Bombs and riots didn’t excuse you from parapet duties, it only made you feel as though you hadn’t slept in a month. They sent a doctor to her but he proclaimed her bruised but well enough for duty. She put on her uniform, aching all over.
But the pain suddenly meant nothing when she saw the moon rising pink over the rooftops. She’d seen that pink moon too many times inside her own head: at the cella when she read for Killian, in the club.
And now, finally, when she was due to be on watch at the parapet.
She knew there was no doubt some scientific explanation for the colour, pollution or light particles. But to her Oracle trained sense, it was an omen hanging in the sky, the pink eye of an invisible creature watching her. She could taste the ritual anise seed tea on her tongue, even though she hadn’t had a cup since her dawn meditation.
The pink light touched everything: the parapet stones, the birch trees, the white cella marble dome.
And Cartimandua.
She wore her usual leather tunic, her short hair like sleek feathers. “Jane,” Cartimandua smiled.
Jane forced a smile she hoped didn’t make her look as nauseous as she suddenly felt. “Hello.”
Something about Cartimandua’s pale eyes made Jane think the woman could see right through her, could peel her open like a pomegranate and pluck her secrets like seeds the colour of blood. It was more than the fact that she had the entire Protectorate army at her beck and call, and the backing of the Directorate councils. She was their saviour, and she could do no wrong.
“How are the headaches?”
“Better, thank you.” Where was her usual trick of fading unnoticed into the background when she really needed it?
Cartimandua circled around her, touching callused fingertips to Jane’s eye tattoo. “A new mark, isn’t it?”
“I’ve had it for a year now,” Jane replied haltingly. The soldiers watched her curiously. She doubted people like her often held Cartimandua’s attention. She clenched her hands so they wouldn’t tremble.
“Hmm. You’ve tested very well with the viewers in the Core. I’m interested to see what you can do, Jane.”
If nothing else, Cartimandua was proving, under the pink moon, that Jane was right. Her fear of being alone outside the Enclave was rightly outweighed by her fear of being not alone inside the Program.
There was also an unexpected benefit; if Jane could stop her heart from pounding so hard she felt faint. Cartimandua was distracting the soldiers and the others working their shifts. They jostled to impress her. All eyes followed her, even Jane’s guard. An idea tickled at her. It was madness, suicide.
The pink moon urged her on.
She’d been trained to follow the omens. Why stop now, when she needed them most? She was wearing her parapet uniform which doubled as a survival suit, in case of attack. Cartimandua was pulling attention. All she had to do was find a way to get rid of her guard. Kiri’s hydrangea petals ought to do the trick. If she could just get the guard to drink it.
She ducked into the parapet kitchen when Cartimandua finally moved away. It was tiny and sparse, but it had drinking water and canisters. Jane filled one up, dropping bruise-blue petals into it. She added anise seeds to cover the taste.
“I’m going to go for a run before my shift starts,” Jane told her guard, who was craning her neck, trying to catch another glimpse of the Legata. “Just to loosen up.”
Jane ran hard, looping twice around the hilly blocks, until her Protectorate guard was wheezing and grateful for a long drink from Jane’s canister
She didn’t have to wait long for it to take effect. Just long enough for sense to start returning. Who did she think she was? She couldn’t survive out there on her own. They’d charge her with desertion, treason.
Run, the pink moon urged. Run now.
“Are you all right?” Jane asked her guard, making sure to sound concerned. In truth, she was a little worried she’d used too many petals. She wasn’t a Seedsinger after all.
The guard groaned something unintelligible.
“I’m taking my watch now,” Jane added. “At my usual station, so take your time.”
Instead, she followed the track for foot patrols around the perimeter. She was usually stationed up top, better with a crossbow than actual combat, but no one noticed. Her guard was still retching in the bushes. Hopefully it would be awhile before anyone realized she was gone. Jane walked with away with calm, purposeful steps, as she’d seen countless others do on patrol. If sweat soaked her spine under her uniform, no one had to know.
The suburbs outside the Enclave were vast and dark and dangerous. She broke into a run, twitching at every sound, avoiding the bones piled on the road. Part of her, too much of her actually, wanted to turn right around and go back to where it was safe. She couldn’t even stand up to Asher’s bullying with any degree of success. She was going to get eaten by wild dogs before she even made it down the street. Was the Garden so bad? She’d be taken care of, fed, protected. Trapped.
The pink moon was still watching her, urging her on.