Remnants: Season of Fire

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “I don’t think that’s quite what the Maker had in mind.”

  His eyes grew cold even as his face held a light smile. I didn’t know if I’d ever seen anything so frightening. His grip on my hand and waist tightened. “Do not try us, Andriana. You are here now. There is no way out.”

  “Keallach doesn’t want me as his prisoner. At some point, there will be a way out for me.”

  Maximillian turned me in a tight circle, so quickly that I almost lost my footing. He leaned his head back and laughed, as if we were enjoying a private joke, then pulled me close as we came to a stop, so he could whisper in my ear. “The only way you leave Pacifica is dead. The battle is over, Andriana. Accept your new fate.”

  I shoved him away and several women gasped. I ignored them. “I am not blown to and fro by the fates,” I hissed. “I am —”

  “Firmly in my arms,” he said, sliding back into position and turning me again. I had no choice but to grab hold or I’d fall over. “Come now, Andriana,” he said, his tone grim even as he smiled at me. “Is this not far better than being my maidservant at Castle Vega?”

  A man stepped in behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, and then I was dancing with another of the Six, Lord Kendric. This one seemed nothing but utterly charmed by me. I remembered he had laughed hardest when I flipped the wiry Lord Fenris on his back. Lord Fenris, I thought with a sigh. I’d undoubtedly have to dance even with him this night too.

  I couldn’t spar with each of them; I needed to save my energy to engage Keallach later. I woodenly accepted each dance and made it through a round of steps until most — ​Broderick, Daivat, and even the stiff-backed, simmering Fenris — ​had had their required dance. I refused to speak to any of the others, but didn’t miss the opportunity to search each one. I wanted to know what Keallach faced, every day, in his Council. In several there was not more than ambition, derision, and lust. In Fenris, predictably, there was hatred. But in Lord Cyrus, I found a measure of closeted hope, the tiniest slice of protection. I looked up into his dark brown eyes, and noticed for the first time that he hadn’t tried to cajole or provoke me as the others had. He moved through the dance as I did, like it was something we both had to do. But since he had cut in on Fenris at a blessedly early juncture, we had the length of the song together.

  “Is it true?” he said quietly, as the dance went on.

  “Is what true?” I asked softly.

  “That you, Keallach, and Kapriel,” the last was so quietly uttered that I wondered if I’d heard it correctly, “and the others with the crescent moon mark … are all the prophesied Remnants?”

  “It is,” I said. We separated for a round of the dance, weaving through three other couples, and then came together again.

  “You must know that every other Remnant that has been captured has died,” he said, his lips barely moving. I edged closer so that I could hear him better.

  Other Remnants? Were these the ones that Sethos had mentioned? Those he held prisoner?

  “What happened to them?” I asked urgently.

  “They were tortured and killed.”

  “Killed. Did Keallach know of it?”

  “Some. The Six — ​we — ​protect him from such matters.”

  “Such matters,” I sputtered. “It is the central Call upon his life, whether he responds to it or not!”

  I tripped over Cyrus’s foot, but he held me aloft, face grim. I had to gather myself, if I wanted this conversation to go on. And I needed it to go on. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “So that you might fully understand the peril you’re in,” he said.

  I debated pushing him, but we hadn’t time. The dance would soon end. “Who were they? These other Remnants?” I asked, leaning in still further as we turned. I desperately hoped he was mistaken.

  “The first was a woman captured in the Great Expanse, trying to find you. She was killed three days later.”

  Killed. Dread flooded through me. “What was her name?” I asked again. If it was Tressa, or Bellona — ​

  “Dulla,” he said, barely moving his lips, smiling down at me as if I’d said something witty. “Keep dancing. Smile. I’m the one they expect to befriend you.”

  I tried to do what he said, smiling, pretending. But his words sent my head spinning. “Where was she from?”

  “I only know she had come a great distance.”

  “We do not have Ailith kin by the name Dulla.”

  “She was not only Ailith,” he said urgently, “she was a Remnant. I saw the crescent mark on her hip myself. And she claimed to be gifted.”

  I stared into his eyes. It couldn’t be … No, not when she’d been so close to joining us … “And the other?” I managed to ask.

  “A man from the South, traveling with three others to the south of Georgii Post, one of them, his knight. He went by the name of Galvarino.”

  I cocked my head and pretended to be engaged with what he was saying, like he shard a tender story. But inside, my stomach roiled over with his words, even though Galvarino’s name wasn’t familiar to me either. Yet with sickening recognition, I realized I hadn’t known any of the other Remnants’ names before I met them.

  “And their knights?”

  “They were tortured and killed too.”

  “You’re certain — ​certain they each had the mark?” I asked him, feeling a bit faint. Four more of our kin, dead? There’d been a part of me that thought we were invincible, from here on out. That the Maker would somehow shield us when it came to matters of life and death. But if what Cyrus was saying was true …

  “All four had the mark,” Cyrus confirmed, leaning closer in a slight bow as the song ended, as if saying farewell. I shuddered, and he gave my arms an encouraging squeeze. “Know you are not alone,” he whispered, turning to my side and applauding the musicians as others did around us. “Take care, Andriana,” he said, taking my elbow, as his stunning words sank in. “Keallach will give you more time,” Cyrus added, “because he hopes to win you. But if you do not fall into line, I fear it will not go well for you.”

  He smiled as we approached Keallach, and I mirrored his emotions of pretended pleasure. Keallach’s face lit up as he saw my expression, apparently fooled for once. “I send you off in a muddle of contempt and you return on Cyrus’s arm a woman at peace.” He clapped Lord Cyrus on the shoulder. “He’s a good man, this one,” he said.

  “Indeed. Perhaps my favorite of your Six,” I said, smiling up at Cyrus.

  “Hold, there,” Keallach said, pretending a frown and jostling his friend as if he meant to capture him in a headlock. “Must I compete for your affections?”

  “It’s been made abundantly clear who I am meant to be with here,” I said with a genteel nod toward him.

  Keallach raised his brows in surprise, huffed a laugh, and eyed Cyrus. “Will you do me a favor and spend an hour with her every morning?” he asked. “Perhaps the rest of our days will be far less combative.”

  “Spend an hour with this beautiful woman?” Cyrus said, sounding far different than he’d been with me — ​more like he’d been like at Castle Vega. Was it an act? Which one? “Whatever sacrifice I must make, Highness,” he said, holding his heart and making a pained face.

  “Such an obedient man. Thank you, Cyrus. You may go now.”

  Cyrus bowed to each of us, and Keallach grinned after him. He felt a genuine camaraderie with the man, which fueled my hope again, even after hearing Cyrus’s dire warning. Memories of it made me feel sick to my stomach. They’d killed the Remnants. What had been their gifts? If it were true, then there’d just be the five of us, not nearly as strong without those missing. Were we enough alone to turn back this tide? With this knowledge, wasn’t it more imperative than ever that we bring Keallach into the fold?

  “What is it, Andriana?” Keallach asked, turning to me in concern. “You suddenly appear terribly pale.”

  “It’s been a lot to take in, this part of your life,” I said. “
Do you think I’ve been here long enough? Might I leave now?”

  He studied me. “After one more dance. With me.”

  “On one condition,” I said wearily, wondering if I even had it in me to get through one more turn on the floor. “No using your gift on me with the dance.”

  “No need,” he said, lifting his hands in glee. “You are well versed in the steps now!” We went back to the dance floor as the music began again. Keallach held me closer than before, and it wasn’t long before I felt his warm fingertips skirting the edge of my gown at the lower back. “Do you see how you have admirers already?” he asked.

  I frowned at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The women,” he said, eyes on me. “They’ve all slipped out and scrubbed away a good deal of their powder and eye shadow. They all want to look more like you. Because I have chosen you.”

  My pulse quickened, and I dared to look over his shoulder at the other women in the room. It was true. They all looked more … human. More like me. But instead of comforting me, the sight made me feel nauseated again. What was it about Pacificans? What had made them so mindless? Is that why Keallach and the others held such sway over them? Is that why he needed me, because he knew the Trading Union was full of people far more independent than these?

  A few other couples joined us on the dance floor, but the majority seemed content to break and sip from their glasses and share words under their breath, undoubtedly about me. They were both repulsed and drawn to me, it seemed.

  A thought struck me then. If they were so easily swayed, could I win them over for the cause? For the Way? Might I strike at Sethos’s power over them? Hope surged in me. Perhaps the Maker allowed me to be here, in this place, the heart of the enemy, so I could strike a crippling blow. And Cyrus had seemed to hint that he might be an ally. I smiled at the thought, and a surge of joy in Keallach made me look at him.

  “Ah, Andriana,” he said. “How lovely you are when you smile. You’re understanding it now, aren’t you? What we might attain, together.”

  Together. Something about the way he said it agitated me.

  Keallach pulled me closer and we swayed back and forth. He took hold of my hand on his shoulder and brought it to his chest, gently forcing it flat until I could feel the steady rhythm beneath. “With every day that passes, you hold more of my heart,” he said intently. “It’s like I always knew you were coming. That I had to wait for you.” Then he leaned forward, slowly, as if to kiss me. I could feel the collective intake of breath in the room. I resisted, pulling back, but Keallach’s grip was sure, firm, unyielding. “Give in, my love,” he said. “This is destiny.”

  My love? “I can’t, Keallach,” I said, looking into his eyes.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. “But this is for your protection.”

  And then impossibly, I was doing as he asked. Lifting my chin. Parting my lips. Accepting his. Feeling him draw me even closer, his hands fully on my bare back. Dimly, I heard the applause around us, laughing and cheers. Felt the approval of some, the condemnation of others. And knew that once again he had compelled me, moved me, used his gift against me. I tried to move my hands, to push him away, but could not. He smiled and drew away first, leaving me as if I were stunned by his very kiss. Laughing, looking proudly at the others nearby.

  I half turned, trying everything to break our bond, our connection. Maker …

  I then latched on to the wish that Ronan was here. Striking Keallach down, breaking his grip on my arm. Ronan, my knight. Ronan, my love. Ronan, Ronan, Ronan …

  Keallach drew away from me, frowning, then quickly forced a smile. Pretending. He’d felt it then, the internal severing of his hold on me. But still, he held on to my arm. “Come along, Andriana. I will see you to your room.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  RONAN

  We had just finished our watery soup after a long day of travel to a new Drifter camp when I noticed Chaza’el get that distant look in his eyes. Others said their goodnights and padded off to their own spots to bed down by fires for the night, but I remained. Chaza’el often wished to share his vision soon afterward. I was eager to hear what he’d seen.

  But when his eyes focused on me, he frowned and looked away, as if guilty.

  “Chaz?” I asked gently, picking up the nickname Vidar had given him. “What is it?”

  His eyes dragged back to meet mine. “It’s Andriana,” he said miserably.

  “Andriana,” I repeated.

  He nodded, his lips in a thin line. Asher came and sat down on the stump of a log beside us. So did Niero. They’d noticed Chaza’el’s look too.

  “What was it, Chaza’el?” I asked, my tone more angry and scared than I’d meant for it to be. Out with it! I wanted to shout. Tell me!

  “Easy, brother,” Asher said, reaching out to touch my arm. I shook his hand off.

  “She was with Keallach,” he said, closing his eyes and rubbing them.

  That wasn’t a surprise. “We know she’s with him. What of it?”

  He opened his eyes and stared dolefully at me. “She was in a white dress. A gown.” He shook his head and ran his fingers through his dark hair, then clasped them together.

  “A white dress,” I repeated. “As in a betrothal gown?”

  “Maybe,” he said, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. “No,” he said, as if correcting himself. “There were many others in white too, around her.”

  “All right,” Niero said, getting agitated himself. “Tell us all of it. Everything you saw. Don’t pause.”

  I steeled myself.

  “She was kissing Keallach. First on a dance floor, with many Pacificans looking on, applauding. Then again, in a passageway. They were in each other’s arms. It was … intimate.”

  I hadn’t steeled myself enough for this. It was as if a hundred tiny knives had punched holes in my lungs, keeping me from taking another breath.

  She was kissing him. Another man. Our nemesis. The one who had tried to kill Kapriel. The one I’d feared had imprisoned her.

  I let out a humorless laugh. “Well at least she hasn’t been spending her days in a dungeon as I feared.” Or nights. My breathing quickened at the thought of what sort of quarters Keallach might have given her, likely with easy access.

  “Stop,” Asher said.

  His single word shushed my swirling thoughts like a dam to a river.

  “You … you love her?” he whispered. He shook his head. “I mean as more than a sister.”

  Niero scowled but remained silent.

  “I do,” I said, unable to lie when I was struggling to breathe. “Or perhaps I should say, I did.” But even as I uttered the words, I knew they were decidedly false. If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t feel this scalding pain.

  “There is a reason the elders forbade the Ailith,” Niero began, “to take up with one —”

  “I know, Niero, I know!” I staggered to my feet and began to pace. The last thing I needed was a lecture on something that had been decided long ago.

  “And she … loves you?” Asher asked, seemingly unperturbed by our transgressions.

  “I think so. Maybe. Oh,” I groaned, wiping my face, pulling at it as if I might be able to pull free clear thoughts. “I don’t know!” I said, fingers splayed, shaking my head. “She did at the last moon.”

  Asher nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me again of your vision,” he said to Chaza’el. “Everything you can remember. Leave nothing out.”

  I took a breath, not certain I could get through another retelling. But Chaza’el’s voice faded as I concentrated on what Dri must’ve looked like in that gown of white. I’d imagined her in white, of course, but with me, under a Hoarfrost moon, our hands entwined in an elder’s wrapped band as we exchanged vows. But instead she was there, with him. Tears filled my eyes and I didn’t bother wiping them away. I was only seeing them again, together … again and again together. Him leaning in to kiss her, her resisting, as if teasing him, then le
aning in, lifting her chin, parting her lips to welcome him … the Pacificans around them applauding and smiling as if they’d just exchanged their own vows.

  “Chaza’el,” Niero said, drawing back my attention. “Was there any more after the passageway kiss?”

  “Must there be more?” My voice cracked then, and I choked on humiliating tears of anger and betrayal. I looked to the star-filled sky, remembering Keallach pointing out constellations for her, barely keeping my legs, my breathing ragged. I backed up toward a large rock, and when I bumped up against it, I scraped downward, ignoring how my tunic rode high on my torso, how the stone scraped against the bare skin of my back. In an odd sort of way, in my grief, the pain felt like a relief, a release.

  Asher turned to me and said, “For as much as Chaza’el saw, he saw precious little. We do not know all that led to those kisses, or what followed.”

  “He saw more than I wish he ever had,” I said angrily, wiping my eyes with the palms of my hands, pressing in for a moment, then looking up, trying to catch my breath.

  “Ahh, but you allow the enemy to make the most of that moment rather than seek what the Maker wants us to know,” Asher said. “You embrace devastation and division rather than cling to the cords of your entwined hearts.”

  I stared at him, letting his words cycle back around and through my mind again, trying them on, like a new coat over a shirt left in shreds.

  “Are you so weak, Knight, that you so easily believe the worst of your Remnant? Or is this the time she needs you to fight for her the most?”

  I sat there, stunned. Was it … possible?

  “But then, why … How? Andriana is strong, Asher. Ask Niero. Very strong. And she wields emotion. Could she not ward off Keallach? Or bend him to her own heart?”

  “Think, Ronan,” Niero said, nodding now, as if in agreement with Asher. “What is Keallach’s gift as a Remnant?”

  “He can move objects.”

  “And people, according to Kapriel.”

  “He can move people,” Asher repeated in wonder.