The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) by Saruuh Kelsey

back. It’s a while before
I remember the ship, letting go of the dream where I was home. I
peel an eye open. Horatia hovers over me, relief in her smile and a
wet cloth against my face.
    “I’m okay,” I assure
her. My eyes are dying to close again but I keep them open with
effort. “Come here.”
    Tia settles into my
open arms, her head resting on my shoulder like always. Her skin
against mine is a freezing shock. “You’re cold.”
    When I pull the cover
closer around her shoulders, she stops me with a little shake of
her head. It takes a second to work out what she means: Tia isn’t
cold, I’m just really warm. High fever—Strains symptom. My throat
gets tight when I remember the vaccine can kill me any minute. I
might have taken it to stop the spread of infection, to stop me
killing anyone in the Guardians’ base, and I might not regret it
one bit, but I can’t even comprehend being dead. Being gone
completely. No more Honour Frie.
    How
would Tia cope with losing me as well? She’d have Miya to support
her at least. They seem to be friends. And Dal and Hele. I think
she’d cope. She’s strong enough. But the thought of being wiped
out, cancelled like one of Dalmar’s computer commands … I come face
to face with the fact that I’m not just staying alive for my sister
like I thought. I don’t want to die. I really really do not want to
die.
    I want to stay alive
for me.
    I kick the covers to
the floor. “I think,” I say, “I’m sea sick.”
    I feel the shape of
Horatia’s smile against my shoulder but she doesn’t let loose a
word. I understand her silence a bit better now than I did right
after we left F.L. It’s Tia’s way of protecting herself, of dealing
with her loss. I think in time she’ll speak again, when her grief
at Marrin’s death is less painful.
    I recognise the spiral
of guilt and darkness before it can take hold, and stop myself from
thinking that painful thought. It makes no difference now. Even if
I’d thought of a way to get Marrin to come with us in the past, it
doesn’t change the present. He’s gone. I have to begin accepting
that. I might be to blame for his death but tormenting myself with
wishes and regrets won’t fix the gap he’s left behind. It won’t
help Tia.
    I need to get a grip.
I won’t let anything break me down, not until we’re out of
danger.
    I indulge myself in a
selfish hope—I hope we’re not staying on this Island. I hope the
Guardians’ big plan is to get us away from here because I don’t
feel safe anywhere in the United Kingdom. I’m not sure I’ll ever
feel safe again but I can try to, in a faraway town.
    People say Forgotten
Paris is nice. Maybe we could go there.
    Tia’s palm hits my forehead with a harmless pat. I smile
because for once I understand her unspoken words: stop thinking .
    I follow her command
because she’s my sister, and I fall into a fitful sleep.
     
    ***
     
    Branwell
     
    13:21. 13.10.2040. The
Free Lands, Eastlands coastline.
     
     
    “This is a mess,” I
say, surveying the room. Everything the Guardians salvaged from the
Forgotten London base has been dumped here. There are overflowing
cardboard boxes piled in precarious towers, random objects
scattered all over the floor, and no small number of spare Guardian
clothing. The result of this dumping ground is a dangerous obstacle
course to cross. I hop my way into the corner, losing my balance
twice, and settle there.
    Marie groans loudly,
kicking things out of the way to clear a space for her to sit. “Why
is it always us?”
    “I don’t know, M.”
Priya tucks her arms into her sides, squeezing through a narrow
cardboard aisle. “Maybe it’s because we’re the Guardians archivists
and this is our job.”
    “Maybe I quit,” Marie
mutters, gathering her ice-white hair and tying it at the back of
her neck. Her teal eyes take in the task before us with defeat.
    Priya pats her on the
head as she squeezes past. “Maybe you can’t.”
    I smile to