Page 40 of The Gilded Ones

“Why?” I ask, curious.

He shrugs. “When we were partnered, I thought you were too delicate to be a soldier.”

“Too delicate?” I echo, surprised. No one has considered me delicate since the moment my blood ran gold. “I’m an alaki,” I remind him.

Keita nods. “That may be true, but not everyone is suited to killing deathshrieks.”

“Are you?”

Keita shrugs. “I’m told I’m good at exterminating them,” he says simply.

There’s a look in his eyes, an absolute belief.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be suited to it, that you would be a burden on the battlefield. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps you will be able to withstand your fear,” he says.

The calm assuredness in his eyes nettles me, but I know better than to show it.

Instead, I smile sweetly at him. “You know, I’m relieved too.”

“Why is that?”

“I was afraid you were too pretty to get your hands dirty.”

His eyes widen with surprise, and, for a moment, the side of his lips quirk. “Well, we’re both full of surprises, aren’t we?” he says as he walks away.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here!”

Britta’s voice is high-pitched with excitement as we walk through the library; the dark, cavernous chamber on the topmost floor of the Warthu Bera, Katya, Belcalis and the twins at our side. With each step, my anticipation builds higher and higher. In just a few moments, I’ll be there, standing before the Heraldry. Then I’ll read from its pages, finally find the answers to the questions that have been plaguing me since the day I entered this training ground.

At least I hope I will.

There’s always the possibility there are no answers in the Heraldry, and I’ve wasted everybody’s time coming here. Perhaps I should have just bolstered my courage and spoken to Matron Nasra or Karmoko Thandiwe about my suspicions. It would have been so much easier than walking past these bookshelves, eagerness and dread lining the pit of my stomach. But no, Matron Nasra is hateful, and Karmoko Thandiwe is much too frightening to approach. Better to do this with my friends.

Britta doesn’t notice my introspection as she continues: “Just think, in a few moments, ye could have all the answers ye seek.”

“Or you could have nothing,” Belcalis humphs, “because you created an entire farce out of nothing, and us being here, on our one lunar afternoon, is indeed a farce.”

Trust her to always state my deepest fears out loud.

“Must you always be such a pissfart?” Katya tsks.

“Pissfart?” Adwapa stops and looks at her. “Did you just make up that word?”

Britta dimples. “I did. Rather fitting, don’t ye think? It has a certain—”

“We’re here.” Katya nods towards the heavy wooden door before us: the entrance to the Hall of Records.

Isattu, the midnight-dark assistant assigned to our common bedroom, is organizing the scrolls on the shelf beside the entrance. She grins when she sees us, her smile filled with goodwill and cheer. Unlike most of the assistants and matrons, she was immediately assigned to the Warthu Bera when she became a temple maiden two years ago, so she has retained the happiness that would have been snuffed out had she had to serve priests.

“Ah, there you are, neophytes,” she says, unlocking the door. “Right this way. As a reminder, you’re never to speak about anything you read in this book to any outside person on pain of death. If you do so, remember the walls always have ears, especially when it comes to Shadows…”

I nod, trying to push back the chills rushing through me as she ushers us into a small, circular room, light filtering in through the heavy glass roof. Scrolls line the shelves attached to the walls, their edges aged and delicate, as if they’ve been here for hundreds of years. Flames flicker from the sconces, and an umbra has been carved into the floor. It’s not the most interesting sight here, however. The large stone pedestal in the middle of the room is – or, rather, the thick leather-bound book on top of it.

Isattu walks over to it, opens the book. “You said your mother was twenty-five years old when she had you?” I nod and she explains: “Most potential Shadows are taken in for training when they’re ten, so if you’re sixteen now, your mother would have first entered the Warthu Bera about thirty-one years ago.” She flips through the pages until she finds the one she’s looking for. “You can start from here. Shadows are listed alphabetically according to their year, and each entry has two pages each. All right, then, I’ll leave you to it.”

Nodding, I approach the book. “The moment of truth…” I murmur, muscles tense.

“The moment of truth…” Britta smiles reassuringly at me.

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