The Sowing

I move in closer, just a foot away, my body tense and coiled, ready to spring…

“It appears the data has been corrupted. Completely unrecoverable.” He flashes the message my way so I can read it for myself. “Looks like someone’s watching out for you after all.”

He puts an arm around me, and I’m still in so much shock I don’t have the energy to pull away.

“I’m glad there’s no proof against you, Lucky. I’ve kept my suspicions under wraps. Believe it or not, I don’t want to see you go down the wrong path. Because of this, I’ve decided to keep you close. It will ensure that you don’t fall under the scrutiny of others, such as Prime Minister Talon, who won’t have your best interests at heart. So I’ve added you to my personal staff, as an Ensign.”

That breaks me out of my trance. I pull away. “What do you—”

“Tonight you’ll be assigned your new quarters at the Citadel. Get a good night’s rest, because tomorrow you return to active duty.” He claps me on the back. “After the Ascension Ceremony, you’ll be reporting directly to me, and I’ll be able to keep a close eye on your every move.”

SIX

“Spark! Hold up!” Arrah calls after me from the alcoved entrance of the Citadel.

But I’m too wired to stop. Ever since the conversation with Cassius last night, I’ve been desperate to get to the Priory. Cole’s running out of time, and the Ascension Ceremony is just a day away. Once I’m trapped under Cassius’s relentless scrutiny twenty-four/seven, I won’t have another window to make my move. He suspects too much.

Ignoring Arrah, I forge on like a freight train, huffing and puffing clouds of frosty breath instead of smoke. I pull my parka tighter around me, but it’s not enough to shield me from the wailing wind’s razor teeth that nibble on my exposed skin. I never thought I’d miss the desert as much as I do at this moment.

Arrah’s gloved fingers lock onto my arm and pull me to a stop. “Slow down. We’re on recon patrol not a relay race, remember?”

My eyes search the horizon. Ghostly outlines of buildings and towers fade in and out in time with the howling breeze. The sky’s coated with grayish sludge—smog from the mines and the sewage and electrical plants mixed with swirling snow.

“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I grunt. “If this weather keeps up, it might whiteout soon. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get caught outside if it does.”

“I agree. And it could be worse. Leander, Dahlia, and Rod-Man are training on Worm interrogation.” Arrah shakes her head. “This is probably some kind of endurance test. But it’s not like we have a choice. We have our orders. Valerian was really clear: conduct a sweep of the area, make sure no one’s violating curfew, and report back in. Then we can take the rest of the day off.” Her eyes flit from her chronometer to the streets, as if she’s looking for something, then back to me.

I shake my head, trying my best to appear casual. “If we freeze to death, we don’t pass and move on to the next tier.”

She smiles and her eyes dart back to her chronometer. “Gotcha.” She reaches up and swats frost off my brow. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. You’ve barely said a word since we’ve been placed back on active duty. What’s going on?”

If only I could tell her. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend. But there’s too much hanging in the balance. And there’s something about the way she’s been checking the time. What’s she waiting for? What’s her agenda? Trust is nothing more than a set-up that makes you weak. Sometimes it’s hard enough not betraying yourself.

I rub my gloved hands together like I’m trying to start a fire. “Can we talk about this later, over a hot meal in the commissary, before frostbite sets in?”

Arrah backs up and points a finger at me. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I nod and check my chron. “We’ll meet back here in… let’s say… two hours and file our reports.”

She gives me the thumbs-up. “You got it. First one back treats the other to a hot chocolate with whipped cream smuggled from the officer’s lounge.”

“Right.”

Then we move off in opposite directions.

No sooner is she gone from sight than I duck into the mouth of the nearest alleyway, turn onto Liberty Boulevard, and make my way through the mazes of streets and sewers that cut through row upon row of dilapidated tenements. It’s hard to believe I used to share one of these boxlike dwellings with my parents and Cole. That was someone else’s life. Someone who no longer exists—like my parents, like Digory. Melted away and evaporated like one of these snowflakes.

And finally I see it.

The Priory.

The stone relic presides at the top of a hill, looking like a charred skull against the stark white horizon. Windows of angled glass cut through the granite, burning with flickering light. The arched entrance oozes darkness down the sloping pathway to the base of the mound. Five spires claw at the sky. For a place that was built to repel sin, it seems like a natural magnet for it.