Things are a little awkward in the morning. Not with me—I knew exactly what I was doing, realized that I’d been wanting it for a while. But Gaxna wakes up next to me and kind of jumps out of bed, muttering about being hungry or starting coals or something. Before I know it all her clothes are on and she’s lighting a cloveleaf and climbing out the window.

  “Hey,” I say, when I’m dressed and get up to the rooftop. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Of course. Why?”

  I take her hand. “Gaxna, we—something happened, last night, and you can’t pretend it didn’t. I don’t want you to.” I kiss her again, in broad daylight, to make my point.

  She blushes but doesn’t pull away, and when I’m done her expression is softer. “I—floods. I don’t know what I’m doing, Theia. The last time I got involved with someone—” She looks away and pulls hard at the cloveleaf. “Well, you know.”

  I take her hand. “I’m not Estrija. I’m not going to force you to join some cult, and I’m not going to stand by while you get hurt.”

  She blows smoke, still gazing at the sea. “It’s just too similar, somehow. You teaching me the breathing, the temple after you like the witches were after me.” She sighs and turns back. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I can’t. I don’t think I could take it.”

  My heart lurches. I don’t want to lose her, lose this thing that we just now started that we should’ve done a long time ago. But more than that, I don’t want to hurt her, so I force myself to say it.

  “We don’t have to do this. If you can’t stay any more, or if this is too hard, or whatever. You can go. You should.”

  “No,” she growls, squeezing my hand. “I’m not leaving you. But this is what happened with Estrija. She wouldn’t leave the Guild, even after what happened. Just like you won’t leave the temple, even though they’re trying to kill you.”

  “Some of them are trying to kill me. The other ones have my back. They want justice just as much as I do.”

  “Justice,” Gaxna snorts, fragrant smoke puffing from her nose. “One woman’s justice is another’s villainy, that’s what the witches used to say. What if your dad was evil? Did you ever think of that? What if the traditionalists had good reasons for getting him off the Dais, however they did it?”

  “If he was, then I need to know it. Find out the truth. And then I will walk away. But not before.”

  She doesn’t say anything, pulling on the cloveleaf again. The sun is already high in the sky, cutting everything in sharp detail. I find myself wishing for the darkness again, for the simplicity of Gaxna’s touch.

  “It’s the letter,” she says at last. “You want to know what’s in the letter, don’t you?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Of course I do,” I say, taking the cloveleaf from her, pulling on it though it makes me cough. “I didn’t talk to my dad much, the last few years. Students aren’t supposed to talk to full seers, really, and even though he was the Chosen, he didn’t break the rules for me.” It still hurts when I say it, still makes me angry, but I realize with a start I don’t resent him for it the way I used to. Maybe he had his reasons. “So yes, I want to know what he wrote to me. Floods yes.”

  Gaxna takes the cloveleaf back. “If it’s real. Do you really buy the witches’ story?”

  “I want to. And if they lied about it”—my hands clench into fists—“then Uje help them.”

  Gaxna whistles. “Slops. I actually almost want to see that. But you know it’d be suicide.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “Well, I know it. Did you not hear my whole sob story last night?”

  “Yes,” I say, “but I also saw you start to break Estrija’s control on you with the little practice you’ve had, and I know that I’m one of the best waterblinds in the temple. You saw how afraid she got, when you started moving. What’s it going to do to them when they try it and I don’t even budge?”

  “That’s when they send the bloodborn after you.”

  “Which I easily outran weeks ago, before I even knew about the roofs.”

  She sighs and grinds the cloveleaf out. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then hear me out, at least. Your dad’s not going anywhere. Nerimes isn’t going anywhere. They’ll still be here in a year, but by that time the overseers will have forgotten about you, the witches will have moved on, and you can do what you need to without risking getting killed.”

  “A year? What would I do for a year?” I can’t think past today, and my meeting with Arayim.

  “What would we do,” she says, taking my hand again. “We’d travel. See the castles of Bamani. The gladiator pits in Daraa. Floods, climb the Seilam Deul mountains maybe, or go visit your home tribe on the northern coasts. See the world, Theia. Together.”

  It sounds wonderful. And impossible. “They’d still find me. They’d track you, and I still have violet eyes.”

  “Not anymore. Sell what we got last night, and we can do it. Get your eyes changed and you’re invisible. And the witches don’t care about me. I think they’ve finally used me up.” She rubs at her empty socket. “As soon as I’m out of the city, they’ll forget about me. And we’ll be free.”

  Uje, it’s tempting. I love the life we have together. I might even love Gaxna. The electricity of her touch is overwhelming, like what I feel from Dashan times a hundred. What did he ask me last night? What’s worth more than us being together?

  I bite my lip. “What did we steal, anyway?”

  She gets up. “You want to see?”

  It’s a tall collection of glass tubes, bound in brass, filled with colored liquids and smaller glass balloons. I squint at it. “What…is it?”

  Gaxna shrugs. “A barometer, they call it. Supposed to be able to predict the weather.”

  I turn my squint to her. “Predict the weather? Nobody can do that.”

  “The Seilam Deul can. That’s how they sail so far in those ships. Every one of them has one of these, apparently, but they haven’t been willing to sell it, and nobody can figure out how to build them just by looking. So someone’s going to pay a lot of money for this.”

  I look back at the thing. I wouldn’t pay ten coins for it. “And you know this someone?”

  “My patron does. And the sooner it’s out of our hands, the better.” She stands, then pauses. “You never really answered me, about leaving.”

  My guts heave. I hate both options, feel committed to both options. “I—need some time. To think about it. The witches said we have three days.”

  She works at her collar. “Two, now. Less if we want to escape without them noticing.”

  “Well, give me one, at least.”

  She draws a deep breath and nods. “One day.”

  One day to decide my life.