Page 20 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)

We stood just there, the three of us, the ground stable when I began.

I step to the edge, as close as I have been since folding Ferren and me away from it.

The echo of Thea’s yelp lingers in my ears while I gaze into the void.

The spell book is here. I sense it. Right before I launched myself into Ferren, I dropped it, and when I looked back, the floor had already opened up and consumed it.

I lean over the hole as far as I dare. Only the edges are lit up, showing thick stone cracked open like eggs.

I take one of the tall candlesticks from the stones’ altar and peer down the opening farther, rocks jutting into my knees painfully as I scoot around the lip of the chasm, hoping to glimpse the spell book.

There is another floor below, the hole running straight down the Estate and going deeper than I care to picture. I tighten the strap on my small bag I packed full of rolled up clothing and hang myself over the side, hoping for a better look at the ledge.

Below is a dark room, the next level down, likely as boarded up as this one to prevent any curious eyes.

I fold into it.

It’s cold and darker than the temple. The hole now in the ceiling above me is orange with the glow of the temple’s candles. I’m afraid to look around, but I peer over my shoulder at my surroundings then bend to my knees again, holding the candle into the void.

Small pieces of the sides fall, skittering down into the darkness and echoing into nothing. My candle catches a strange shape, and when I move closer, I notice the outline of a bare foot, the imprint newer than the surrounding dust.

I suddenly realize I had the same grey dust and rubble on my feet when I woke on Frith, thinking I had folded the distance. I place my foot next to the print. Even in my boot, I can tell it’s the same size. I wipe it away, the strange evidence of something I cannot explain.

I refocus myself and scoot along the other side of the gap, keeping my candle down to the even darker floor below, scanning along the stone until another texture catches my eyes.

The spell book is within reach, wedged between a crack in the stone floor opening of this layer and the next. I lie flat on my stomach, reaching for it with one hand and holding the candle out with the other.

But it’s too far.

I shimmy forward until my hip bones anchor me to the lip of the opening. Finally, my fingernails bite into the leather binding, turning the book enough to grasp, and I internally thank First Mother.

“Calliape,” a deep, ghostly voice calls from the darkness. I gasp, frozen when it whispers again, the same sensation washing over me as it did when I first heard it in the dark forest.

I drop the candle in favor of clutching the book with both hands, but as I bend upward, I can feel the floor shift.

And then the ones holding me up crumble. I fall with them, closing my eyes and tucking my body together to protect the book.

But I don’t fall far. I land on the sandy ground of the docking bay, willing myself to fold to the destination 99 instructed me to go before the black hole swallowed me whole.

I grunt loudly, my cheek hitting the grit, and even though my wound is healing nicely, landing on it reminds me it is still there and waiting for the last injection I have packed.

“Calliape.” This time, the voice that calls to me is concerned, familiar even. “Are you alright?”

Commander Wesley.

“Yes.”

He helps me to my feet, doing most of the work while I acclimate myself.

“The ship is being prepped now, shouldn’t be long,” he says.

“Thanks.” I shove the spell book into my bag and straighten my clothing. “You are accompanying me to the birthlands?”

Maybe 99 gave him this post to make me more comfortable traveling with two commanders. Having one I know and trust is a welcome gesture.

“I am. The pilot is checking the landing gear now.”

“I appreciate you helping me.”

He nods. I acknowledge he is only following orders, but it feels wrong not to mention my gratitude.

“This is the ship?” I ask, walking toward the open entrance. It’s double the size of August’s and has a menacing edge to it like the other fleet ships. Massive weapons line the underside, like dramatic versions of the guns the Viathans carry with them.

“Yes.” He waits for me to follow him up the ramp. “There are plenty of rooms. Do you need me to show you around?”

“No. I will find my way.” I glance around the room the ramp leads to. The walls are dark and flat, but where I thought the ramp led to a cargo hull is a storage area for weapons and smaller Viathan traveling machines.

“Ah, and here is our trusted pilot,” Commander Wesley announces as a tall commander enters. “Calliape, this is Commander Vermeil.”

I smile flatly.

“Hello.” He nods, his voice muffled strangely by his helmet, the cadence awkward.

Perhaps neither of them are happy with leaving so close to the conjunction. The commander doesn’t linger for long, turning his back to us and flipping switches inside the panel he opens.

They speak back and forth about the ship’s condition as some boxes are brought in by the workers on the dock.

“Grabbing the last of it,” Commander Wesley calls out as he passes me to meet the dock workers below, who tap aggressive fingers on their data pads.

I’m anxious to get into the air, afraid we will be stopped, but already the sadness of leaving August behind is hitting me.

I look in the direction of the safe house hangar where August’s ship rests.

He is a good man. I wish I could have known him under different circumstances.

Maybe then I would allow myself to feel something more toward him.

But he deserves better, someone he doesn’t have to be so understanding to.

It doesn’t matter how much my stomach flutters when I think of him confessing his desire to be more than friends. It is not in our stars to be together. I know he will be hurt, but I will not risk anyone to fix a mistake I awakened.

“Goodbye, August,” I whisper to myself and wipe away the tears I didn’t realize betrayed me. Luckily, Commander Wesley is too busy to notice, but as I turn, Commander Vermeil is facing me, his work abandoned like my sniffling has offended him.

It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

I walk the perimeter of the room, and his helmet follows as if he is watching my movements. When I first met 99, his armor and concealed face startled me, but Ferren always held his attention. Rarely did anyone else capture his focus, even when speaking directly.

Maybe he has never seen a Frithian before.

“Sorry,” I apologize for reasons I am unaware and point over my shoulder. “I’m just going to head toward the front.”

I’ve never been in a ship like this, but I can guess which way the cockpit is, and one this size, the crew straps in together, unlike the massive fleet ships August has described in too many details.

I pass through the first doorway, and when I glance back, I feel silly for expecting Commander Vermeil to still be watching.

He works on a data pad, checking inside the panel again, oblivious to my paranoia.

99 sent both of these commanders to help me.

He trusts them. I have no reason to question that.

And yet I can’t shake the idea that Commander Vermeil stopped working and took note of my tears as I said goodbye.