation for the first time in her life.
She could hear the rumble of the crowd as she entered the stables. The stalls were full of erus as all of the court and their families were in attendance to watch the disciples ascend.
Hassa was standing next to Boey. Sylah hugged her.
“Hi,” Sylah said, squeezing her tight.
Hassa pushed her to arm’s length and signed, How are you feeling?
“I’m okay.” It was partially true. She already missed Anoor.
Anoor packed you a lot of stuff. Hassa waved at the carriage that was ready and waiting to be strapped to Boey.
Sylah peered in. The carriage was brimming with supplies, food, drink, blankets, clothes. Even a bottle of firerum.
The firerum’s from me.Hassa gave Sylah a knowing glance.
“Thank you, Hassa.” Sylah’s heart warmed at the gesture.
Hassa pulled the map out from within the metal carriage and unrolled it on its side.
I’ve marked on the map where you need to go. Northeast. Follow the brightest star in the sky if you get lost.
The Wardens’ Empire was such a small section of the map it was hard to see the small mark where the Ghosting settlement was.