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“I came with the joint army from Azoth,” she says. “A warrior should fight with her troops—and I wanted to ensure your safety, of course.”
I glance back at the cortex, where the vines are inert but still glowing. A shiver goes through me at the tangled mess of wires around them, remembering how the fibers of the temple’s root system pierced my skin.
“It didn’t kill me,” I observe.
Frankie nudges my shoulder, irritating my scored flesh. “And I’m pissed that you did it anyway thinking itwouldkill you,” she says. “From now on, no making split decisions without us.”
“You say that as if you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing,” I mutter.
“And I think that’s our cue to get out of here,” Taraven replies. “Can you get up?”
I make to stand on my own, propping myself up on my hands to rise to my feet, but my legs are like jelly. I fall right back on my rear, Frankie catching me despite how weak she is herself.
“It appears I’m still in the process of regaining control of my body,” I say.
Frankie looks at Taraven. “This is temporary?”
“It would be in azephtan,” he says. “I’m honestly not sure if it will be in this case…but we’ll be able to better assess that on Jaya.”
A whirring noise sounds to our right, and we all turn to see a utility cart zooming down the corridor. A Lyran is driving—Ansif, the scholar from Azoth. She has the obnoxious human, Winter Reeves, in tow, along with a blonde human and a pale-green Lyran male. Ansif approaches quickly, leaving the others behind in her haste to reach us. I stand, braced between Frankie and Taraven as pins and needles erupt in my legs.
“It’s good to see you again,” Ansif says. “I heard you came out of the device unscathed.”
“Unscathed is…not entirely accurate,” I mutter. “I saw things in there, though—things a scholar might be able to make sense of.”
“Excellent,” she says. “In that case—let me drive you back to the docking bay. Besides, I have some questions I’d like to ask you while my colleagues here study the device.”
“It’s not a device,” Taraven says. “It’s a mind—which means you need to be cautious with it. The temple appears to be inert now, but…I don’t know what will happen next.”
“Noted,” Ansif says. “I hope you can continue to explain on the drive. Shall we?”
She gestures back at the cart, which has been vacated by the two humans and the Lyran male. Frankie gives her a grateful smile, heaving a deep sigh. “That would be great,” she says. “Let’s get going, boys.”
And with that, we leave the cortex behind.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
??
FRANKIE
I’m so fucking tired.
More tired than I’ve ever been in my life.
The planned interrogation doesn’t go quite as Ansif expected, as Malix and I pass out almost as soon as we get into the cart. Sitting down is enough to do a number on us, my head on his shoulder, his breath puffing into my hair. I’m still half-asleep when we board a shuttle that takes us through an underwater tunnel and out onto the sea, the whole sequence of events a little fuzzy. I start to wonder if Taraven has dosed me with some kind of sedative…because everything after that is a blur.
When I truly come to my senses—after I’ve had some rest and recuperation—I find myself in a strange med bay.
This isn’t Jaya, that’s for sure. There are instruments of every kind here: human, Lyran, and Skoropi. I blink and look around, warm and comfortable in a perfectly controlled climate, the sun streaming through a window behind me. It falls on two sleeping figures—Taraven and Malix, sitting side by side, Taraven’s tail curled around Malix’s waist.
I sit up, suddenly remembering the state I was in when we left the temple. At that point, I was running on adrenaline alone; my wound must have finally caught up to me in the aftermath. I gingerly reach up to touch my face, finding a bandage over my ruined left eye. I wince as my stomach turns, then trail my finger down the three long scars across my cheek and lips.
At least it doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m going to have a distinctly pirate-y look for the rest of my life.
I guess the Halloween costumes will be fun.
The guys snooze while I collect myself, running my hands over my arms, my chest, my hair—checking for any leftover blood and debris, or wounds I hadn’t noticed. Nothing stands out; in fact, I’m remarkably clean. Someone must have bathed me at some point in my sleep, and the bandage on my eye is fresh.
