Free The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin

children.”
    Ah.
    Nothing more to be said, then. Syen takes another sip, trying not to grimace at the chalky grit near the bottom of the cup. Safe is nutritious, but it’s not a drink anyone enjoys. It’s made from a plant milk that changes color in the presence ofany contaminant, even spit. It’s served to guests and at meetings because, well, it’s safe. A polite gesture that says: I’m not poisoning you. At least, not right now .
    After that Syen takes her leave of Feldspar, then heads out of Main, the administrative building. Main sits amid a cluster of smaller buildings at the edge of the sprawling, half-wild expanse that comprises the Ring Garden. The garden is acres wide, and runs in a broad strip around the Fulcrum for several miles. It’s just that huge, the Fulcrum, a city in itself nestled within the greater body of Yumenes like… well. Syenite would’ve continued the thought with like a child in a woman’s belly, but that comparison seems especially grotesque today.
    She nods to her fellow juniors in passing as she recognizes them. Some of them are just standing or sitting around in knots and talking, while others lounge on patches of grass or flowers and read, or flirt, or sleep. Life for the ringed is easy, except during missions beyond the Fulcrum’s walls, which are brief and infrequent. A handful of grits tromp through along the wending cobbled path, all in a neat line overseen by juniors who’ve volunteered as instructors, but grits aren’t permitted to enjoy the garden yet; that is a privilege reserved only for those who’ve passed their first-ring test and been approved for initiation by the Guardians.
    And as if the thought of Guardians summons them, Syen spies a few burgundy-uniformed figures standing in a knot near one of the Ring’s many ponds. There’s another Guardian on the other side of the pond, lounging in an alcove surrounded by rosebushes, appearing to listen politely while a young junior sings to a small seated audience nearby. Perhaps the Guardian is just listening politely; sometimes they do that. Sometimes they need to relax, too. Syen notes this Guardian’s gaze lingering on one of the audience members in particular, however: a thin, white youth who doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the singer. He’s looking at his hands, instead, which are folded in his lap. There’s a bandage around two of his fingers, holding them together and straight.
    Syen moves on.
    She stops first at Curving Shield, one of many clusters of buildings that house the hundreds of junior orogenes. Her roommates aren’t home to see her fetch a few necessary items from her chest, for which she is painfully grateful. They’ll hear about her assignment soon enough through the rumor mill. Then she heads out again, eventually reaching Shaped Prominence. The tower is one of the older buildings of the Fulcrum complex, built low and wide of heavy white marble blocks and stolid angles atypical of the wilder, fanciful architecture of Yumenes. The big double doors open into a wide, graceful foyer, its walls and floor embossed with scenes from Sanzed history. She keeps her pace unhurried, nodding to the seniors she sees whether she recognizes them or not—she does want Feldspar’s job, after all—and taking the wide stairways gradually, pausing now and again to appreciate the artfully arranged patterns of light and shadow cast by the narrow windows. She’s not sure what makes the patterns so special, actually, but everyone says they’re stunning works of art, so she needs to be seen appreciating.
    On the topmost floor, where the plush hall-length rug is overlaid by a herringbone pattern of sunlight, she stops to catch her breath and appreciate something genuinely: silence. Solitude.There’s no one moving in this corridor, not even low-level juniors on cleaning or errand duty. She’s heard the rumors and now she knows they’re true: The ten-ringer has the whole floor to himself.
    This, then, is