Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel)

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Dri,” whispered a man as we passed. I looked over my shoulder. Raniero!

  “I’ll catch up,” I said to the girls. They shared a look of alarm but moved on without pause, clearly more bent on protecting their own necks than worrying any further about mine.

  Raniero pulled me into the narrow hallway that appeared to lead to a servant’s entrance. “You all right?” he said.

  “Yes. I mean, no! Niero, do you know where we are?”

  He nodded at me grimly.

  “Do you know who that is?” I gestured down the hall. “Lord Jala! And he saw my armband! He seemed to recognize it! And those others?” I grabbed his hand, fear at last bringing tears to my eyes. “Niero, we’re surrounded by Keallach’s entire Council of Six!”

  Niero drew slightly back. I watched as he swallowed hard. “It is as the Maker has foreseen. He wants us here for some reason. We must see it through.”

  I shook my head at his mad words. “I have to go. If he turns and finds me gone — ”

  Niero stared down at me with his dark, intense eyes. “Jala is Keallach’s right-hand man. Incredibly dangerous. We need to gain what knowledge we can and then get out. By daybreak at the latest. I’m securing some mudhorses.”

  “Mudhorses? They’ll never make it across.”

  “Do you have another idea?” he whispered back. “I need to get you out from under Jala’s nose … as well as the rest of them.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Between the man licking my blood as if he could taste me and considering me as bridal material for Emperor Evil, I couldn’t get away fast enough. But if they caught us, or caught up to us … I remembered Fenris’s look. That man would delight in bringing me pain.

  “There’s something else, Andriana,” Raniero said, and I could sense his next words would be painful.

  “What?” I said pausing at the corner.

  He peered around the corner. “Sethos and some of the others arrived.”

  “What?” I squeaked out. “Already?”

  “They appear to be heading in for dinner. That’s why I came to find you. I didn’t want him to surprise you.”

  “Raniero,” I said, my panic rising, “I’m to attend Lord Jala. In there. In the dining room!”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “Look at me. Andriana. Look at me.”

  I was breathing hard, and it took everything in me to turn my wild eyes to his.

  “Concentrate,” he said, speaking peace into me, filling me. “Concentrate on the power of the Maker within you. No matter what you face in there,” he said, “you must remember all we’ve discussed. To not give in to the feelings. To rely on what you know. To utilize what you’ve been given.” He squeezed my arms. “Keep the door in your heart shut. We’ll do our best to distract them.” He gave me a small smile. “What better place to hide than in plain sight?”

  “Easy for you to say.” I made myself move down the hall, practically running to meet up with the others, just as they met the dining room doorway.

  Fifty people were being seated, and I moved to the end of the table, to Lord Jala’s left. My armband was thrumming, hurting me, it was so cold. I wished I could turn it off. Shout at it, I know, I know. When Lord Broderick stood up to formally greet the nobles, raising his delicate crystal glass in a toast, I stole a glance down the table. Sethos was partway down on the left, flanked by two other Sons of Sheol, and I was thankful he was partially blocked by other guests. He turned his head, as if he’d picked up my scent, and I quickly centered my mind on the power of the Maker, praying he would protect me.

  It surprised me that Sethos and the others wore white, as the other nobles did, rather than red. That the Sheolites ate food. Drank water. Wine. I concentrated on that. If they ate and drank like humans, they would bleed like humans. Reminded myself that I’d seen them die. Such remembrances made me breathe a bit easier. We’d killed the scouts the night of our Call. We’d killed that one tracker and a couple of scouts near the Hoodite farm. No matter how it seemed, they were not immortal. Fearsome, but no more powerful than me within. I was more powerful really, with the power of the Maker flowing through my heart —

  Lord Jala shifted in his seat and Mr. Olin shot me a wide-eyed look. I started and moved forward to refill his half-empty goblet, my hands trembling so much that I feared the red liquid would spill across the white linens and ivory plates. All so terribly white and the wine so red, red, red …

  I only dared breathe again as I moved back, hoping that I’d not drawn Sethos’s attention.

  Killian and Ronan came in with several other servants, carrying enormous trays. Mr. Olin nodded toward them, and I went to retrieve a small plate full of lettuce and onions and nuts and berries, with the most delicious-smelling oil drizzled across it. My mouth watered as I carefully set it before Lord Jala and backed away, wondering if and when we were to eat.

  Perhaps they leave the scraps for us, I thought darkly. Like dogs in the alley.

  The conversation turned to progress up north, a rebel queen proving to be dogged in her resistance against Pacifica. I wished other conversations would fade so I could hear better, and I fought the urge to step forward, cock my head in order to learn more. A rebel queen? I had to appear as if I didn’t care, that I only was thinking of my lord’s needs, not his topic of conversation. But he turned to me and said, “What do you think, Andriana, of the rebel queen to our north?”

  “I-I beg your pardon?” I said. “My lord,” I added belatedly. Several guests shared glances of surprise. But the entire table fell silent.

  “You are just in from the far reaches of the Union, are you not?” Lord Jala said, his eyes merry. But it wasn’t merriment I saw in them, only cold calculation. “Who better than you to give us the people’s perspective.” All eyes were turning toward me. I kept imagining that I could feel Sethos’s cold stare and shifted on my feet, trying to keep guests between us so that he wouldn’t get a straight view of me.

  “You honor me, Lord Jala. But I know little of what you speak. There is a rebel queen?”

  His green eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “Come, come. Everyone knows of the rebel queen of the north.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Jala. I have not yet heard of her.”

  He pursed his lips and turned away, back to his guests. But Sethos had caught me. I felt the heat of his stare. From the corner of my eye, saw his nostrils flare. Slowly, he rose. “My Lord Jala,” he said, lifting a finger at me. “You have a rebel beside you now. Step away from him,” he hissed, pushing aside his chair in his haste to move toward me.

  My heart leaped. All was lost. I slid one foot slightly back, and was beginning to lift my hands when I remembered this one was no match for the Maker, or me, a child of the Maker. Did I believe it or not? Was I willing to risk it all on what I believed? Because if I fought at this point, I’d surely die.

  I centered myself, concentrating. Concentrated on my breathing remaining even, my pulse steady. The door that this enemy had opened now remained completely shut, held in place by the Maker. I concentrated on my gifting, of casting emotions as well as reading them, and did my best to think of nothing but peace, peace, peace.

  “My lord,” I said, dropping into a slow dip toward Sethos, head bowed. “I wish nothing but peace on this room.”

  “Peace on this room, but what about peace on this house?” He reached out and grabbed my chin, lifting it. I stared into his eyes, fluttering my lashes and wrinkling my forehead to appear as innocent as possible. You do not know me. You are mistaken. Confused. You feel only peace. Pleasure.

  He dropped my chin as if I’d burned him. His eyes registered confusion. “You are the girl from Zanzibar, from outside the Hoodites. You are Ailith.” His words were more certain than his tone.

  “No, my lord. You are mistaken. I am Andriana, of the Valley,” I said, dipping my head again. “Not of the Hoodites. Perhaps I appear like one you once met.”

  “Of the Valley …” His brow furrowed at the center.r />
  “Come, Sethos,” Lord Jala said, waving him back. “Leave the girl alone. You may interrogate her later. After our dinner, yes?”

  Sethos stared at me for a long time, and I continued to will confusion and doubt into his mind. Again, he stepped back as if he’d been punched, and his frown deepened. Clearly, he didn’t know what to make of me — and was feeling the effects of the emotion — but now he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight.

  But he was retreating for now. Giving up.

  As he finally, reluctantly, sat down again and conversation resumed, I took a long, slow breath through my nostrils, staring straight ahead, trying to focus on what I was to do as a maidservant while my mind roiled with warrior tasks. And I tried to not cry.

  It was going to be a long, long night.

  Hours later, my feet ached and my stomach rumbled as the dinner guests finally finished their desserts. They’d had so much to drink that their conversation had come down to little more than laughter and slurred commentary. Watching them, thinking about the amount of food and drink they’d consumed, and how it would’ve sustained my whole village for a week — or by value alone, for a month — I thought, This is why the Maker has called us. They wish to rule us, use us. We must be free. To be independent. To make our own way. Let them live as they wish, but not on our backs. No longer.

  It was as if in that moment I knew exactly why I’d been brought into the world, been made an Ailith. For this moment of clarity and understanding. Because these people had not only become accustomed to much — they’d become dependent on keeping others down in order to maintain that level of comfort. Sucking the Trading Union’s people dry of blood. Her women. Her children. Making her rely on them for resources so that we wouldn’t fight them. Keeping us blind, beyond the Wall, so we didn’t glimpse possibility. Opportunity. Keeping us from speaking freely. Worshiping our Maker as we wished.

  They wanted us to remain in ignorance, trapped by our difficult condition and isolation.

  And it would take everything in us, working together, to make a way for change.

  Surely this wasn’t a coincidence, us coming to this house, in this place, at this point.

  I’d been told since childhood what my mission was. But in that moment, I felt it too. The Maker had brought us here so that we could live, learn, and fight for the change we so desperately needed. To get us back on track. To build a world like he’d envisioned it. To treat one another with honor and respect and love and grace —

  “Andriana,” Lord Jala said.

  I belatedly saw he’d been gesturing to me and I hurried over. He was holding on to the table, as if he felt dizzy. “Help me to my room, girl. I’ve had a bit too much to drink.” He threw his arm around my shoulders and I staggered under his dead weight, almost falling, and automatically clasped his waist. We moved out of the dining room, the others tossing terrible comments after us, insinuating I would attend him in more ways than one. But I wasn’t afraid. I was getting angrier and angrier by the second. And that anger gave me strength.

  We lurched down the hall for a bit, until I saw Ronan coming our way. He grimly took the nobleman’s other arm over his shoulder. I sighed in relief, wondering if he’d been hovering, waiting to assist me.

  “Who are you?” Lord Jala said, staring at Ronan as if puzzled. “Are you new too?”

  “Ronan, my lord. I thought I could help you get you to your quarters.”

  “Quite right, Ronan. Quite right. But once we’re there, you’ll need to leave me and the lovely Andriana alone.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Ronan said, casting me a look behind his shoulders that said over my dead body.

  “I have some questions for this one,” he said, pulling me closer, as if in a hug. He looked over at Ronan. “It’ll be best if she tells me. Because Sethos won’t be so kind.”

  “Yes, Lord Jala.” We turned the corner and made it to his suite. I opened the door, letting it swing wide, and we moved inward. Maximillian was almost asleep on his feet, his head hanging down, his eyelids lifting slowly, one at a time.

  “He didn’t have that much to drink,” I whispered in confusion to Ronan, as we dropped him on the bed and pulled him straight. I knew; I’d been pouring, and carefully waiting for my half-full moments.

  “No, but what was in his drink was powerful,” Ronan whispered, lifting a conspiratorial brow.

  I let out a small laugh under my breath. “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” he said, moving over to shut the door and returning to my side. “I didn’t like how he was looking at you. And while you were chatting with Raniero, Bellona and I saw to his carafe.”

  I cast him a wondering look. How had he managed to watch me across the far reaches of this sprawling estate? But somehow, I knew he had. “Feeling a bit protective of your Remnant, are you?” I whispered.

  “Hey,” he said, with his own smile and a half shrug, “it’s my job.” He pulled off Maximillian’s slippers and set them aside, looking askance, as if they smelled.

  I laughed and pulled up the covers over the man, watching as he snored. I was so relieved. Remembering him before we’d left this room, earlier in the night … A shiver ran down my spine. He’d been careful to not imbibe too much throughout the evening, even as his companions gave way to it. Why? As Ronan suggested, had he had thoughts about toying further with me? Or because he practiced more self-control? He was the emperor’s right-hand man.

  “I don’t like it, Ronan,” I said, feeling a wave of excitement from Lord Jala as my fingers brushed past his wrist. “There’s something off.”

  My armband was growing colder again, a rhythmic thrum emanating from it. I was going to ask Ronan if he felt his doing the same, but he lifted a hand to his own and looked to me in consternation. Wordlessly, he took my hand and we hurried to the door. But when he opened it a crack, it slammed backward, ramming him in the face. He fell to the ground and was up immediately, trying to get back to me.

  But Sethos and his men already had me trapped. He leaned closer to me, inhaling through his nostrils as if he liked how I smelled, and I tried to punch him. He caught my hand and twisted it, pulling me around and against him so I’d be forced to see what was transpiring. Two others held Ronan and a third savagely struck him. I couldn’t bear to watch, Ronan’s pain captured me in a way that no other’s had.

  “Ronan!” I cried. Not for help, since I knew he couldn’t rescue me. But because it hurt. Ached. With each strike he endured, I felt it too.

  Sethos studied me from the side, his quick, dark eyes beginning to make sense of my response. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “Hold!” he cried to the other men across the room from us. A man paused, his fist in the air behind him, and looked over at his boss.

  Lord Jala sat up and casually walked in between us, clearly as sober as I was. He’d been faking, I thought, with a sinking heart. Heard everything. Pretended, in order to get information … “What’d you discover, Sethos?” he said, coming closer to me.

  “Watch, my lord,” he said, pulling a handful of my hair back so I was forced to look upon Ronan across from me. My knight stared at me in utter misery — both because he couldn’t get to me, free me, and because he guessed what was to come. “Now,” Sethos said to his man.

  I imagined I felt it, even before he struck. Bent over, losing my breath from the pain, as if the man had driven his fist into my belly instead. He struck again, this time at Ronan’s face, and I wrenched to the side.

  Lord Jala laughed soundlessly. “Utterly intriguing,” he said. “They’re linked?”

  “It appears so, Lord Jala. At least in some fashion.” He pulled my other hand behind me and swiftly wrapped my wrists in terribly strong tape. “I’m wondering if it isn’t these bands …” Sethos ran his hand down my arm, hovering over the cuff, laughing scornfully when I struggled, as if I thought I could get away.

  “Come now, Andriana,” Lord Jala said. “Where will you go? We’ve rounded up everyone dear to you.”
<
br />   That made me grow even colder. They had everyone? Raniero? Tressa and Killian? Vidar and Bellona?

  “I believe a bit of experimentation is in order,” Lord Jala said. “Take them down below, to the dungeons. The emperor will want a full report.” He reached out and grabbed my arm as Sethos pushed me past him. “Unless you’d like to simply tell me that you are who I think you are.”

  I stared back into his eyes, hoping he saw my furious desire to see him die.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, yes. Such a warrior spirit! We’ll see how long that lasts. Be advised we don’t take kindly to enemies of the empire.” He lifted his chin, as if a thought had come to him. “A moment, Sethos. Let us confirm we are on the right track.”

  To my horror, he gestured for a man to bind my legs. Then, slowly, carefully, so I would feel the full force of my powerlessness to stop him, he bent and ran his hand all the way up my right leg, exposing skin to the hip bone. To my birthmark, the one all Ailith shared. A perfect crescent moon. He stared at it for several breaths. “She is beautiful, is she not, Sethos? And what an intriguing birthmark …” He took hold of my hips and leaned close. “Do you know who else has a birthmark like that, Andriana? The emperor,” he whispered.

  I tried to reach out and bite him, my teeth clicking as they clamped together, narrowly missing him.

  “Temper, darling, temper!” he cooed.

  Sethos laughed, a low rumble in the broad chest behind me. “Search him too,” he said to the men who held Ronan, and they pulled down the waistband of his Pacifican trousers just enough to expose his birthmark too. Ronan stood stock-still, but I could feel his gathering rage. “Bring him,” Sethos said, turning and bending to flip me over his shoulder.