Page 8 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)
I wake an unknown time later to a metal banging sound coming from the gathering room and the harsh, pelting rain on my roof.
I sit up too fast and my stomach lurches a little in anticipation of hearing August say he has made progress on the receiver box and we can send a message to the others.
But when I open my bedroom door, it does a flip for an entirely different reason.
August sits at the table, his hands still busy tinkering with the inside of the box, frustrated concentration written all over him.
“How are the repairs?” I approach.
“Not sure yet.” He glances up, noticing the fresh linen I have wrapped around my forearm. “Ruth brought more supplies. I told her you were resting.”
“Thanks for that.”
It explains the new tunic he wears, tan and boxy cut, so different from the harsh lines of his Viathan armor. Not as ruthless appearing as the commanders but enough to make the airy tunic he has on now seem odd. Still handsome as always but . . . odd.
“You look strange in Frithian clothing,” I tease and pull out a seat next to his.
“Well, you do not look strange in that pretty dress.” He smiles, not looking up from his work.
I go through the supplies Ruth has kindly brought for us: more food, clothes, and the salve I requested. I withdraw the small jar and pry open the lid, the aroma of herbs and spices wafting out.
“Smell,” I command August, holding it under his nose.
He makes a foul sound as if it was a trick, and then laughs.
“Oh, stop, it’s not that bad.”
“It is.” He sniffles. “Do you need help? I can hold my breath.”
“No. Just focus on your task. You worry too much about me.”
“Trust me, I am showing great restraint,” he mumbles.
“Even if I wanted help, your hands are filthy.”
A black substance coats his fingers, and even the tools and table have been painted with it.
“Char from the lightning.” He pulls at something inside and grimaces.
“Lightning?”
He hums in agreement. “Struck the tower and box. Everything is fried.”
I sit upright in my chair, our only hope of getting back to Cosima an ashy mess on the table.
I unwrap the linen just enough to place the salve underneath without taking it off and chancing flaring another wave of pain.
But it works almost instantly, cold and soothing.
It’s a temporary relief until it heals, but the wound is deep and will take weeks.
“If I get this working, we will be able to send a distress signal.” He pauses and watches me adjust my bandage.
“Wait, a signal? Not a message?”
“Repairing it enough to send a message is unlikely with what we have to work with. As soon as whatever horrors are done roaming around at night, we can go give it a try together.”
“If the rain has stopped.” I place the lid back on the salve. There is plenty left, enough to last me a while, thank First Mother.
He smiles at me, and I know it is genuine because it is August and he somehow always finds a way to be positive and figure things out .
. . but this time is different. I caused us to be stranded here because I ran from the fatal mistake I made.
It’s frustrating to settle into a natural rhythm, to tease each other like we do when our circumstances are not normal at all.
“August, can I ask you something? Why are you not . . . angry with me?” I ask before I realize I am voicing my frustration.
“What do you mean?” He looks more puzzled by my question than he does fixing the mess of wires in the receiver.
“For what happened in the temple.”
“I saw how hard you tried. I’m sorry it didn’t work, but no, I am not angry.” He still sounds confused by my growing irritation.
“I got someone . . . Thea was killed.”
His nod is sullen. He lifts his hand to touch mine but then remembers the soot that covers it and retreats. “Calliape, I have no knowledge of rituals or spells, but many missions fail. Some do not survive them.”
I force my mouth shut after gaping at his words. They would be cold coming from anyone else. “Why are you speaking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Numb. We are stuck here because of me. Thea didn’t survive my doing.”
He shakes his head as if that will prove my innocence. “What was asked of you was?—”
“No. It wasn’t too much.”
“Callia,” he says softer. “I am not angry with you for trying. I do not understand how or why it didn’t work, but I am not the only one who thought you could do it.”
His kindness is not helping. I don’t deserve ease from the ache that I felt since the moment I realized the spell had gone wrong.
I have to sit with the pain of knowing Ferren is mourning a friend that perished because I failed.
I let everyone down, and instead of staying and facing what I’ve done, helping them fight the enemy I could not keep away, I cowered back to Frith.
August is caught in the snare of it all and he doesn’t deserve any of it.
He is good and kind. I should never have asked him to take me with them.
I should have stayed up here on this mountain just like Selene and my mother intended.
I’ve done considerable damage and could cause more.
I want to help fight the war, but I am not fit to be around the ones I love, not when my attempts cost so much.
“I think . . .” I swallow hard, the words claw up my throat before they have been fully thought through. “When the rescue ship comes, I think perhaps you should return without me.”
He stares at me for a long time, with eyes so light green they look like gemstones. “No.”
His answer is so simple, but the situation is anything but that.
“I may not be welcomed back after what I did.”
“You didn’t kill anyone, Calliape. What happened to that priestess was an accident. I saw what climbed out the ground after the tremor split the temple in half. For all we know that . . . thing killed her.”
He doesn’t know.
August isn’t aware I am to blame because he has no idea I tried to wake First Mother.
That the old god didn’t crawl out of a tremor crack, I beckoned it forth.
Freed it from somewhere. Of course he thinks it was truly an unfortunate accident, because he knows little of First Mother, of gifts and old gods.
Yet if I confessed to him my true intentions, it would give him no doubt I am responsible.
Not that I attempted a spell and was unsuccessful.
I failed and in my panic and ego-filled desire for purpose, I believed I had found the reason for being called away to Cosima.
Why the voice had called out to me. To wake First Mother and save Cosima by any means.
Now, I am not sure there was any voice at all, other than the echo of my selfishness bouncing off the trees and twisting the feeling of not belonging here.
Another secret poisoning me.
And I can’t confess either to him.
He scratches at the grown-out stubble on his chin. “That’s why you don’t want to come back with me? You’re afraid?”
“Of course I am. Every time I try to help . . . I was stupid to think I could do something like that.”
“It was brave to attempt such a thing. And I’m not going back without you. They will have too many questions and we know I am not smart enough to answer them.” He bumps my shoulder.
“That part is true.” I mimic his playful contact and wipe the moisture that has made its way to my cheeks.
“You can’t stay behind. I need you—we need you,” he corrects. “Not because of your gifts or because you can help, but because . . . you’re you. I can list out all the things you have done right since I met you, but it will take some time,” he teases.
I shake my head at the silly offer. He’s trying to lift my spirits, but that is only because I’ve not revealed the truth.
I’m unsure if remaining on Frith would make the situation better or worse. If the tangle of wires August untwists is any sign of how extensive the repairs to the beacon will take, then I’ve some time to consider.
A long silence falls between us, one I would normally be fine with, but then I inhale sharply, needing to break it. “Thank you, August, for trying to make me feel better. You are a good friend, better than I am.”
A subtle look crosses his face that I can’t quite pinpoint, maybe he agrees or realizes something different entirely, but he covers it with the kind of smile I’ve seen him use when he is deflecting. “Don’t tell Ruth we are just friends. She’d be devastated.”