Remnant (The Slave Series Book 3)

by Laura Frances

  I rest my head against the bed frame, sorting through the things I feel. Nothing Takeshi said sits comfortably, but that’s because none of this should have happened. One choice, one act of selfish gain, and generations were forever altered. A planting of a wicked seed, taking root in countless hearts. But we are all guilty of our own actions. Even the Workers can’t blame the Council for evil they themselves have done. I think of Aspen’s father…of the lives I stole to buy my freedom.

  A knock sounds at my door. I drag myself from the floor to answer it. Emily enters wearing a flowing, yellow dress that falls to her ankles. She holds out a bundle wrapped in soft paper and tied with twine.

  “I come bearing gifts!”

  We sit on my bed, and I pull the twine until it releases. My mouth falls open.

  “How did you find this?”

  Emily beams. “I didn’t. Cash did. Items were recovered from the old factory you took refuge in. Cash recognized it as yours.”

  “It isn’t mine,” I murmur, lifting the green dress. “It was his mother’s.”

  The fabric smells clean, freshly laundered. I run my fingertips over the soft buttons.

  You have beauty that no one can touch. It is yours to protect, and it is yours to share.

  I still hear Norma’s voice, still feel the soft touch of her fingers as she fastened the buttons down the back. Tears well in my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m so happy, so grateful, I could burst.

  “You have to wear it tonight,” Emily says. I move to a full-length mirror and hold the dress up against my form.

  “Will you help me prepare?”

  Emily claps, jumping, and I laugh.

  “I don’t want much,” I say when she rifles through a drawer of cosmetics in the bathroom. “Maybe just—something with my hair?”

  “Nonsense!” she says. “This is a big moment.”

  I let her play with my hair as I stare in the mirror. I’m not gawking at myself, but at the image of my mother reflected back to me. And my father…I see him too.

  Emily brushes my hair smooth, then braids the top half until it wraps around, where she pins it, adding a pink flower. The bottom half she curls, letting it hang down my back.

  I don’t let her apply more than a small dab of makeup under my eyes and black on my lashes. I don’t want to be painted unrecognizable tonight. I want to be the Hannah that Cash knows. The one he loved in the valley.

  I smooth my palms over the front of the dress, breathing down a wave of nerves.

  Emily steps back, looking me over. I turn, lifting my eyebrows in question.

  “You’re lovely,” she says, like it’s a simple truth. An obvious thing. But I never considered myself ugly. I never considered myself at all.

  “I guess we’re ready,” I say, slipping into a pair of silver flat shoes Naomi loaned me. Somehow, with the closeness of the last days, I forget she’s the wife of the king. She doesn’t make a point to remind me.

  “Are you nervous?” Emily asks, sidling up beside me and wrapping an arm around my waist. She grins to suppress a laugh. I groan and cover my face.

  “I shouldn’t be.”

  “Of course, you should be!” she exclaims. “It’s completely normal. Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t. Just take a deep breath—now.”

  She waits. I do as she says.

  “Right. Good. So—” She bumps my hip, wiggles her eyebrows, and her voice lowers. “Off we go.”

  58

  Lanterns hang from the ceiling, beautiful art of metal suspended by single chains, caging in orbs of light. To my left stands a wall of stone, and to my right…the open air. Pillars brace the ceiling every eight or ten feet.

  Far below, waves crash into rock and sand. The breeze carries its fragrance, sweeping through my hair in gusts. For a moment, I think I’d much rather stay out here. But the stars are out, and they remind me of Cash.

  Emily rushes us along until we’re almost running. Every few steps she looks back and grins or giggles. Soon I’m laughing, but it might be from nerves.

  We’re almost there when my ears distinguish a new sound. Soft tones of music drift from a wide, brightly lit doorway ahead. I’ve heard music before…but not like this.

  Clear, crisp notes, stretched out and rising, reach into my chest and stir up longing and grief, love and gladness—all at once. I feel all of it, so full I can’t respond when Emily tosses words with a glance. I’m not even sure what she said.

  She studies me. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I say. A little smile appears on her face when she takes my hand, leading me into the festivities.

  My people are everywhere. The remnants of slaves no longer bone-thin and hungry. The deeper battle is one that will last, but they are safe and alive. They talk in groups, holding glasses of bubbling liquid and nibbling food served on silver trays. Smiling. Laughing.

  Some keep to the edges of the room, standing quiet by massive pillars decorated in fabrics of blue and white. They nod kindly when addressed, offering words when asked, but I see their struggle. And I feel it. That could easily be me.

  Conversations closest to the door fade when we enter. Cash tried to explain gravity to me the last time we walked by the water. How it pulls at us, keeping us from rising into the air untethered. Gravity is what makes the tides flow. Right now, I am gravity, and I’ve pulled all their gazes.

  “Who knew you could make such an entrance?” Emily whispers near my ear. I grip my shaking hands together and walk farther in. Gradually, conversations continue, but I still feel them watching.

  “Hannah!”

  Aspen bounds over, throwing herself at me, nearly toppling us both to the ground.

  “Wow, you’re beautiful,” she says, stepping back and admiring. I gesture to the purple dress she wears, with a top layer of lace that continues down her bare arms.

  “Look at you,” I say, a swell of pride filling me. It’s more than the dress; it’s seeing her well. Safe. Free. She twirls, smiling wide.

  “Mom and I found it at a store.” Those words sound so foreign from her mouth.

  “It’s perfect,” I say.

  We amble on through the crowd, greeting familiar faces and some who aren’t. Emily drags me to a long table of food. I recognize items from the previous months, but others I’ve never seen, with vibrant colors and strange shapes. Behind the table, a young woman with blond hair rearranges a pile of fruit. It’s the same woman the queen and I encountered in the hall. Alice. Her eyes lift, and she smiles.

  “Beats oatmeal.”

  I spin around. Takeshi stands behind us wearing a tailored black suit. Emily bows a little. It must be because of the moment. The setting. He is the prince when we meet formally. I bow my head, but I’m smirking when I rise.

  “Weird, right?” he says, leaning closer and laughing, his posture falling out of protocol. He tugs at the collar of his jacket.

  “No,” I say, lifting a small white string from his sleeve. “Just different. I like it.”

  “Could do with a splash of color,” Emily says, winking. Takeshi grabs a yellow flower from a nearby vase and tucks it behind his ear.

  “Better?”

  “Much.”

  They continue bantering, but my eyes have found something else, and I no longer decipher their words. I’m not listening. There was music once, but even that is gone.

  Across the room, beyond the sea of bodies, stands a Watcher in black. He’s stopped just inside, and his eyes scan the room, searching like a lost child for someone safe. Everyone stares.

  I hurry through the crowd, maneuvering around curious onlookers, catching pieces of their whispers:

  The son of a Councilmember.

  A Watcher.

  Brave.

  Courage.

  They’re not slandering him, but he slowly backs toward the hall, shrinking into the shadowy lantern light. I break through a cluster of people and call his name. His head jerks my direction, and he locks on me.

  Safe.
Safe to be known. I never realized how much he needed that until this moment. He reenters the banquet hall as the only Watcher present, leaning heavy on a black cane.

  His eyes drop to take me in, moving over the dress. My face. My hair. I blush and take his hand.

  “They admire you,” I whisper. He tightens his grip. I wish I could take all the blame he carries. All the regret.

  His eyes flick to the crowd, then back. “Stay with me?”

  It’s a quiet murmur. A secret question drifting in the space between us. I look up in awe, captured by his humility.

  “I’ll always stay.”

  He draws in a breath, straightening, lingering on my gaze. On my promise.

  Then he smiles…so tender, I almost look away.

  “Cash!”

  We hear his voice before we see him. Onlookers step aside, allowing room for Sam to run past. He barrels toward Cash, face red and eyes misty. The two collide, and Cash lifts the boy into a tight hug.

  “Well done, Sam,” he whispers.

  Sam cries, relieved. He can be a boy now. Carefree and at ease. Gone are the long nights beating his fears away in a back room of the factory, punching the air to make himself feel braver. Gone is the sudden threat of death, the constant hiding and shivering and hunger.

  Cash sets him on the ground again, and the boy gazes up at his hero.

  “Prince Takeshi said I can live here. And my brother and sister. Are you staying too?”

  “For a time,” Cash replies, smiling down at the boy. His eyes lift momentarily to Takeshi, and the two share a look of gratitude.

  Sam beams, swiping a tear from his cheek.

  When we move through the crowd, hands reach out, touching. They pat Cash’s back and shake his hand, asking after his injury. Thanking him for all he’s done. Even the king steps forward to offer words in public, in front of everyone. Perhaps Solomon would have received these words, but he’s passed the mantle to Cash, and they all know it. They all know the prices that were paid. Months of sessions and mingling in safety have surfaced the truth, and fear can no longer conceal it.

  It was never us and them, but each of us, and a battle in our own hearts.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  In the South, they marry, taking vows before a crowd of witnesses. The room is filled with friends and loved ones, all gazing, admiring…weeping.

  The bride wears white, and the groom waits anxious at the front, holding her gaze like she is the world, and one look away might end it. His cheeks blush pink and his eyes shine gold in the evening light streaming through stained windows.

  A little boy squirms on the front row of seats, then rushes before his caregiver can reach him. His little hands stretch to the Watcher in black, who bends with a smile and lifts the child to the sky. To the air like a bird. The room chuckles. Giggles. Sighs at the beauty of it.

  The boy is returned to his seat, because she’s arrived, and her hands are shaking. Her heart pounds with love and excitement. Wonder and grief.

  Should parents play a large role in these events? Are they usually at the front? Do they lead her?

  The music quiets, and a minister speaks, instructing the couple to hold true to their promises. To be brave together. To never quit. This is how they do things in the South.

  In the North, couples made their promises in secret, huddled in corners and hiding their kisses. In the Valley, they were forced together, and only some were lucky enough to find love.

  Cash slides his hand over mine, and he promises me his life. His love. His protection.

  I repeat back the same things, in sickness and health…no matter what.

  The crowd claps when we kiss, and from the line of groomsmen, Ian whistles. Sam laughs. I feel Cash’s grin as it grows against my lips. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I’m no longer touching the ground.

  Live, Hannah, my father once said. His jaw was bruised. It was the night before the end. Before the beginning. Promise me, he said through a veil of tears, that you will fight for life.

  My mother stroked my hair, and she too was crying softly. You are so loved. Do you know how much?

  As they tucked me onto my cot, safe beneath a blanket, my father leaned to whisper in my ear.

  Find the blue sky. Don’t ever quit. He kissed my head longer than usual. Remember, little darling…you are never alone.

  The End

  Note from the Author

  If you’re reading this, perhaps that means you’ve stuck with me to the end.

  I just want to say this:

  Please remember that you are more than you think right now. You can grow beyond the mess, if you try. Do not quit, even when it would be much easier. Much simpler. Be brave. Brave enough to acknowledge your weaknesses. Brave enough to look fear in the face and hold your ground. And brave enough to need help.

  Finally, be kind. Observant. See the pain in others…and act.

  It’s the point of everything.

  Acknowledgments

  Hannah’s journey has been as much mine as hers. I started this series with a hint of a dream, and it has grown into something I never imagined. I’ve become someone I wasn’t before. Or perhaps I’ve emerged, spread wings from a cocoon threaded in fear. All I know is this: I am changed.

  Thank you, Jesus, for hope. My life so far has been a changing sea of happiness and sorrow, blessings and great loss. But in all of it, I keep my eyes fixed on the true joy of my heart. The day I will collapse at Your feet, filled to overflowing with relief and peace. You are good. And Your love never fails.

  Thank you to my husband. I don’t know if you had any idea what I was getting us into with this authorly life, but you’ve not only supported me, but you’ve encouraged me when I was more than ready to quit. I love you. (Sorry for the last two months. The house was such a mess.)

  Thank you to our children. You guys believe in me more than anyone else on the planet. You make me feel legit, even when I’m dragging my feet through insecurity. I do all of this with you in my heart.

  A HUGE thank you to Michelle Isenhoff. What you did for me, reading and rereading and rereading again, editing and suggesting and telling me I could do it. To keep going. I’m shaking my head right now…amazed.

  An equally heartfelt thank you to Jennifer Rodewald. In the fourth quarter, I desperately needed someone to grab my shoulders and remind me that I had this in me. That I was on the right path…made for this. Because for very ugly moment, I wasn’t sure. I reread your words of encouragement multiple times.

  Thank you to my parents. I wish all creatives had parents who took them seriously. You give me so much courage just by believing in my dreams.

  Thank you to Lila Verbeten for always listening and bouncing ideas and thoughts back and forth with me. I always know who to go to when I’m stuck. You’re a godsend!

  Thank you to all my early readers! And to all the people who support and encourage me, leave me messages on social media, tell their friends about my books, love these characters as much as me…you are all life changers. The list has grown long. I’m honored to have you with me!

  Thank you to all the amazing indies out there, braving the world of publishing. We’re a lot stronger together.

  Lastly, as always, I must thank the teachers who took time to notice the pencil scratchings of a very shy, very anxious girl. Regardless of how hard I tried to go unnoticed, you did see me. You read my stories for the class, and you looked me in the eye when you acknowledged me. I’m pretty sure you made me stand up, and I seem to remember trembling from head to toe. I’m so grateful. And to Ms. Ingham, my first grade teacher, who inspired the idea of authoring in the first place.

  Thank you for reading!

  Please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon.

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  For more of the story, please check out:

  Where Rebels Hide, A Slave Series Prequel

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