“Andriana,” Keallach said softly, as we appeared before him. Four men stood with oil-burning lamps on rods in intervals around us. “And Ronan.”
We remained silent.
“I am glad to see you alive,” Keallach tried again with a tentative smile.
I reached out to search him, and knew truth in him. He was genuinely glad. It took me aback.
“We didn’t know if you’d died in the desert or in the mountains. There are still men out there, trying to find you. We lost your trail. But I feared the worst.”
The worst? What was worse than Keallach’s minions capturing us?
“Where are your companions?” he asked.
“For all we know, they are dead,” Ronan said.
“I doubt that,” Sethos said, pulling back his hood. His long, dark hair was in a braid, as all Sheolites wore it. He turned to four scouts in red behind him. “Search all quadrants of the docks. Quickly.”
“It surprised us, when I sensed you here, tonight,” Keallach said quietly. “What brought you here?”
“We sought an escape from Pacifica,” I pretended to admit, stalling for time, hoping our companions were safely hidden aboard the Far North, and the Sheolites would not think to search the vessel.
“To where?” Keallach asked wryly, lifting one brow. “The far off countries are in no better shape than our own, though we are working on assisting them. If you’d like to book passage, I’d be more than happy to help you.” He stepped closer to me, his keen green eyes searching mine.
“You didn’t seem anxious to help us last time we met,” I said.
He frowned, as if troubled. “My men … are very protective of me. Especially in the sanctuary. They thought the Ailith presented a mortal danger to my life.”
“So they very nearly took ours. They may have even killed some of our brothers and sisters.”
“No,” Keallach said. “None of the Ailith have been captured or killed. You have my word.”
“I find it difficult to believe,” Sethos said, bringing a hand to his chin, “that if your mind was on escape, you wouldn’t flee back to your precious Valley. If you thought the emperor your enemy, why make your way deeper into his territory?”
“Have you ever crossed the Great Expanse on foot?” Ronan grunted. “We’re not anxious to do that again.”
I dared to look Keallach’s way. I detected no malice in him. Only curiosity. Longing. Hope. It was so obvious in contrast with Sethos’s seething hatred. Even Keallach’s small niceties toward us were agitating the dark master.
“I suspect,” Keallach said, glancing down to his boot and kicking at a clump of grass growing among rotting, tar-laced boards, “that you didn’t intend to board a ship bound across the sea.” His eyes moved again to meet mine, and I fought the urge to shift nervously. “I suspect you were instead trying to board this ship to Catal,” he said, nodding behind me.
“Catal?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
The hint of a smile teased the corners of his full lips. “Catal, the island prison. Where my brother Kapriel is held.”
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. I stared back at him for a long moment, deciding.
“Yes,” Ronan broke in. “We wanted to see Kapriel.”
“And free him?” he asked, cocking his head. I felt the arrow of pain, of betrayal, when he thought of his brother. Why could I read him so well tonight when I could not in Wadi Qelt? It was as if he’d decided to let me in. He looked away from us, to the side, to the sea, glittering in the moonlight.
“Possibly,” I said, knowing that saying anything else would be a known lie. The men all around us erupted in jeering laughter but Keallach’s face remained sober.
“I can allow you to see Kapriel,” he said softly to me, his tone edged in pain. “But you will spend the journey, to and from, in my cabin so that you can hear what I have to say too. And when we leave Catal, Kapriel will remain behind us.”
“I don’t think —” Ronan began.
“I don’t think you are in any position to negotiate, Knight,” Keallach interrupted, with a flick of his fingers. All along, he kept his eyes on me. “Do we have a deal, Andriana?”
I sighed, contemplating our options. Really, we had none. And perhaps if Ronan and I distracted these men, they wouldn’t search the Far North for our companions. Perhaps this was all in the Maker’s design … the perfect distraction for our enemy.
The word stuck in my mind. Despite what had happened at the winter palace, Keallach didn’t feel like an enemy. Not really. He was surrounded by the fallen, chiefly the loathsome Sethos, but maybe I could reach him, influence him. Each of the brothers, Kapriel and Keallach, was a force — I’d gathered that much. But together?
With both of them on our side, the Ailith would be unstoppable.
CHAPTER
2
ANDRIANA
We walked up a steep plank to board the Far North, and I fought to keep my eyes from looking at the rope that tethered the ship to the dock, then nervously around the deck, for the other Ailith. Where had they hidden themselves? Were they safe? Or had they been captured? Did Keallach and Sethos sense them, as they had us? And how were we going to get out of this mess?
One step at a time, Dri, I told myself, trying to calm my fluttering heart. One step at a time.
Just as Keallach led me into the captain’s cabin, I thought I saw a female sailor in the gray Pacifican soldier’s uniform, sporting a long braid that looked suspiciously like Bellona’s, but I didn’t dare look again, for fear of exposing her. When the Sheolite scouts had returned with nothing to report, Sethos had peered over the dockyard one more time, scowling suspiciously, and then seemed to decide that Ronan and I had indeed set off on this mission alone. But where had our friends stashed the bodies of those they’d overtaken? Were they soon to be discovered?
The two guards who still held my arms jostled me left, then right, heading toward the captain’s cabin. They let me go as we were forced to climb single file up a narrow, steep set of steps, and I looked back to make sure Ronan was behind us. I took a deep breath as I saw him crest the stairs too, then saw that the door to the captain’s cabin was open. Warm light poured out toward us in welcome, and I could hear the crack of firewood burning in a small stove. There was a couch that looked brand new against the far wall and to the right —
The door abruptly closed behind me, and I glanced back to see a burly Sheolite guard, arms folded, in front of it. Outside, I heard Ronan cry out, the sounds of a scuffle, then silence. I took a step toward the door, but Keallach’s hand grabbed my shoulder. “Andriana —”
I whirled again to face him, fists up in preparation to fight.
“Take your ease,” he said lifting his hands, palms up. “Your knight has been detained, solely so you and I can speak in private, for once.” He nodded at me slowly. “I gave you permission to visit Kapriel, not a Knight of the Last Order. And something tells me that if I have Ronan within my grasp, you won’t wander far. Am I right?”
He gave me that teasing, knowing grin again, head half-cocked. I was furious with him and yet grudgingly understood. If I were in his shoes, would I not do the same thing? My cheeks grew warm, flushing in embarrassment that he’d been able to tell there was something more than Knight-Remnant connection between Ronan and me. I ignored it, lifting my chin and folding my arms. “You will not harm him?”
He shook his head. “Nothing more than it takes to keep him apart from you for a while. If he’s as smart as he is strong, he’ll see the likelihood of that soon enough.”
“Where will you hold him?”
“Belowdecks.”
“In chains?”
“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He moved over to a table and poured two goblets full of wine, then brought one back to me. I wasn’t partial to the red liquid, but my mouth was terribly dry, so I drank just a bit to ease my discomfort, then set it aside.
His green eyes lingered on the goblet
for a moment, and I felt a wash of dismay. What had he intended? To get me to imbibe until I relaxed? I remembered the Drifters by the river, drunk to the point of passing out in the cave. Had he hoped that I’d soon be the same? I narrowed my eyes at him.
But again, I detected no malice within him.
“Please, Andriana, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair beside the couch, covered in a deep, rich red fabric that reminded me of the Sheolites’ capes. Swallowing my distaste, I forced myself to do as he asked. He went to the table and picked up a platter, covered in a hammered bronze dome. “You must be hungry after your long journey.”
He sat on the corner of the couch nearest me and placed the platter on the table between us. Delicious smells of garlic and butter wafted upward as he lifted the dome and set it aside. Underneath was a steaming tureen of soup beside a ladle and two bowls. A round of brown bread was beside it, along with a small ramekin full of fresh-churned butter, which was glistening on the surface. In spite of myself, I licked my lips. It had been a full day since we’d last eaten, our supplies from the mountain camp all consumed.
Keallach tore off a chunk of bread, picked up a knife, and slathered the bread with butter, then passed it to me. I watched him carefully as he ladled some of the thick stew — heavy with meat and carrots and potatoes — into my bowl, then served himself. I liked that he didn’t have a servant for this. I also liked that I could watch his every move, so that I might have confidence that what I was eating, he too ate. He was about to take his first bite when he saw my hesitation. His spoon lowered. “What’s this? Does it not look appetizing? Or …” His eyebrows lifted. “You wait to pray? Please. Allow me.”
He bowed his head and I tentatively did the same, still keeping my eyes on him, even as he closed his own. “Thank you that you have brought us together, Maker. Thank you for this day and for this food. Amen.”
“Amen,” I whispered, my mind racing in confusion. This one prayed? And I’d felt genuine gratitude from him. I was certain of it. Hope surged in me and I found myself smiling just as Keallach took a bite of soup and looked up at me. My armband had grown neutral, its incessant cold ache fading to blood temperature again.
“What is it?” he said, after he swallowed. A smile warmed his handsome face, and I thought of him again on the night we’d first met in the Wadi sanctuary.
“Nothing,” I dodged, giving my head a little shake. I eagerly took my own first bite, scalding my mouth but not caring. The meat was tender, the vegetables and broth delicious. I took a bite of the bread and found it was freshly made and soft. I shoved away guilty thoughts of Ronan and the rest without food, and decided to look for a way to hide part of the bread to share with them later. I’d ask for seconds on my stew and fill up on that instead … and slide my own remaining bread into my sleeve.
“Andriana?” Keallach asked softly.
I looked up at him, feeling caught in my own plans.
“Are you all right?”
“I am,” I said slowly, wondering what he was getting at.
“You aren’t just hungry. You’re ravenous. Your friends … in the mountains. They did not feed you?”
I took another bite and considered the lack of alarm within him. There was still no sense of menace. Did he already know about Chaza’el’s village among the treehouses and mountain caves? Or did he consider them harmless? Chaza’el said they’d never been visited by Sheolites, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t known they were there.
“We found no friends in the mountains. Ronan and I managed to forage for enough food to sustain us,” I lied, fearful I’d betray Chaza’el. “But this is far more delicious than anything I’ve had in days.” I took another bite and met his gaze. “I’m here to hear about you, not tell you about me, right? Wasn’t that our deal in order to secure passage and see Kapriel? To hear your side of things?”
He set aside his empty bowl and leaned back against his chair, crossing one leg over his other knee. “Truthfully, I’d hoped to learn as much about you as I shared about myself. My story is terribly … public. Yours is far more secretive … and therefore, intriguing.”
I swallowed my last bite and leaned toward the tureen. “May I?”
“Please,” he said, waving a generous hand toward the stew.
I could feel his curious eyes cover me, from the tips of my nails up my arms, to my neck and face, then down. I ignored the sensation even as a shiver ran down my neck.
“You might think of your story as public. For Pacificans,” I said. “But for those of us living in the Trading Union, we know far less.”
“Even among the Ailith?” he asked, cocking one brow again. A shadow of his defensiveness laced his tone.
“I have heard some about you,” I allowed. “But I think I’d like to hear it straight from the source.”
The muscles in his cheeks worked as if he tensed at the thought. “I’ll ask you to keep an open mind, Andriana. Undoubtedly, they’ve told you half-truths. That’s always what gets shared. Half-truths and lies.”
I felt the bitterness in him. The hurt. The wounding.
“Half-truths?” I said. In spite of my empathy for him, I couldn’t deny my own rising anger. “Tell me what is untruthful. That you denied all you’d been taught by your trainer, imprisoned your twin, and seized the Pacifican throne for yourself? Tell me how you could ignore the Call. How you could possibly turn away from it on that night of nights?”
His eyes shot to mine again and hardened. Then he lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “I haven’t denied what I have been taught. I simply disagreed with our parents. There have never, in the entire history of our world, been brother kings. It would never work. One always has to take the lead, or divide their realms. And I am the eldest … the first out of the womb. By rights, the throne is mine. By rights.”
I nodded slowly. I could see why he’d consider it that way. “But Keallach, we are not like any others that have come before us. We Ailith were born entirely for this purpose … to save the world. What if you got in the Maker’s way by turning from the path laid before you?”
Keallach tapped his fingertips together, still leaning forward. “I pray that I did not.” He bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck, then lifted his face. “You must believe me, Andriana. My intention is for good. For the good of all.”
I searched him, then. His words were true. Or at least he believed what he was saying. “But Keallach, you are … the Sheolites. Sethos …” I gestured to the guard at the door, feeling suddenly heavy, weary, utterly exhausted.
“Leave us,” Keallach said.
“Highness?” the guard responded.
“Stand outside if you must. But my friend shall speak more freely without you here. Leave us.”
“Yes, Highness.”
I watched as the burly man disappeared into the night, closing the door with more grace and care than expected. Then I looked to Keallach. “Those men are lost. They are of the dark. And you are surrounded by them.”
“You judge them harshly,” he said evenly, quietly.
I scoffed. “If you had seen what I have seen —”
He held up a hand. “Perhaps there is a way that is between us. A place where the forked path unites again.”
I frowned. What he said made as much sense as water turning to dust. Not after what I’d felt on that battlefield when we fought the Sheolites. The depths of darkness, despair. Death itself, fighting to take me down, hold me down until I suffocated, choking on my own loss of hope.
“Don’t you see, Andriana?” he asked, rising and pacing the short room, one hand on his head, one gesturing to me. “All people respond to power. It is what drives them. And what am I on the cusp of? Ultimate power. Within months, the entire Trading Union will bow to me as emperor. We will claim the rebels and outliers in time. Together, we shall rebuild this country, and begin to claim others. Together, we will establish unification of the entire world. Peace. This is the moment to seize it.
Upon its rebirth. I wager you’ve learned enough of humanity’s history to know that once each power is developed, they will resist bowing to another. But right now …” His eyes danced with possibility. “It’s like the opportunity to train up a child rather than try and remake a man. I really think it could work.”
I stared at him. So his quest for ultimate power was true. But the way he put it, the goal was not for glory and riches, but rather for something we all might cheer for — peace. My mind whirled, grasping for truth, trying to make sense of what I’d learned. “But what of Pacifica? What of your methods of stealing children in Georgii Post? Wrenching them away from their parents and spiriting them off to be adopted in your own land or put to work in the factories and mines?”
He stilled and stared at me, mouth agape. “What? What are you talking about?”
“The children. The reaping. I saw it for myself. Armed guards, stealing away children to be adopted by the childless across the Wall.”
He shook his head, and I felt the confusion in him. “We adopt children who have no hope, no future. But the children are brought to us, given to our soldiers. It is sad, the conditions that leave them in such a desperate place —”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not how it happens there. We saw children ripped from an orphanage ourselves.”
“There are no sanctioned orphanages in Georgii Post. Perhaps a few good-hearted people showing kindnesses, but I assure you, we take far better care of them in Pacifica. Most are put into our very own homes; some are given a place to eat, sleep, work.”
I shook my head again. “Why is that? Why not sanction an orphanage? And what right does Pacifica have, dictating what goes on at Georgii Post?”
Keallach lifted a brow. “I just told you. In time, it shall be part of the greater empire, for their own good.”
Season of Fire Page 2
