Starting today, I'm going to be posting excerpts from my book, or else a short story if I happen to have one lying around. Enjoy this first one! This is from my book, Ink Adept, which is available to buy on Amazon.com.
“Hey.” Anjita jerked her head. “Let’s watch Unendee.”
Munayair looked up and nodded. Her near-panic had dissipated, leaving her with only chills running up and down her arms. They walked to a corner crowded with prentices. All attention was focused on a circle of shimmering chalked glyphs, similar to the circle Munayair had sat inside during her dueling final. But to the trained eye, these glyphs were different, and the circle served a function unique to Dhinse Unen. Unendee, the rite of cleansing. Mediated by sharp-voiced Adept Sanrizu, pairs of prentices could enter the circle and air their grievances. This ritual, observed on the same night in every village across the continent, enforced candor. Inside the circle, nothing but truth could be spoken.
Two yellows currently occupied the circle. Their negotiations had deteriorated into a screaming match. Adept Sanrizu bellowed vainly from the periphery.
“Bunkmates, I’m telling you.” Anjita threw a wink, and Munayair managed a smile in return. Anjita took her hand and squeezed it. “Better?” she asked.
“Thank you,” Munayair muttered, cheeks burning at her own weakness. Year after year, and nothing ever changed. The mark ached like a bruise.
“I’m sorry they upset you,” Anjita huffed. “Bunch of ninnies, running their mouths.”
Munayair wrapped her arms around herself. “I should have more control.”
Anjita opened her mouth, frowning. One of the yellows chose that moment to launch herself at the other with a yowl, hands extended like claws. The gathered crowd whooped with delight as they tussled on the flagstones.
Adept Sanrizu waded through the crowd and separated them using their ears as handles. “I’ll be telling Adept Hayaii to put the two of you on floor duty,” she cried. “For shame!”
“Well, at least they aired their grievances.” Anjita shouted over the din as Adept Sanrizu tossed the two yellows out of the circle.
“They must have,” Munayair agreed. Only a hidden truth spoken by both parties could release them from the Unendee. “Hopefully, their bond is strengthened. That is the point of Unendee, after all.”
“Oh, Naya,” Anjita laughed, “you always think the best of people.” Munyair frowned but decided not to argue.
“Now, who is next?” Adept Sanrizu’s gaze traveled around the circle to Anjita chuckling into her hand. “Prentice Mahil, you seem to wish to set these girls a better example. Who would you like to stand in the circle with you?”
Anjita turned to Munayair. “Well?” she said. “I’ve never seen you participate in Unendee before.”
“Oh, I ...” Munayair stammered.
“You can’t say no,” Anjita laughed, dragging Munayair behind her. “That’s the beauty of Unendee.”
The other prentices let out a cheer, shoving them into the circle. As Munayair passed over the glowing line of glyphs a subtle pressure surrounded her. It felt like sinking into cool water. Anjita knelt and Munayair sat cross-legged across from her.
Anjita’s dark eyes sparkled. “Test it. Say something untrue.”
Munayair opened her mouth to say, my name is Sayyida Al Hurra, the Pirate Queen. Instead, she said, “My name is Munayair Sarem-ori.”
“And I’m Palianjita Mahil.” Anjita grinned. “Something harder this time. How old are you?”
Seventeen, Munayair tried to say. “Twenty-three.”
“Eighteen. I was born in the Hills of Jhari, in Andustava. And you, prentice?”
“The Sarem-ori clan, in northern Sayakhun.” Words poured out of her mouth like water from a fountain. “Near the River Uttseema, a fortnight before the feast of Dhinse Zalgia. In my father’s tent, with my mother’s spinster sister ...” Munayair sputtered to a stop, cheeks warming. “I didn’t mean to say all that.” Even after so many years, she couldn’t stop herself from looking to see if Dame Savra had heard her say spinster. The old lady, her mother’s aunt, had raised her from a baby and had a heavy hand, especially where disrespect was concerned.
Anjita grinned. “We’ve got a talker here, girls!” she cried. The prentices cheered, gathering closer, avid eyes traveling from one face to the other. Anjita waved them to silence. “Very well, Prentice Sarem-ori, I have a grievance to air.”
Munayair raised an eyebrow, ignoring the heat in her face and neck. “Go on,” she said. “Astonish me.”
“Have I no right to complain? Little Miss Perfect, testing out of every subject early. And how does she use her free time? Exercise ponies? Take on extra students?”
A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd.
“I only have one extra—” Munayair began, but Anjita interrupted.
“Listen to her. Disgusting. Every teacher in this school has, at some point, said to me: ‘Why can’t you be more like your bunkmate? Why can’t you surpass everyone in an exceptional affinity?’” She paused for breath, reveling in the fervent response from the crowd.
“Jita, you’re being ridiculous.” Munayair fought back a smile. “I hardly excel at every subject.”
“Just most of them. You’ll have your chance to respond, Prentice Sarem-ori.” Anjita pointed a finger, and Munayair settled back with a sigh. “Well, I ask my gathered peers—is it fair? Is it right?” Anjita addressed the giddy prentices roaring with laughter, clutching one another to keep upright.
“You call that a grievance?” Munayair fired back, hot around the collar. “I am five years your senior, and still I must suffer through you being the most accomplished fighter in our color. And a talented healer. And one of the youngest prentices ever inducted into the keepers. As for a surpassing talent with chelka, I have no stomach for fighting, especially—”
She bit her tongue to hold the words crowding out of her mouth. … Especially with slaves.
“Isn’t that the truth!” Anjita called back, sending the entire crowd into gales of laughter. “Anyone who’s seen you hold a weapon can attest.”
Munayair straightened her spine and smirked. “At least I don’t hide under my covers, lest some skeleton with a sickle is hiding in moon shadows.”
The crowd ooohhed, gazing over to see Anjita’s reaction. Her smile was fixed, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“Oh, I see. This from the girl who screams and runs away from every snake curled in the sun.”
“At least snakes exist,” Munayair returned. “They bite horses’ legs.”
“What a saint, worrying about the horses.” Anjita clutched at her heart, sending her audience into stitches once more. “And debasing her affinity, even though it is one of the hardest and most sought-after. Unlike archery. I suppose you’d rather your affinity were soulwalking, or something equally impossible. Anything to elevate the oh-so-perfect Munayair Sarem-ori another step above the rest of us.”
Munayair stiffened. That last barb had hit its mark. The gentle voice in her head said, She’s baiting you. Measure your words.
Before she could speak, Anjita continued in a louder voice, rising to her feet. “Tell us, Naya. Instead of sitting on the right hand of kings and queens as a glyphmaster, what fate would you pick?”
Any but the one waiting for me.
Munayair opened her mouth—and remembered she could not lie. So she closed her mouth again. Her eyes flickered away from Anjita’s earnest gaze to her own hands. At the hard-earned spells etched over her skin, each a memory as much as the belongings inside her saddlebags. She flexed her hands, forming fists, watching as the skin tightened over her knuckles. Turning her arm away from Anjita’s gaze, she rubbed at the inside of her wrist. The mark burned over her pulse point.
The crowd fell silent, sensing the mood had shifted. Anjita sat waiting with folded arms.
“Come on, Naya! Answer!” a voice called from the periphery.
Taken from pp. 32-34 of the paperback edition of Ink Adept
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