Season of Glory Page 25

  “If you agree to not pursue Andriana as anything but a friend, this won’t be an issue again.”

  “Agreed,” he said, and I took his arm.

  “Good. Thank you.” He glanced at us both. “So we’re good? Nothing else to resolve?”

  “For now,” Niero said, dark eyes sliding over him.

  “All right. Good night.” He turned and left us.

  “Good night,” Niero said. I remained silent. A farewell felt … too kind.

  I walked to the wall and leaned heavily against it, looking out. Niero remained, waiting me out. “It is one thing,” he said, setting one foot to swinging casually, “to allow Keallach into the Ailith fold.” He looked to me. “It is another to allow a brother to enter one’s heart.”

  I sighed and turned to lean my back against an archway, folding my arms again. “Is it the guardian in me that keeps me from doing so? I confess that I seem to be struggling with letting past sins stay in the past, when the others seem to have accepted him wholeheartedly. Even Kapriel. And I know that is the Maker’s way.”

  “It is,” he said gently, then peered upward. “But the Maker still intends for us to be wise. And the Remnant with the gift of wisdom never made it to our fold.”

  I considered his words. “What would you advise, then?”

  “Take Keallach at face value now. He was made new the day he turned from Sethos, took his vows, and accepted the cuff. We must treat him as such. But …” His words faded as he frowned.

  “But?”

  “But just as Dri’s window to the soul was once open to the dark, so was Keallach’s, for a far greater length of time. We shall watch him, together, with eyes and hearts that refuse ignorance.”

  I nodded. “Agreed. Though I don’t anticipate it being easy.”

  “Nothing worthwhile ever is, Knight,” he said. He hopped off of the wall and paused beside me to put a hand on my shoulder. “Rest easy about Dri, though. She is yours, through and through. She loves you. She always has. Don’t let jealousy cloud that.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  ANDRIANA

  So, we head to Georgii Post,” Tressa said the next morning, looking around at the rest of us. We had all been fairly quiet around the table, even as the rest of the dining hall remained boisterous and loud with laughter and bickering and cheers and jeers alike. Dimly, I realized I’d become accustomed to the din. It comforted me, especially when facing such dark ideas as wading into an unfriendly city again.

  “We were sent to Zanzibar,” Killian said, taking a swig from his ceramic cup. “It couldn’t be any worse than that.”

  We all nodded, knowing he spoke the truth. If the Maker sent us, we would go. And he’d planted this new goal in each of our minds at the same time, even if I’d been the one to voice it. But we’d lost Chaza’el since we went to Zanzibar, and nearly lost Vidar too. We knew we were divinely appointed, but not immortal. And the last time we’d been at Georgii Post, there had been Sheolites and Pacifican guards in every direction. It didn’t exactly bring up fond memories.

  “The Maker gives you not a spirit of fear,” Ivar said from his seat across the table from me. “Only hope. Only confidence.”

  Again, we all nodded.

  There was a commotion at the dining hall doorway as some newcomers arrived. Sesille, the once-blind Drifter chief, was at the front of them. They approached us, he and four others, with excitement on each of their faces.

  “Sesille, my friend,” Kapriel said, turning to take his arm in greeting. “What word do you bring us?”

  “We’ve been to Castle Vega and back, my prince,” said the barrel-chested man. “And the gates to the city were closed. Word about the castle is that there is chaos within because of what is happening in Pacifica herself.”

  “And that is …” Keallach led, stepping beside his brother.

  “There is infighting as bad as in any Drifter tribe,” he said, with some satisfaction. “Noble against noble. Citizen against citizen. Some have called for Keallach to be reinstated, and they were immediately killed. Those who try and leave Pacifica, to come to the Trading Union, cannot go without special papers now. The Pacificans are fully occupied with maintaining peace at home.”

  “Which is why they haven’t returned to come after us,” Keallach said, chin in hand.

  “They are crumbling from within,” Azarel said, eyes round with amazement.

  “Indeed,” Keallach said, taking a couple of steps and then turning, excitement practically sparking from him. “So we know we are to begin in Georgii Post, but why stop there when the enemy is weak? Why not go from there to Castle Vega?”

  We all turned to look at him.

  “If we are successful at Georgii Post, we could build on our momentum,” he said. “People would follow us, help us.”

  Vidar was the first to speak. “If Pacifican soldiers were measured in grains of sand, the number in Georgii Post would represent enough to chafe in the shoe, but Castle Vega would represent an entire dune. It’s practically Pacifica itself.”

  “Which would be a good place to declare ourselves,” Kapriel said quietly, rising. “Pacifica, and yet not.” His eyes sparkled. He’d gained some weight and more color in his cheeks over these last weeks, looking more and more like his twin.

  “Or the worst place possible,” Niero said. “Do not go unless the Maker calls you to it, because as much as it would be a symbolic triumph for people of the Way, it could become a death trap for you. Only the Maker can lead you to such a decision.”

  “But if he did,” Keallach said, eyes glinting, “then it would be an excellent stepping stone into Pacifica. What Sesille describes is civil unrest. The people are afraid, confused. What I want to spark is spiritual unrest.”

  Niero frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Unrest for all the right reasons,” Keallach said, lifting his hands. “I know people in Castle Vega. Many people. If we were able to persuade some in the castle to abandon the trappings of their lives and join us, if they never returned, more behind the Wall in Pacifica would hear of it and begin to wonder what we offer that Sethos cannot. Don’t you see? They would contemplate their own lives, their present, their future, possibly for the very first time, allowing the Maker to begin to work.”

  Kapriel nodded, moving toward his chair, his excitement palpable. “They are a people, long asleep. It’s our chance to shake them awake.”

  “If the Maker calls us to it,” Ronan reminded them, his brow furrowed.

  “Of course,” Keallach said, nodding reassuringly. “If he calls.”

  “But it would make sense,” Kapriel pressed. “Would it not?”

  “Possibly,” Niero said. “But wait on him. Do not press your own way in this, understood? We are on his path, working in his timing. If we make this more about us than him, then we leave the path. For now, you’ve mutually agreed upon his call to Georgii Post. Right?”

  “Right,” we all murmured, trepidation swirling about us, even as a steady assurance filled each of our minds and hearts.

  There was surely more than one battle ahead.

  Soon, there would be outright war.

  CHAPTER

  33

  ANDRIANA

  We approached Georgii Post with hundreds of armed people alongside us. But when we reached the first part of the curving canyon that descended downward between soaring red cliffs, our four scouts rode back to us, eyes wide.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” said Barrett.

  “They seem to be welcoming us!” finished his younger, Aravander companion.

  Keallach and Kapriel shared a long look. “How so?” Kapriel asked.

  “A Georgii guard met us, waving a white flag,” said Barrett, giving the second a warning look about interrupting him again. “The Pacificans heard we approached, and since they felt their support within the city had slowly been eroding, they elected to vacate the city rather than oppose us. They didn’t want another Zanzibar experience. They dec
ided to cut their losses and retreat to Castle Vega.”

  “To Castle Vega!” repeated the second gleefully, unabashed by his superior’s sour look.

  “Do you think it might be a trap?” Ronan asked, lifting a hand. We’d assembled as a circle, we Remnants and Knights, as well as other key leaders, Cyrus and Sesille among them.

  Barrett studied Ronan for a moment, and his lips twitched. “Could be. Hard for me to believe the Pacificans would simply abandon such a fruitful city within the Union. But the people assemble, clearly ready to welcome the crown princes.” His dark eyes moved to Kapriel and Keallach.

  “Which means it could be an even more elaborate trap,” Kapriel said, looking to his brother. Keallach, arms crossed, nodded once.

  “What do you sense? See?” Niero asked Vidar.

  “You mean, besides a warm bed beneath a roof tonight, I assume,” Vidar said, moving past him to look down the serpentine canyon, as if he could see the city gates themselves.

  “Besides that,” Niero returned. We’d all inwardly groaned when the cold, pelting rain of Hoarfrost greeted us the moment we’d left the Valley mouth. Some had outright wondered if it was a sign we should return home.

  Vidar wiped his wet face and took a few more steps to the edge of the cliff, where we had been awaiting our scouts before descending deeper into the canyon, in order to avoid an increased chance of attack from above. After several long moments, he turned and shook his head, looking perplexed. “I think it’s only the lingering stench of our enemies. It feels safe to me.” He nodded upward, to the canyon rim. “And we are not alone.”

  I shivered, recognizing at once the truth of his words. Our unseen guardians had not left us since the attack on the Citadel. Every day, they went before us, beside us, behind us, and there were days I didn’t remember to reach out, to see if I could sense them. And then I was surprised when someone—usually Vidar—reminded me. Silently, I apologized to the Maker. How much he did for me—for us—day in and day out. How much he watched over us, led us, and protected us! And yet how much I forgot.

  Make me a daughter of memory, Maker. Don’t let me forget to honor you. Help me to make you first and foremost through every hour.

  The young husband and wife we’d rescued from Georgii Post approached Ronan and me as we resumed our progress down the canyon on mudhorses. “Everything all right?” the man asked, casting a suspicious glance down the road before us. We’d left their child in my parents’ care, aware that their experience and knowledge of the city would be valuable to us all. Bravely, they’d agreed. They’d been as clearly called to join us on this mission as they had been called to come to us in the Citadel, a week past. Azarel and Asher were with us too, given their experience and connections in Georgii Post, but also because they seemed to be an integral part of our team now, just as Cyrus was. And due to Azarel’s gifts with the bow and Asher’s ability to connect with others, they were becoming invaluable to us. Especially without Chaza’el …

  A pang of sorrow went through me at the memory of him, dead in the Citadel. He had been as serene in death as he had been in life, almost as if he’d been asleep, rather than having moved on to the afterlife. Perhaps it had been a part of his gifting—flowing with life rather than butting heads with it over and over again allowed him to “see” forward, on occasion. I glanced at Ronan and reached over to take his hand in mine. He cast me a curious look, but I said nothing, just squeezed his fingers and looked forward. Whatever was ahead of us, I would do my best to take in stride. There’d been so much battle in our lives. Perhaps here, now, the Maker meant us to simply be with him. Perhaps he had already won any victory necessary.

  Niero was the first to hear the singing as we edged ever closer to the city entrance. He pulled up short and lifted a fist, signaling that we were all to stop. And that’s when we heard it too. Thousands of voices, some deep and resonant, others high and melodious, all singing the same song I’d heard as a child but forgotten.

  Ronan’s face broke out in a smile, eyes wide in recognition, and he began to mouth the words with them. Asher wasn’t mouthing the words, he was belting them out, one hand thumping his chest, the other lifting up to the sky, tears streaming down his cheeks. Azarel looked similarly stricken, her face uncustomarily soft and reverent, like I hadn’t seen it since that day in the Hoodite cave. And then I thought of it. Was this a song they had taught their precious orphans? In their school before the children had been taken? Some to be adopted, and others to work the cursed mines?

  Was it possible? I felt like we were dreaming as we moved again as one, now singing what we could remember of a song that our ancestors once knew well. We rounded the corner, and the song became loud enough to cover the noise of our horses and clanking swords and the rough purr of engines. I wanted to stop, just then and there, to absorb it. The hundreds, if not thousands, of people. The waving of their arms, the undeniable swell of joy within them all.

  Before us, the crowd parted, and we passed through, many reaching out to touch us, faces wet, others kneeling in reverence of the Maker’s Way, so visible in our arrival. We had expected battle. Bloodshed. But all we received here, now, was love. Adulation. Praise. Welcome.

  It was little wonder the Maker had called us here. He wanted to remind us that we were his people and we were not alone on this journey. We’d suffered. Taken terrible losses. But here there were more to stand against the tide.

  We all recognized this truth. Not one of our faces was dry, even Killian’s, I noted with a giggle. His usual stern expression was broken by utter surprise and joy as the crowd moved into another song, one I knew him to hum on occasion, but for which I had never known the words.

  We finally came to a stop at the chief magistrate’s sprawling home, where apparently the city’s people expected us to stay. There was no gray uniform in sight, no Pacifican perusing the Georgiians as if they were Pacifican subjects rather than citizens of an independent town of the Trading Union. Servants bowed and welcomed us, offering to show us to our rooms after we ate. But first, there was a banquet table that they wanted us to see.

  We were led into room after room of tables, laden with food like I hadn’t seen since I’d fled Palace Pacifica. Fruit—dried and fresh—along with cured meats and fresh bread and jugs of wine and five different kinds of cheese. Most sat down at the first empty spots they reached, but we Ailith carried on until we entered a larger room, with a huge, circular table.

  “This is where you belong,” said the head servant, a tall, thin, angular man with a pinched look to his face but eyes and heart full of nothing but relief. “This is where you have always belonged, I wager,” he added with a solemn nod.

  We spread out along the edge, and I took a seat between Keallach and Ronan, not willing to find another simply to spare Ronan’s feelings. Not in this moment. It was all so right, and there was such an intense feeling of homecoming that I didn’t want to obey any spirit of hesitation, nor entertain any thought that might mar it. This was what my mom meant about home being anyplace in which one met like hearts. It didn’t matter that we weren’t in the Valley. Or in the Citadel. It only mattered that we were with fellow people of the Way.

  Almost every seat in the huge circle was filled. Vidar poured a goblet of wine and lifted it up. We followed his gesture and did the same, waiting on him. “To a battle won, that we didn’t have to fight,” he said.

  “Hear hear,” we all said, drinking to his toast.

  “I submit,” said our servant-host, who had introduced himself as Clancy, “that you have been battling for some time, in ways that we haven’t seen ourselves, but that have borne beautiful results. To the unseen battle and the spoils of war,” he said, lifting his goblet.

  “Hear, hear to spoils,” Vidar said, and we repeated his reply with smiles and soft laughter. Niero was right. Our responsibility was to go where the Maker led us, to do what he asked, and trust him with what we could not control. Was this not evidence of that fact?

  Ron
an cut a slab of oddly pale meat and put it on my plate, eyes twinkling at the bounty. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  Keallach turned partially toward me, as if he’d heard. There was half a loaf of bread in his hand, and he bit a chunk off, chewing the crusty delicacy with emphasis as he watched me cut a bite of meat and place it in my mouth. I closed my eyes, wondering over the taste of lemon and rosemary on a delicate, white meat.

  “Chicken,” he informed me conspiratorially. “And very well prepared.”

  Chicken, I repeated silently in my head, eagerly taking another bite and another, until my whole portion was gone. I eyed the table platter, wondering if I could be so bold as to take another piece before even my fruit and vegetables and bread was gone. Ronan was distracted, talking and laughing with Vidar on his other side.

  “Go on,” Keallach chided. “This is the first of many feasts, and you’ve gone without long enough.”

  It was true. How much had I missed over the years? Sacrificed? Wasn’t I worthy of abundance, for once? Even when I’d been in the palace before, I’d felt half sick. I’d not been in any position to truly enjoy the bounty. Here, now, for the first time in my entire life …

  The thought brought me up short. For the first time in my entire life. While others were outside, still never having had the chance. I stuffed a bite of bread in my mouth, chewing on both it and the thoughts roiling about in my head. What were we doing in here with such bounty? Who were we to separate ourselves?

  I was rising before I fully recognized what I was doing.

  “Andriana,” Keallach said in a hush, “what is it?”

  “Dri?” Ronan asked, finally turning my way again as I shoved my chair back and waited for others to see me. Gradually, the room grew quiet.

  “Are not all invited to the Maker’s feast?” I asked carefully. “And yet here we sit, as if we were conquerors. As if we deserve more than our brothers and sisters, some of them new to the faith today. Let us take our fill, but not beyond, and then take the rest to the others.”