“This is a rehyde-pack,” the curer explains, holding up a chrome cylinder the size of his palm. It’s time-release.” He holds the cylinder against my skin. From the bottom of the tube, a small, needlelike tail elongates before it digs into my skin, finding my vein. “She should be fine as soon as this runs its course.”
“How long?” Kyon questions him.
He shrugs. “Less than a part.”
I struggle to bring their faces into focus. My cheek moves on the cushion, finding a cool spot. I try to see where we are. It takes me a second to recognize the saber-toothed open mouth of the saer-shaped carved columns above me that line the gallery. I’m in the rail station of the Premiere Palisade Building. My eyes search for the staircase that leads up to the gallery. When I locate the stairs, I realize where they go: to the skywalk over the reservoir—to Trey’s building—to his apartment.
I begin to feel more lucid as I process that the whole place is crawling with Alameeda soldiers. They’re using this area as a base of operations. Troops cluster around officers who are using the station’s holograms to study the aerial combat maneuvers taking place outside in the airspace above our position. My eyes move on to just beyond them, falling upon a pile of bloody bodies pushed into a heap in the corner—not one of which has blond hair. Panic hits me and with it comes the urge to vomit again.
My head rises from the cot; I turn away from the dead, finding Kyon’s blue eyes watching me. I let mine slip out of focus. Feigning the panic of delirium, I whimper, “Don’t lose the white rabbit! We have to follow him!” I allow my head to rest upon the cushion again.
“Eh?” the curer says beside me, his fascination with me piqued. “What’s a rabbit?” he asks Kyon, who glowers at him in response.
Coldness seeps beneath my skin. I begin to shiver uncontrollably, but I’m okay with it because it makes me sound more credibly incoherent. “You killed Kenny,” I groan with my lips chattering, “you bastard . . .”
Kyon scowls at the curer, who immediately says, “The shivering is normal. It’s standard with rehydration—it lowers her body temperature. Her delirium should end quickly.” The medic pats my arm. Kyon glares at his hand on me, and it is quickly removed. The medic uses his hand instead to wipe his sweaty brow, apparently taking Kyon’s earlier threat to heart.
Kyon strokes my arm, trying to get my attention. “Kricket?”
I groan again, “The eagle has landed . . .”
“Brother Kyon,” a clipped, military voice says from somewhere behind me. “We’ve located the Regent. We’re attempting to move him now. He’s in medical stasis, but there’s a problem with the regulator.”
“Have someone else see to it,” Kyon responds with a wave of his hand in a dismissive gesture, returning his concerned eyes to me. “I’m attending to my priestess.”
“Brother Excelsior wants to consult with you on this matter,” the soldier replies in an insistent tone.
The name makes a noticeable difference upon Kyon: he stiffens and exhales a frustrated breath. “Very well,” he acquiesces. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
The soldier’s retreating footsteps tap on the marble floor. Kyon glowers at the medic beside him. “You have to stay with her. Do not let her out of your sight. Am I clear?” he asks.
The good doctor swallows his anxiety and replies, “I understand.”
“Give her a sedative; I don’t want her to panic if she becomes lucid.”
The medic immediately reaches into his pocket and extracts a needlelike gun from it. He holds it up to the light and calibrates the needle with the dial-like gauge on its side. He draws the needle toward me when Kyon grabs his wrist. “That’s too much. You’ll render her completely unconscious. She’s small. She needs half of what you have there.”
The doctor dials back on the tranquilizer. He holds up the gauge on the readout for Kyon to approve. Kyon nods his head. “Good.”
Leaning forward, the curer holds the sharp instrument to my neck and pulls the trigger. A pain jolts me and I have to stifle the torrent of swear words I want to rain down upon his head. Instead, I murmur, “Did you try the znous? They taste lovely.”
Kyon reaches out and gently rubs my cheek with the back of his fingers. He has an unguarded look, one I’ve never seen from him before as he murmurs, “And you are very lovely in your madness.”
Unfocusing my eyes, I give him a lunatic grin as I mirror his action: rubbing the back of my fingers over his cheek. “You should start a blog.”