Page 8 of The Cerulean Sister
"The malfunctioning things, is that why you were called away?" I ask.
"No, there was a First Son attack on a factory this evening while we had the suspects under questioning.” He sighs, reluctant to continue. “And a woman was abducted."
"A woman? A priestess?"
"Not a priestess." He strokes a piece of my hair between his fingers as if the affection is more for his comfort than mine. "You are safe."
Glass crunches beneath my feet as I shift in place, the ground littered with debris and metal parts of the machines that so carefully cared for the plants here.
For some reason, it makes me sad to look at the damaged, broken pieces of the mechanical caretakers that made me so uneasy when I watched them work before.
"Why did this happen?"
"We should know soon." His tone has an ominous edge to it that makes the hair on my neck stand up.
There is no reason for perfectly maintained stabilizers to suddenly be malfunctioning, unless they have been tampered with.
"99, do you think this was on purpose?"
He doesn't answer me—he doesn't have to.
Chapter
Three
Ipeek my head out into the hall from my bed chambers. "Commander Wesley?" I whisper unnecessarily.
"Priestess Ferren." He stands straighter as if a superior has called him to attention.
"Has the courier come with the books I requested?"
"No sight of them." He looks to Commander Yeva posted on the other side of the doorframe. "We would be happy to escort you to the library if you like."
"No, no, I don't mind waiting. I am still not feeling well . . . and do not offer to call the physician again. I am fine," I say, shutting the door.
I'm sure they have noticed my frequent excuse to stay in my chambers since the incident in the greenhouse, only taking ill during the day when 99 is working on the other side of the capital building.
In our cozy room, I know I will not have to deal with the feeling of unease I have had since the horrible conjunction tremor. I'm worried if I leave for too long, it will be obvious just how much the thought of Cosima sending a ship has rattled me, and if I have some kind of panicked episode in here, I will be the only witness.
So, I have set up a small station on our tea table meant for lazy morning meals. It's just enough space to continue my research, and I utilize the data pad to access books in its system and send couriers for the physical copies in the library.
I know I am at risk of slipping back into the isolating habits of when we first arrived and I could not function without being haunted with worry. Logically, I know Cosima is not coming to take me back and punish me for what I have done. They cannot break the sanctuary law that allows me to stay here, and if they were to send a ship, they would have to forward a message through the beacon for permission to land. But my fears do not care much for logic.
In the early days of my arrival, it became a routine to have 99 read me the messages sent from Cosima, demanding that I return, and then there was a sort of addiction to the relief when he read their message accepting the sanctuary order.
He would sometimes read the order at night when my nightmares would keep me from sleeping. He read it so much that he could recite it without looking, sometimes saying it on a loop through our tether to remind me how safe I am, that my presence here is allowed, that I do not have to listen to their demands and go back.
As a curious distraction, I type in the name of the metal used by the Viathan factory into my data pad, craving information but not quite ready for the deep focus my notes and research require.
Viathan is the only place in the three worlds that has the metal needed to make weapons, a perfect target for First Son’s regime. 99 has mentioned that issues with the materials at the factory being stolen or sabotaged has always been a problem, but more so during a conjunction year.
My mood instantly lifts when my morning is happily cut short by 99 and his familiar mental caress before he steps into our chamber.
His posture is more relaxed than it has been in days, and he even takes a moment to remove his helmet, placing it onto the downy crimson blanket across our bed. He has been called to council meetings every day since the factory attack, giving me an abundance of time to work but also to fluctuate between worry and forced calm.
"You've caught me." I smile at him and close my notebook and wait for him to say something about my refusal to venture out to the library again today.
But instead, he pulls another chair next to my temporary desk in a loud dragging noise and then grasps my hand, intertwining with my fingers.
