Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Do you surrender?” Maximillian asked, stepping toward me.

  “Yes,” I said nodding, smiling. “Yes.” As he got closer and took hold of my wrists, I looked up into his face. “I surrender to the One who was, and is, and is to come!”

  He released me as if I’d burned him, but it was my turn to grab hold of his wrists. “You knew him once, Maximillian Jala. The One who brought you into the world … before the one who seeks to master this world mastered you. But you were born to serve your Creator, Max. Born for more. Not more things, not more power, not more control, but to serve the Eternal One. Isn’t that what you seek? Eternal power? And yet there is only One who holds that in his hands, and it is not Sethos or the dark.”

  He grew desperate, trying to pry my fingers from his arm, looking as if he was considering biting me in order to make me stop. I could feel the cold pressing in, more Sheolites approaching … the whoosh of Sethos’s wings landing nearby, then Niero’s.

  But I bent my head and laid my life in the Maker’s hands—along with Max’s—knowing that this was a critical juncture, not just for me and our cause, but for this man before me, so hateful and yet redeemable still. Maker, open his heart. Open his mind. Let him feel your vast love and forgiveness—

  I didn’t see the sword coming, but I felt the impact at my side. I crumpled to the ground, more fearful of losing my grip on Maximillian than death. But I could only relinquish to gravity’s pull. I went down heavily, feeling the ripping of flesh and muscle and sinew. Only then did I lift my hand to my side and feel the warm wet of blood, far too much blood.

  I blinked quickly as my vision tunneled, fighting to stay true to those I was with. Across the room, I saw Ronan, dreadfully still—dead? Please, Maker, let him live. And at my side, I saw Niero land, blocking a Sheolite scout’s next blow across my chest, then Sethos’s attack too. As if from far away, I felt the tickle of the feathers from his wings across my cheeks and felt as if they were stroking my face, encouraging me to remain, to not give in to death.

  You serve the One who breathed life into you, Dri. Cling to him.

  I will.

  Stay with us. In this life.

  I’m trying.

  I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, as if it aimed to generate more blood to replace what I was losing. I reached out red-stained fingers to touch the tip of Niero’s wing, dancing before me as he defended me from Sethos and others, and frowned as I noticed I was leaving crimson stains on the pristine, ivory feathers.

  And then I felt horror emanate from our angel-protector, the first clear glimpse of emotion I’d ever felt from him. I managed to turn my face upward, and his horror became my own.

  Because Sethos’s sword had pierced him through.

  Its bloody point was above me, at Niero’s back, glistening in the torchlight.

  He held his second curved blade to block Sethos’s next blow, but he was clearly faltering.

  The feathers from his wings were shimmering, almost becoming translucent.

  “Niero!” Azarel screamed, the name hovering in the echoing chamber, even above all the shouts and groans and cries about us. She was swooping in—an angel too, I saw now, observing it not with shock but with dim recognition of something, again, that I should have known as fact. Azarel is an angel.

  One of her arrows hit Sethos in the shoulder, but he merely grimaced, twisted it from his flesh, and flung it away.

  Niero fell to his knees, his hands trembling, fighting to hold on to his blade but clearly unable to lift it.

  I tried to rise. And knew it was hopeless.

  I am sorry, sister. I will meet you again in—

  He never finished that last sentence, that last whisper inside my head and heart.

  Because it was then that Sethos cut off his head.

  I heard the sickening crack of bone on stone as it rolled nearby and swallowed back vomit as I felt the spray of blood cover my cheek. I refused to look, staring instead at his wings as he fell to his side before me, the feathers shimmering then fading into parchment-like matte and then disintegrating into dust.

  Sethos stepped through what had once been Niero, the dust spreading in small clouds beneath his sandals. He leaned down and grabbed hold of my tunic, lifting me partway up as I cried out, my side an agony of pain.

  “And now, dear Remnant,” he whispered, taking a deep breath, as if loving the scent of Niero’s blood on me, as if he wanted to lick it from my face as Lord Jala had once tasted my own. “You are ours.”

  CHAPTER

  39

  RONAN

  I came to just as Sethos dealt Niero the final blow.

  And when our captain died, the fight seemed to leave us all, separating us like seeds from the cottonwood come spring, spinning and swirling on the wind.

  I fought to find my center, the One who had called us here and who would call us out. Fought to forget that Niero, Raniero, our captain, our ever-present core, was gone. Gone. Gone.

  I steeled myself and fought to take a deep breath. Maker, help me. They’d figured out how to keep both Keallach and Kapriel from using their gifts. Andriana was injured, maybe worse. I couldn’t take in more than that. I threw myself into the fight, but I knew, deep within, that this wasn’t a battle we could win.

  Vidar and we Knights kept at it for a little while longer, along with our Drifter and Aravander friends … and Azarel. But we had to surrender. We were faltering, weakening.

  To not give in was to give up the chance to win another day.

  With one look to Killian and Bellona, I knew they had come to the same conclusion. We laid down our swords and lifted our hands, shouting our bitter surrender before a Sheolite or Pacifican took another of our Remnants down.

  And then I moved toward Sethos, who held Dri’s unconscious form triumphantly in his arms. I still had my hands up, but it took everything in me not to attack. I hated the smug look on his face, the way his eyes squinted and his mouth quirked in pleasure. I wanted to beat him into unconsciousness.

  I made the mistake of looking where Niero had fallen and felt sudden, hot tears in my eyes. Azarel was there, where he had last lain, weeping, a Sheolite on either side of her.

  “You thought him invincible,” Sethos said, sounding irritatingly compassionate as he set Dri down on the ground and allowed me to approach her. “I understand. He was a mighty and worthy foe.”

  I didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I knelt by Dri and placed a hand on her side, trying to stanch the blood. I looked back to where Tressa was and saw that she and Killian were each held back by two Sheolites. “I need our healer,” I bit out, “or she will die.”

  “Perhaps I’ll let her die,” he sniffed, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at me. “She’s been nothing but trouble. I wanted her as a figurehead, an empress for our emperor,” he said, gesturing over at Keallach, who now writhed anew against his chains. “But you got in the way of those plans, didn’t you, Knight? Becoming handfasted mates? No,” he said, shaking his head and pursing his lips. “Since she cannot be wed to Keallach, it will be best for me if Andriana of the Valley follows your dear Raniero into the afterworld.” He turned to walk away from me, gesturing to the nearest men. “Bring any of the Ailith and all those who serve them—including those traitors who defected to their side after Andriana touched them—to the prison. Execute the injured. Except for the emperor. Send him to the physician.”

  Execute the injured. I looked down at Andriana. Sethos seemed decided. And she was dying, right there in front of me. “No. You cannot,” I cried, as two men lifted me bodily from her. “You cannot!” I repeated, my shout echoing. She was bleeding out, her skin becoming a ghastly gray. “You must save her!”

  Sethos eyed me over his shoulder. “Why? What good is she to me?”

  I fought to think. He had only wanted her for Keallach, as a bride. “The Remnants are stronger together,” I tried.

  “I have the strength I need, with Keallach soon back
on the throne. Tressa’s skills might prove useful to me,” he said, looking over at her, “but I have yet to decide what I shall do with Kapriel, you Knights, Vidar, and this one,” he said, pausing by Azarel, who was now so heavily chained that she knelt under the weight. She spat at him, and he backhanded her, sending her reeling to her side.

  “No,” he said, looking back at me. “Perhaps I’ll keep this clean and execute you all, save the healer. She is beautiful,” he said, striding over to her and ignoring Killian, who was straining to break free of the captors beside him. Sethos reached out and fingered a coil of Tressa’s auburn hair, then ran long fingers along her jawline until he forced her chin upward. He pursed his lips. “She would make as suitable a bride for the emperor as Andriana. And yet perhaps more … malleable than Andriana proved to be.”

  “Tressa is my wife,” Killian said ferociously. “We have taken our vows.”

  “But you have not consummated them yet,” Sethos said, almost blasé in his tone. “Isn’t that the custom of the Valley dwellers? To wait until your second decade?”

  Killian’s brow lowered, and he glanced at Tressa, as if about to divulge a secret. “We were not born in the Valley. Tressa is my wife … in every sense of the word.”

  It was Sethos’s turn to frown. He tsked through his teeth. “How unfortunate. We cannot have any question about who the father is should the girl turn up pregnant,” he said. “So we are back to Andriana as the only choice.”

  I looked back at Dri. What nonsense was this? Could he not plainly see she was dying? How much longer did she have? I wanted to scream in desperation.

  Keallach was brought toward Sethos then, his arms still chained behind his back. “I want Andriana,” he said to his old master. “Send the healer to her. Save her. She will become my bride.”

  I gaped at him, trying to make sense of his words. He refused to look my way. Was this a ploy? A way to save her?

  Or … had we been played all along?

  “And my brother,” Keallach said, tossing his chin in Kapriel’s direction. His own captors had just brought his twin near. “Save him too. We are stronger together.”

  Sethos studied the brothers, looking irritated, and then fully faced Keallach. “I am not given to granting you your every wish, Keallach, particularly now. You did not do as I asked while among them,” he said, gesturing toward Kapriel and the Ailith. “We have much to discuss before the Council will even reinstate you to the throne, let alone grant you your heart’s desire when it comes to a choice of mate. The right Pacifican girl might—”

  “I want her,” Keallach ground out, sweat running down his cheek, “and my brother back in safe custody in Pacifica. Nor will you kill the others. Imprison them if you must, but do not put them to death. See to it, Sethos, or I will not help you bring Pacifica back into line.”

  Sethos lifted his chin, black eyes tracing every nuance of Keallach’s face.

  “Yes,” Keallach said. “We’ve heard about the unrest in Pacifica. You actually need a union between Andriana and me. You need Kapriel alive too, more than ever, with things as they are out here, as well as at home. And I have received my gifting in full. Give me what I ask, and there will be none who dare come against us.”

  Sethos said nothing. Then he turned to me. “Did you bed your wife, Knight? Tell me the truth. The emperor’s bloodline must be true, without question.”

  I glanced over at Dri, so still. It was the only way to save her.

  “No,” I said. “She is still a virgin. Only her heart is mine.”

  A small grin teased the corners of Sethos’s lips, seeing what this admission cost me. “That is most fortunate for her, Knight. And most unfortunate for you.” He turned to the guards holding Tressa. “Release her. See if she can do anything to stop Andriana from departing this world for the next. I guess,” he said, folding his arms, “what comes next is truly in the hands of your precious Maker.”

  CHAPTER

  40

  RONAN

  Place the rest in the dungeon cells. Prince Kapriel too.”

  The guards dragged me past Lord Daivat, who smiled lazily at me. “Don’t worry, Knight. We’ll see your handfasting dissolved before we leave the Trading Union, so all is in proper order. Keallach will enjoy every bit of what you missed.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood and trying not to let them see more of my anguish than was necessary. What had I done? What had I done? And yet, hadn’t I needed to do anything possible to save Dri?

  “Didn’t you ever wonder how we found you and your precious Remnant in every town to which you ventured? Knew you were coming here?” Daivat continued to taunt me, following us as we were dragged down to the cells. “You’re such idiots,” he said. “Never stopped to think that Kapriel and Andriana had both been implanted with a chip, did you? Did you really think we wouldn’t use everything we had to come after you? And you made it easy.”

  “Daivat!” Lord Kendric shouted, holding Tressa from one side. “Enough! Come.”

  I frowned, and my breath came in uneven pants. An ID chip. Of course. That was how the Sheolites had found us in the Citadel … how Sethos had found us in Zanzibar … A chip. The same chips that had given them plenty of warning that we were coming to Castle Vega, gave them time to prepare a trap that would keep the twins from using their gifts against them.

  My heart raged and then sank in grief. Raniero.

  We were thrown into the foul, stinking cells, crammed in with other prisoners who had languished there for weeks or months. There was no place to sit and barely room to stand. And yet I knew that, even if there was, I’d do nothing but pace, awaiting news. I gripped the rough bars and leaned my forehead toward them, feeling the cool temperature that almost echoed that of my armband. Maker, I prayed, Maker. Show me the way out of this. Help us!

  I felt sick, on the edge of despair. Niero was gone. Dri might be dying even now. And if she lived, she might very well be wrenched away from me. I gripped the bars more tightly, thinking of her with Keallach. Again, my mind roiled. Had it all been a trick? A way for him to get what he wanted? Or was he playing Sethos, trying to make a way to save Dri the only way he could, just as I was trying to do? I bumped my head against the bars as if I might be able to beat the truth into my brain.

  What is it, Maker? Which is it? Show me, show me, show me.

  “Ronan,” came a woman’s voice.

  I looked in the direction I’d heard it, perhaps two cells down and across from me. “Bellona?”

  “Over here,” she said. I saw her then, face pressed to the bars as mine was.

  “Tell me,” I said, hating the misery in my own voice, my fingers clenching the prickly metal bars. “Did Keallach play us?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her own anguish matching my own. “I just don’t know.”

  The sound of boots atop stone turned our attention to those approaching. I strained to see to the left, down to the corridor that joined the stairs with the vast basement where we’d battled.

  Four men carried Andriana, deadly still, on a stretcher. Two others held Tressa between them, her hands and dress bloody, dragging her forward.

  “Tressa!” I cried.

  “She lives!” she called to me, looking over her shoulder. “Ronan, she—”

  “Quiet!” the guard said, pushing her face to one side. And then they were past us.

  “Tressa!” Killian’s voice called out, sounding muffled from several cells away, as if he might’ve been deeper than at the bars. “Tressa!”

  They moved on, up toward the stairs. Clearly, they were not leaving Tressa with us. She was being taken upstairs, to where Sethos and the Council undoubtedly took their leisure now, celebrating their victory. They had the girls. There would be no reason to keep Vidar or any of us Knights alive. We only posed a danger to them. And they could make much of a public execution.

  I let out a cry of rage, pushing and pulling on the bars as if I could break through them.

&nb
sp; And then I sank to my knees, weeping.

  Maker, you made me strong, but I am weak. You made me a protector, but I have failed to protect. You made me a husband, but I am about to lose the wife I love. I am nothing. You are all. Do something. Please, please do something.

  CHAPTER

  41

  ANDRIANA

  I awakened in a sumptuous room, atop fine sheets like I hadn’t seen since …

  I gasped and sat up with a start, eyes wide. And then I cried out, feeling the piercing pain at my side. I fell back to the feather pillows and blinked, willing myself not to pass out as a black wave crossed my eyes, nausea roiled through my stomach, and then again, threatening …

  “Dri?” Tressa said, coming over to me with a hushed voice. “Shhh,” she soothed. “Shhh. Don’t say anything. It’s best they not know you are awake.”

  I heard the creak of a door on its hinges and hurriedly shut my eyes.

  “Is everything all right? I thought I heard a cry,” said a man.

  “Uh-huh,” Tressa said. “I just tripped. Stubbed my toe. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “Hmph,” he said. “Has the empress-elect awakened?”

  “No. Not yet,” she said, moving, and I guessed she was trying to intercept him. “She has been to death’s door. Sometimes it takes a while to regain consciousness when one has hovered so close to the afterworld.”

  “I see,” he said, and it was then that I recognized his voice. Lord Fenris. “Well, come to me at once. I am just across the hall. As soon as she wakes. You understand?”

  “Yes, Lord Fenris. I will do as you have asked.”

  He paused a moment and then turned on his heel, slipping through the creaking door again. Tressa moved back to me, and I watched her through slit eyes. She was in the traditional ivory Pacifican dress. I tilted my head back, rolled as if still sound asleep, then looked over at her. “What has happened?” I whispered.

  She moved over to me, kneeling by my bed. She gripped my hand in hers, and I steeled myself for the worst. “You almost died. The Maker healed you, but you still are far from completely well.” Her blue eyes welled with tears. “Niero died, Dri.”