Season of Glory Page 8

  “Wheat, mostly,” Barrett said with a half shrug.

  “Wheat,” Ronan repeated. His eyes danced. “Jorre will love hearing that.”

  Niero ignored him. “What about lands beyond this map?” he asked. “What do you know of the people from across the sea?”

  Barrett grew more serious. “Since the Great War? There is some trade between Pacifica and those across the Sea to the West. And southward, small outposts, as I understand it. But to the Far East?” He shook his head. “No one knows if anyone lives in that territory any longer. I myself traveled eastward for months after I left the last village and never saw another soul. The elders said no one remains on what was once the eastern coast of our continent. I came to believe them.”

  “But you never reached the coast yourself?” Kapriel asked.

  Barrett shook his head. “I had to turn back, come Hoarfrost. They may be there, but if they are, they are very far indeed.”

  Chaza’el said, “The elders in my village always said it was beyond that shore that the Great War began.”

  “As it was told in ours,” Barrett said stoically. “Radicals took over. Dark souls, the forefathers of the Sheolites here in our own land. They sought to conquer every important religious site and force others to bow down to them alone. They murdered and bombed and struck out until their victims turned and attacked them as well. And then other countries entered the fray, bombing, destroying, and poisoning city after city. The scope of the Great War grew from there until there wasn’t a continent untouched by bombs and poison that led to the Cancer. It was the Sheolites who slandered the faith, whispering and shouting it everywhere they went—they laid the mantle of blame for the Great War, the destruction of our world, at the Maker’s feet rather than where it belonged—with humanity’s own corruption.”

  “And through all that, any name for the Maker was banished,” Killian said. “His people were hunted to extinction, the Sacred Words destroyed.”

  “Or so they thought,” Niero said, raising his chin.

  The two shared a thin-lipped smile. But the story only made me feel sick to my stomach. How close we had come, as a people, years before. To annihilation. To death. To darkness. Were we really enough to push back the darkness? We here, in the Valley, even with the reinforcements that Barrett mentioned might come to our aid?

  “Do you know how many?” I asked, pausing to clear my throat when it came out warbled. “How many soldiers does Pacifica have?”

  Barrett turned to look at me. “Two thousand, perhaps,” he grunted. “Half again as many as we might raise. But they are unfamiliar with the terrain of your valley, which will give you an advantage. It is here, now,” he said, resting his index finger on our home, nestled between mountain ranges, “that we must stand. If they take us here, if they succeed in conquering us now, the fight will likely end with us.”

  “So you propose that you will press along our eastern border, summoning those who might come to our aid,” Kapriel said. “And we shall press west, as the Maker calls, seeking to establish increased defenses between us and Pacifica.”

  Barrett’s bushy brows knit together. He obviously thought Kapriel was joking. “You think the Maker is calling you west? You really think you can turn Zanzibar or Georgii Post into friends of the Maker? Why not continue to await people to come to you here? I can tell you that word already spreads, everywhere I go.” He paused to look over us. “You bring the people hope, just by living. Why not remain here, where you can be relatively safe?”

  Kapriel gave him a tiny smile. “Because our Maker hasn’t called us to live a safe life. He’s called us to live a life of trust. If he sends us, there is a reason.”

  “And it will have far more impact than if we remain sheltered here,” Niero said, eyeing Killian and Tressa.

  “Sometimes it makes no sense to us,” Vidar said, “but we understand in time.”

  Barrett’s eyes swept over the lot of us again. “You are young, barely of age. Are you certain that this is the right time to taunt Pacifica? Why not allow a few more seasons to pass? Allow the people to hear word of you and gather to our cause?” “Because it is now that he has called us,” Kapriel said.

  CHAPTER

  11

  ANDRIANA

  I reached for dreams but couldn’t grasp deep sleep. I tossed. I turned. And, finally, I rose.

  I blinked several times, trying to get my bearings. Ronan slept in the bed on the other side of the room, as peacefully as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  But I did.

  I did.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to wriggle out the troublesome thoughts in my brain, then eventually slid to the door—well aware of the Knight in my chambers and his otherworldly ability to sense subtle changes in me—and eased out to the hall. I counted it as a small miracle that I succeeded. Ronan’s breath still was slow and deep as I gently closed the door behind me.

  My heart stuttered for a second. Niero was at the end of the hall, his wings partially unfurled, a mighty, fearsome silhouette against a torch in the distance. With one glance over his shoulder at me, he turned and walked away. This was why I had awakened and couldn’t go back to sleep. He’d called to me.

  I followed after him, sure he’d slipped into the meeting hall, the beehive-like room where we first received word of the Call, where we received our armbands, where the Community always met. But it was empty. I had no idea where Raniero went, so I climbed the stairs to the top and sank onto the rock-hewn bench at the very back, marveling at the view from this steep angle and pondering why Niero might’ve called me out and then disappeared. But the space felt good to me. Like breathing space. Time to think and feel … and pray. I leaned against the cold wall behind me and turned my cheek to look down the line of it, to stare at the scoops in the stone and, for the first time, to contemplate what they represented. It occurred to me, for the very first time, that this hall had been carved, bit by bit, by my people. Over years. Over decades. Over … centuries? The Maker hadn’t created it. People had. How long had it taken? How many?

  And all for … us?

  For … now?

  I turned and looked down below to Niero, who now stood in the center of the dais, hands at his side, head bowed, as if preparing himself for what was to come. His wings had disappeared. He’d led me here then left me to contemplate, as if orchestrating my thoughts.

  “Were you here?” I asked, my voice echoing eerily down to him in the cavernous hall.

  “Here?”

  His voice sounded hollow, distant, echoey, from just fifty paces away. And yet close. Inside me. I hadn’t even seen his lips form the words. And yet I’d heard them.

  I thought of what I had seen when Ronan almost died.

  When Niero brought him back to life.

  How his wings stretched out …

  “Were you here,” I forced myself to repeat, feeling half fearful and half mesmerized, “when they hollowed out this room? Niero. Have you been alive … for a very long time? Awaiting our arrival?”

  His dark eyes met mine. “No. I was not here. It was many seasons before I came to the Valley.” He paused and then moved to the wall behind him, his brown, strong fingers brushing the unique, carved texture for a moment. “But the Citadel has been here for a long time, Andriana. It was always meant to be our fortress. Our shield.”

  I rubbed my hand across the opposite wall, thinking of all the men and women—the generations—this room had welcomed. The hundreds upon hundreds who had gathered sat on these benches, talking, praying, laughing, crying. They’d carved these halls from solid rock—not sandstone, but granite—preparing this place for us, a fortress for the faithful.

  “Were you brought here to lead us?” I asked, still staring at the wall, the scoops and divots that represented so many.

  “To guide and defend you,” he said, climbing the steps toward me now, as if he hovered over them. And perhaps he did.

  “But you did not defend us from everything,” I
said, meeting his gaze again. He was now just ten paces away. “From all of our enemies.” Again, I thought of him with Ronan. Of watching me disappear with Keallach. Of all I’d endured within Palace Pacifica. Of all my parents had endured.

  “I was sent to guide and defend,” he repeated. “I cannot keep you from your own choices.”

  “My own choices,” I choked out, rising. “My own choices.”

  I started to walk down the stairs toward him, pausing two steps away so his eyes were on my level. “You, Raniero, have the power of the heavens. And you allowed Keallach to take me? To Pacifica?”

  His dark eyes met mine, and in them, I saw the wisdom of the ages, startling yet reassuring all at once. How had I ever—ever—not known this man was anything but human?

  “It was your choice,” he said, an edge of pain in his eyes. “To run into the woods without your Knight. You wanted to save Killian. To do it yourself. You did not wait, did not wait to seek the wisdom the Maker might give you. You simply went.”

  I winced. I wanted to deny his words, to defend myself. But I could not. What he said was the truth. I looked down. There was nothing to parse. No shred for me to argue.

  Niero reached out and touched my chin, lifting it. “But it was for good in the end, yes? The Maker uses all for good, if we allow it.” His hand moved to my cheek, cradling it, forcing me to think it through and giving me the rare opportunity to freely sense his intense emotions.

  I searched his eyes, wondering what he wanted me to discover. But it was mainly encouragement I sensed from him. Hope. I considered why I was angry with him, why I blamed him.

  “He has made you strong, Andriana,” Niero said. “Soft and malleable in some ways, as an empath. But you are capable of utilizing wisdom and connection with him to make the most of that. He will mold you, if you allow it. He will use every experience in your life, good or bad, to mold you into a woman after his own heart. Which is what he wants most, Andriana,” he said, taking my hand, and I felt a jolt of holy connection run through me, warming me from my head to my toes. “Not to use you, or harm you. But to bring you closer to his own heart. The closer you get, the greater your empath skills will grow, and the wiser your decisions will be.”

  My mind went through all I’d endured, all I’d encountered, all I’d reached for. My failures. As a Remnant. Reaching for Keallach. Trying to bring him … home.

  And it was true. Somehow, someway, it’d all been for good. It was good that I’d tried. It was right that I had been there, trying to bridge the gap between Keallach and his brothers and sisters. It had been worth it.

  All of it. Every treacherous moment with Keallach and Sethos. Those long days locked in my room. Weeks away from the Remnants, all in an effort to reach my brother, my kin, the one I had loved like a—

  “Dri? Are you all right?”

  Ronan’s voice shocked me out of my reverie, and I glanced down the steep stairs to where he stood in the doorway. I saw at once how it might have looked, Niero holding my hand between his, me looking so intent … while I was now Ronan’s bound bride.

  Niero dropped my hand but refused to look at Ronan … refused to give in to guilt-by-assumption. But I wasn’t as strong. And the false guilt made me blush, which made me angrier, which in turn led to more furious blushing. I brushed past Niero and went down the stairs.

  “It’s fine, Ronan,” I muttered. “I simply couldn’t sleep, and Niero was helping me think through some things. We should go back now. I’m terribly tired.” I tried to edge past him, but Ronan caught my wrist and pulled me back toward him. “So you went to him, not me?”

  “He was up too. I didn’t purposefully seek him out.”

  “No,” Niero said, coming closer. “It was I who sought her.”

  “You … sought her. For what reason?” Ronan asked, letting me go to focus on Niero.

  “Because she is agitated. Restless. Ill at ease.”

  “Then it was I who should have attended her,” Ronan said, turning to fully face him in challenge.

  Niero did not flinch. “You do not wish to fight me, Knight. No matter how … agitated you might feel. There is no cause for jealousy here. No cause.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  ANDRIANA

  No?” Ronan asked, fists clenching and unclenching. “You’ve always been against us being together, opposed any romantic inklings. Are you sure it’s not because you entertained some of your own?”

  “Ronan,” I tried, growing thoroughly embarrassed. “You have it all wrong.” I moved between them, shoving one muscular, broad chest away from the other. “Now stop it.”

  “Think on it,” Niero said, focusing only on Ronan. “I opposed your union at first, but not since we returned here. I was only following what the elders had directed—that you were to hold off on such feelings because it might get in the way of our mission. Now the Maker has made a way for you and Andriana, as well as Killian and Tressa.”

  “And yet you did not take vows with Azarel, as the elders dictated,” Ronan said.

  “Azarel and I have our own reasons not to take the vows. You will simply have to trust me.”

  The sounds of approaching footsteps finally registered in my ears, and it was then that I noticed that Niero was already pulling away. It wasn’t just footsteps, I registered. Boots. Many pairs of boots approached.

  “What? At this hour?” Ronan grumbled, alarmed, and pulled me slightly behind him.

  They entered the hall. Two guards each holding two people in custody. I gaped at them in shock. Two Pacifican women, their gowns in tatters and shoulders bleeding, as well as two men.

  “We found these Pacifican spies in the Valley!” said one Aravander guard.

  “They’re lucky we didn’t kill them on sight,” said another.

  “We are not spies!” cried one of the men.

  Their hands were bound, and their eyes were covered with blindfolds. The Aravander guards shoved them to their knees, and the women cried out. I winced as I felt a wave of their fear and pain. “Stop!” I cried. “There is no reason for such rough treatment!” Again, my eyes went to their shoulders. There was blood there on each of them, but not a lot.

  Behind them came several of the elders, who gave us a surprised look before turning to the newcomers before them. Cornelius was among them, looking like he’d been awakened from a very deep sleep.

  “They were found hiding at the mouth of the Valley, Father,” said one of the guards to our elder. “Our scouts saw them and tracked them for a good distance before capturing them and bringing them to us.”

  Cornelius nodded. “Remove their blindfolds. And someone go and fetch Vidar and the other Remnants not already here.” He gave Ronan, Niero, and me a second, curious glance, obviously wondering what we were doing here, given the hour.

  “Please, we are seeking sanctuary,” said one of the young men, as soon as his blindfold was removed and he blinked a few times. “May we speak to Lord Cyrus?”

  “What makes you think Lord Cyrus is here?”

  The young man’s eyes moved from Cornelius to Ronan and me, then back again. “Because they are here—Andriana and Ronan of the Valley—and Lord Cyrus helped them escape.”

  To recognize us, know our names …

  “You came from the palace?” I spit out.

  But Cornelius held up a hand, shushing me, and I belatedly felt his agitation over my intrusion.

  “How do you know these two are who you think they are?” the elder asked them gravely.

  “Because every servant within Palace Pacifica knew them. Or at least Lady Andriana,” he said, his face turning toward me. “She was at the ball on the emperor’s arm. This one, here,” he said, gesturing to one of the women, “attended her. Saw to her hair.”

  Ronan tensed beside me, jealousy rising like steam from his head, but I ignored him and came around the elders to face the girl. I studied her brown hair, now in matted tangles, but I remembered the hazel-green eyes and curvaceous body tha
t had made Lord Maximillian stare after her in a proprietary way I hated. She wore a pretty pendant that hovered between her ample breasts. So did the other one. I’d never seen palace servants wear anything but the black leather braid across their heads. It was then that I realized Cornelius was waiting on me to confirm her story.

  “What they say is true,” I said. “She, at least, was assigned as my servant.”

  Cornelius considered this. “How did you reach the Valley from Pacifica?” he asked. But when the first man tried to speak, he shushed him, clearly waiting on the other girl to answer.

  She swallowed hard and then said, “We escaped from Castle Vega. The Council brings a good number of servants with them when they retire to the palace there. We were among them, and when we four were sent to the market, we simply kept walking.”

  “For what purpose?” Cornelius asked, leaning toward her.

  “To escape. To find freedom. To know more about the Way. That which had drawn Andriana to escape. I mean, we thought, um … we wondered … we hoped there was a reason. After all she had, all she was offered, for her to run away? We thought there had to be something mighty to pull her from the palace. That perhaps there was truth we needed to know for ourselves.”

  Cornelius straightened slowly, hands still behind his back. “How do we know that it’s not all a ruse? That you are not spies?”

  “We’re not!” cried the other woman. “For weeks now we’ve been secretly meeting with one well-versed in the Way. Do you know of him? Father Jarad?”

  We all shared a look, but clearly none of us had.

  “He taught us some of the Sacred Words!” she cried. “You must believe it. The more we learned, the more we wanted to know. Until finally,” she said, looking to the others, “we knew we had to come to you. To live in the Community in order to know more.”

  Bellona and Vidar arrived then, along with Chaza’el. Chaza’el wearily rubbed his eyes.

  Vidar spread out his hands, offering his services.

  Cornelius waved across the newcomers, silently asking for his spiritual appraisal.