Page 23 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)

Chapter

Seventeen

I stand frozen, trying to silence the warning bells that have sounded ever since our meeting in the cargo hull. But something is quite . . . off. I observe him working, the shape of his shoulders, his posture. No, it’s not off. It’s familiar.

I might be paranoid, or it could be that I miss August and am imagining his presence where he’s absent.

“August?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but he does pause, enough for me to notice a mood shift.

“August!” I test again.

He straightens, turning to face me. I stand my ground, inspecting his movements, the way the armor fits his form, and gather more evidence in my mind to prove it is him.

He steps toward me, closer than I would let him if he were a Viathan commander. His helmet tilts down, matching the line of my scrutiny. If this is not August, then this is truly alarming.

“August,” I whisper, letting the possibility of being mistaken take root.

But then he stands taller and exhales deeply. “You didn’t really think I’d let you come here alone, did you?”

Bastard.

I step backward in disbelief. The cadence of his voice is familiar, but the tone is so muffled by his mask, he did not even need to disguise it as he did.

I shake my head, eyes so wide they dry in the recycled air of the cockpit.

He removes his helmet, pulling it high above his head and holding it at his hip, reluctant to make eye contact with me, scratching at the back of his neck as if waiting for me to say something.

“How? What have you done?” I stumble over my words with the sense of betrayal.

“Calliape.” He reaches for me.

“Don’t! Is this a joke to you? Walking around the ship pretending to be our pilot, laughing at me?”

“No! I wanted to tell you once we got to the next town,” he confesses.

“Once we had no choice but to let you stay.”

He clenches his jaw.

“This is important to me. You can’t just?—”

“I came to help, Callia,” he interrupts.

“I don’t want your help, August. That is why I left without telling you!”

His expression does not change, even though I’ve hurt him now and in leaving altogether.

Commander Wesley’s loud tread halts when he enters the cockpit, and from the way August rolls his eyes to the side, he is not looking forward to another scolding.

“Where is Commander Vermeil?” Wesley asks.

What a stupid question.

“This is Commander Vermeil. Don’t you recognize him?” I quip.

August gives me a flat expression as I take a seat, already too tired to help Commander Wesley understand what is happening when I have just gone through it.

Then they both become so irritatingly silent, it sends a crawling sensation under my skin that could only be relieved by peeling it off.

“August is our pilot!” I snap.

“I have to report this to the 99th Commander. He may instruct us to return.”

August glances at me before answering, “No need. I have already sent him a comm.”

“Where is Commander Vermeil? He was assigned to this ship.”

“He’s fine,” August says.

“What did you do?” I ask, rage fully in bloom.

August places his stolen helmet down on the command station. “We had a few drinks . . .”

It gets worse. He planned this; it wasn’t a desperate, split-second decision. No, he knew I was leaving and made sure he was coming with me.

“Commander Wesley, do you know how to fly this ship? Because I would like to leave our current pilot here.”

“I do not.”

“Perfect.” I cross in front of August, debating if wasting time going back to the Estate for another pilot is even feasible, but it would lead to more questions and chaos, and 99 only gave me so much time. We are stuck with the pilot we have and he knows it.

“Commander Wesley, please wake me when we are leaving. I will be in my quarters. Don’t follow me,” I say directly to August.

When I step through the threshold of my door, I realize how deeply upset I am with him. He had no right to show up like this. I left because it was for the best, because it was dangerous.

But his expression when I screamed I did not want him here crosses my mind and makes my stomach twist a little.

Guilt soaks into my bones the more I picture just how unfair this situation is for both of us.

I wasn’t looking for fair. I was looking to do this on my own.

I don’t want anyone else getting hurt, especially him.

I change out of the grimy clothes I wore out in the elements and have no problem shoving the last injection into my skin, hoping to sleep off my emotional turmoil.

There are so many more things I want to storm back into the cockpit and say to him, to scream at him for making me second-guess my impossible choice, for making ones for me, and then apologize for making ones for him.

I groan and flop back onto my stiff mattress.

As the medicine takes over, pulling me into sleep, I acknowledge how much he risks being here. But also the fact that when I was calling his name, unsure if he would answer, a piece of me hoped it was truly him.

I hope I sleep soundly enough to forget that part.

A pounding on my door jolts me from slumber so fast I take a moment to remember where I am, why I am in this strange room.

“Calliape.” August shouts as if nothing has transpired between us. “Hey, so I know you are still mad and that’s fine, but you would hate me if I didn’t wake you for this. Meet me in the cockpit.”

“What?” I call out, baffled, but he does not answer.

I rise and pull on another layer, a sudden chill overcoming me after being tucked into my warm blankets for the hours I slept while the medication took effect.

August is long gone when I open the door, but I follow the same trail up to the cockpit, driven only by the mystery he dangled in front of me.

When I enter, he stands at the front, glancing over his shoulder, anticipating something. “Glare at me all you want, but you have to see this.” He points out the windows.

The storm is lessening enough to see the horizon.

Though the hangar’s outline obscures some of the view, a beautiful green and purple light dances across the sky.

The morning sun rises and eclipses the planet in front of it like no other time I have seen on Cosima.

Here, the skyline is flat and goes on forever, a perfect display of the conjunction lining up in the final days.

“It’s Frith,” he says.

The planet, making the sky dance with vivid color, seems so close it will crash into us. We watch in silence for a long time, until the light evens out and the day is as bright of a hue as the eclipse will allow.

“Thank you,” I reply because even through my anger, I can admit that was mesmerizing.

He nods and plops down in the pilot’s seat. “The storm has been dying down.”

The grains of sand outside scatter across the windows, lingering in the frame instead of streaming across like they did for hours last night as the storm raged through.

“I’m still angry, but I don’t know what to say to you,” I admit, breaking the awkward silence.

“Say I should wear this armor all the time.” He still dons commander armor instead of his normal Viathan attire.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, and you were leaving.” His voice sounds so defeated.

“You didn’t have to do anything. There were things for you to do on the front lines. You could have let me do this alone.” I exhale and sit in the chair closest to him, playing with the edge of my bandage.

The way he looks at me is as if he thinks I’ve said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“I have never felt so panicked. I told you we stick together, and I meant it.” His voice gets a little lower when he is serious, like he doesn’t want anyone else to know he is sensitive, even when it’s just the two of us here.

“I did not intend for you to panic.” When I look up at him, his dimple is on full display as he grins on one side. “That was not an apology,” I clarify.

“It was, and I accept.”

I settle in to sit more comfortably, my shoulders less tense now as we see the remaining wind die to a calm breeze, the deafening sound the sandstorm made outside replaced by the familiar hum of the ship.

“Did I scare you away?” His voice has an edge of sadness to it that is hard to ignore. “That is why you wanted to come alone?

“No?”

He props a boot up on the console, but I can tell he is hurt. “Well, on Frith, after I told you how I felt, you practically folded back to Cosima without me, I assumed.”

“That’s not true. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that after all this time.”

He huffs and shakes his head in disbelief.

“I wasn’t!” I say more defensively than needed. “You are friendly with everyone, August. How was I supposed to know it was different?”

“Am I?”

“Yes!” I lean forward so he really hears me. “I considered that maybe you had feelings for me when we first met. Thought maybe I did too. But you flirt with everyone, Ferren, me, 99. Everyone.”

“I heard nothing after you admitted to thinking of me too.”

“Stop.”

“Have you considered it is not about who I am friendliest with?”

“No, and you left for so long after helping me move into the Viathan temple, I assumed I dreamed it all up anyway, so yes, I was not expecting it, but I didn’t fold away from you. It just happened . . . suddenly.”

His smile fades. “I’m sorry. I thought you needed space to acclimate on Viathan.”

“I did not want that.”

He leans in a little. “I am here now, not giving you space.”

My heart leaps so violently that my neck throbs as he watches me, studying my face.

I stand, breaking the spell of whatever is happening. “Things are different now.”

He leans back again, like it does not bother him. “Either way, I want to help.”

The response I have yet to think up is called off by Commander Wesley clearing his throat as he enters.

“Good morning, Calliape.” He places himself between August and me, blocking the space like he thinks I need interjection. “Is there anything I can get you? I can program the mess hall tea to brew from here if you like.”

August clears his throat dramatically as if holding something back or perhaps mocking Commander Wesley.

“I’m alright, thank you.”

Commander Wesley nods his helmet as the lights streaking across the windows catch his attention.

“Have you seen them before?” I ask to break the silence.

“I have not.” He looks down at me, less impressed than August and I with them. “We have clearance to depart. The place we are going to will be even less welcoming than this one. We will be in the heart of the birthlands. We need to be careful, and we need to be armed.”

I glance over at August, who starts his flight protocols, and I question if he was aware we had clearance before making sure I saw the lights.

I watch as Commander Wesley and August place weapons on their armor. August still wears Commander Vermeil’s, and I wonder if he brought any of his own clothes or if he thought that would give him away.

“I do not condone what you did, but we are less likely to run into trouble if we command more of a presence.” Commander Wesley hands him the helmet he has not worn since revealing himself. “We go as a united front.”

August seems offended Commander Wesley believes him more intimidating dressed in armor. But he puts on the helmet and moves toward me, his gait stiff, then comes to a standstill.

“Move aside, Frithian!” He points, feigning authority.

I regard him flatly and shake my head.

“Convincing or no?”

“No,” I say and place a blade in my boot.

He laughs, the cheerful sound muffled by the helmet. He places a small but powerful gun under the armor of his forearm and another in his waistband.

“This dock is quite empty. No officials took our information or replied to our outgoing comm that we were landing.” Commander Wesley steps into August’s space as he passes to retrieve more weaponry, making sure the task is taken seriously.

“What does that mean?”

“It means either no one works at the dock or we’re about to walk into something unsavory,” August mutters.

“Should I fold into town and take a look around?”

“No,” he says. “We do this together. But if we are ambushed, make sure you fold back to safety with the right commander.”

“I can tell you apart.”

“Can you?” I can hear the sly smile in his voice.

I groan at his attempt to lift my spirits, but I don’t plan on forgiving him anytime soon. He is here now and we need help, but I don’t have to approve.

Commander Wesley pushes the ramp button and the mechanics answer, working as the door opens, letting in the dry outside air of our next destination.

“How exactly did you know I was leaving, August?” I say right up into his visor.

The shock of my tone shift makes him take a step back.

“Come on, Calliape. Suddenly a trip to the birthlands appeared on the Viathan manifests, and I know you.”

I roughly brush past him and descend the ramp with Commander Wesley. I follow him out of the ship into an empty docking bay, tools and machinery left unattended as if abandoned.

The town square connects to a small village, lined with stone homes, vacant. Some show damage, with char marks and smoke trails from an extinguished fire. The atmosphere is ghostly, no sign of life, human or animal.

“Appears deserted.” August inspects our surroundings with caution. His armor keeps bumping into me, like he’s not used to the extra bulk but wants to stay close.

“The population is minuscule,” Commander Wesley reports.

“There.” August points to a building with a small candle in the window. The sign above is broken, the painted letters and alcohol barrels chipping and faded.

Commander Wesley takes the lead, guiding us toward the building, hand rested on the weapon on his hip. “Stay close.”

Inside, it is dimly lit. Tables and chairs furnish the space with a large counter in the middle, like some sort of dining hall. Askew paintings hang on the walls; I run my finger over the many holes dotting the surface, realizing they may be from weapons fired in this room.

“Hello?” Commander Wesley calls out.

It’s silent.

“Maybe we should knock on one of the homes. Something obviously happened here,” I say.

A sound from the back rooms has both Commander Wesley and August drawing their guns and focusing on it.

But floorboards behind me also creak, and when I turn to investigate, I am looking straight down the barrel of a weapon.