Page 55 of The Gilded Ones

Keita looks down. “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I don’t know any more. When I first became a recruit, I thought that’s what your kind were. I thought I’d hate you as I worked with you, and even when I made the bargain with you, I still distrusted you. But now…”

“But now?” I echo.

“Now, when I look at you, all I can see is my comrades. And now, when I hear what was done to you…” His hands clench. He has to breathe before he releases them. He turns to me. “Who dismembered you?” he asks. “What are their names?”

“What does it matter?” I shrug. “According to the Infinite Wisdoms, I’m a demon. Besides, it’s over and done with.”

Keita gathers my hand in his and squeezes it. The heat from his hand is like a furnace, washing over my skin. “It matters to me,” he says. “You matter to me.”

The words set my heart to beating and twist my stomach into knots. I don’t know why I’m suddenly warm, suddenly flushed, in his presence. “You are my uruni,” I say softly – a reminder to myself. “I thank you for caring.”

“Even if I weren’t your uruni, I would care.”

To my surprise, Keita’s other hand reaches up to clasp my chin. He lifts it up so I can meet his eyes. They’re warm, earnest… My entire body tingles.

“I remember seeing you in Jor Hall that first day,” he says softly. “When I saw you standing there, so frightened, Britta at your side, you reminded me of something I’d forgotten.”

My heart is beating so fast now, I’m scared it’ll burst from my chest. “What was that?” I whisper.

“Myself, when I was younger. I’m so sorry,” he says abruptly, removing his hand. “I’m sorry I’m powerless, Deka, sorry your life was taken from you, sorry that violence brought you here… same as it brought me.”

I stare at him, trying to understand these last few words. I’ve always known there was some tragedy in Keita’s past, but I’ve never asked, since I know he wouldn’t want me to pry. I sense that now is still not the time, so I just blink.

“It’s all right,” I say. “At least I have my bloodsisters now. It’s enough. I never had friends like that back home. Never had much of anyone, really.” I remember how easily Father abandoned me, how easily Elfriede did too.

I blink again, startled. I haven’t thought about them in weeks, haven’t even questioned again whether I’m Father’s child or not. Now that White Hands is here, I’m content to wait for answers, safe in the knowledge that no matter what the truth is, no one’s going to lock me in a cellar or bleed me because of my abilities.

Perhaps that’s why I can be here, like this, with Keita.

His eyes seem to glow as he glances sideways at me. “Am I your friend, Deka?”

“Do you want to be?” I say this part so softly, I don’t think he hears it.

But then he whispers in my ear, his breath stirring the short mop of curly hair above it. “I think I’m something much better. I’m your uruni, now until the day of our deaths.”

It’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.

I’m already a thousand times prepared for the raid when the sun climbs over the horizon the next day. My weapons have been sharpened, my leather armour has been tightened, and my horse has been equipped with everything it needs for the long ride to the outskirts of Hemaira. I’m so nervous, a strange sort of energy fills me as I saddle my horse. I don’t even feel constricted by my armour now, even though it’s the same grotesquely heavy leather all the alaki have been given. All I feel is a light compression over my body.

Around me, the others are also saddling their horses and loading their packs.

To my surprise, Adwapa still hasn’t asked me any questions about Karmoko Thandiwe’s revelation the night before. When I ask why as we mount the horses, she rolls her eyes. “Well, I’ve always known you were odd,” she says by way of explanation.

I decide not to ask any further questions.

As we ride to the gates of the Warthu Bera, I spot Keita and the other uruni waiting on the other side, behind Captain Kelechi’s horse. A strange warmth rises in me at the sight of him, resplendent in the ornamental orange-red armour of a recruit. I try to breathe it back, but it continues circling under my skin.

A civilian crowd has gathered behind him and the other recruits, necks straining as they gawk at our tiny regiment, which consists of us alaki, two matrons with battle experience, and the four assistants who will serve as our support; thankfully, one of them is Isattu, the assistant usually assigned to our common bedroom.

The drawbridge goes down, and Gazal, the ranking alaki for this expedition, lifts her arm in a folded fist, then drops it commandingly. “Helmets!” she bellows.

We quickly don our helmets – piercing, spiky affairs with war masks in the shape of snarling demon faces attached to the front.

“Cross the moat!” Gazal commands.

We obey, riding across the drawbridge. A strange feeling rushes over me the moment we reach the other side: nervousness, thrumming in my veins. This is the first time I’ve seen the outside of the Warthu Bera since I entered, the first time I haven’t been within its confines, secluded by its walls – protected by them. I shiver at the thought, my pulse rising. I wonder what the common folk will do when they see us exiting the gates. Despite all our armour, most of us are shorter and smaller than the recruits. Will they suspect what we are? Do they know about us yet?

The novices tell us that the common folk mostly ignore them when they go on raids, but lately, there have been murmurs, rumblings of discontent we sometimes hear when we watch the novices exit. Who knows what will happen today… I curb the thought as our procession comes to a stop at the end of the drawbridge, where a market day is in full swing, with crowds of people milling around, buying fresh goods.

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