The Sickness

Chapter 3.

   A heart wasn't supposed to beat this slow. Cy felt the beat of it, swearing that it kept time with her slow, even, breaths. Her and Lin entered The Lighthouse.

   Blinding white sunlight pierced Cy's eyes as she glanced up through the ruined roof. Spots clouded her vision, and she was suddenly aware of Lin's hands gripping her arm, as if she were one of the guards and not her best-friend. Cy glanced over at Lin's face and saw only a stony expression, refusing to make eye-contact with her, only acknowledging her through the surprisingly pincer-like grip Lin had on her. Did Lin expect her to run? She guided her toward a seat directly to the right of the raised pulpit.

   She felt each individual cell of blood moving through her circulatory system to the very edges of her toes and fingertips, felt the branching, twisting, tributaries of capillaries, and the gush inside, pulsing with each heartbeat. Despite this acute awareness of her blood, the fluid inside her was cold, and she swallowed. A hollow, dreadful feeling was pressing itself in on her, as if she were suffocating in the wide open air.

   There was the pit. It was scrubbed clean. All evidence of Grand Monarch Jip's death was gone, save the trial about to take place.

   It was torturous, being forced to wait in that seat, with Lin standing stiffly beside her. As she stood beside Cy, she was Lin no longer. Lin would always be Enjoiner first, and she stood as Cy's Enjoiner, unmoving, no longer willing to exchange the words that had come so easily when masked by the sounds of the bridge.

   Her throat was becoming dry, and her tongue tasted foul. Cy wanted to be erect and impassive like Lin, but the sun was beating down on her with determined strength. She was slipping from reality, her forehead dripping, her head swaying. When would they come?

   Her eyes fell on an opening in the wall far to her left, the only spot where the ruins of the ceiling extended to the floor. It was a small opening, large enough for Cy only if she turned to the side.

   A breeze blew through the opening, twirling Cy's hair playfully, and cooling her skin. She could jump, if she wished. She was certain Lin would not be able to catch her in time. Strangely this made her think of Isa. How would Isa feel, if Cy did such a thing? How would she feel if Cy gave up?

   No. Jumping simply wouldn't do, not when leaving was an option. It was a difficult option, sure, not nearly as easy as jumping off a building through an unguarded opening, but Cy felt the gentle stirrings of comfort growing and propagating in her cells, settling in the foundation of her bones. She planted her hand against the curve of her scar and chose to be brave. The breeze played with her hair and her skin, and from above the sun beat down, and Cy waited.

   They came so silently that their sound blended with the wind at first. Then, at last, there were enough of them that their whispers could no longer fall unheard in the threads of howling wind. Cy heard the sharp S's of whispers, coming from behind her. They were talking about her, no doubt. She was certain of it.

   The Neapolian court process was simple. Twenty upper-class Colonists were selected at random. Once the trial officially started, they would temporarily surrender their memories so they could serve as an unbiased jury, called The Wiped Ones. A Colonist could serve as jury for their own mother and judge them guilty. It was believed, even, that if the suspect had family, they were sure to be one of The Wiped Ones in the jury, to unsettle the suspect.

   The Viscount, a runty, watery-eyed man, would present the evidence against her, and call for witnesses against her. Afterwards, Cy was allowed to speak for herself, but not call witnesses. With the limited memory she'd been granted in the past week, it was obvious that the system was designed against her, as it had always been for everyone, Cy supposed, though she hadn't noticed until she was at the center of it.