Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  I shut my eyes, remembering his head, rolling. His wings, disappearing.

  “I know,” I whispered raggedly, blinking back hot tears. I looked at her again, my grip on hers tightening. Somehow, in sharing the aching chasm of loss, we partially filled it.

  “The Remnants … the Knights …” Her voice broke. She gathered herself and then continued. “They are still in the dungeon.”

  I felt the devastation in her, the yawning divide she experienced in her separation from Killian. The fear there. “But still, you stayed,” I whispered.

  She nodded slowly. “For you. For Keallach. He’s somewhere near, but I haven’t seen him since we were put here.”

  “Here?” I breathed. “We’re in Castle Vega still?” There were many hours in my memory that were lost to unconsciousness.

  “Yes. The last I saw the Knights … Sethos … The Council … They made no promises.” Fear yawned wide in her eyes.

  “And Ronan?”

  She looked away to the window, then back. “He was there, last I saw him. But …” She bit her lip.

  “But?”

  She hesitated, as if trying to find the words. “Dri, they know. You were handfasted to Ronan, but you haven’t consummated your vows. Keallach …”

  She looked away again.

  “Tress. Keallach …” I led.

  She looked to me for a moment, her blue eyes sober and steady. “He offered for you, Dri. Said he wanted you. It was the only reason Sethos allowed me near you. To heal you for … him.” She bowed her pretty head, shaking it slowly. “Had he not, you would surely be dead.”

  My heart was pounding, my mind whirling. “But … Tressa. What do you think? Did he do it as a … as a brother? To save me? Or for another reason?”

  She took my other hand, so that we held both fists, cross-armed together. “I don’t know,” she said, her blue eyes melding into mine. I felt her hope, her encouragement. “But you are alive. And had he not acted, had Ronan not relinquished you—you would surely be dead.”

  “Relinquished,” I repeated, my brow furrowing.

  Hers did too. “Ronan was forced to admit that while you are handfasted, you have not yet consummated your vows.”

  My mouth was dry. “But why? Why should that matter?”

  “It matters that Keallach still could claim marital rights of his own. And if you bear a child, there would be no question as to who was the father. It is how he convinced Sethos to allow me to try and save you.”

  My mouth grew drier. “So …” I couldn’t bear to go on.

  “So, he has laid formal claim on you.” Her lips closed for a moment, as if she had to will herself to continue. “He intends you to be his empress.”

  I leaned back against the pillow. I saw it, then. That it had been Keallach’s only way to save me. And yet …

  “Let us go from there, shall we? Hoping for the best, in all?” Tressa said. “Isn’t that what the Maker asks of us?”

  I nodded, but I knew my heart was far more jaded than hers. I’d experienced, firsthand, the depravity and the glory of the human heart.

  And I had no idea exactly where Keallach was on that spectrum now.

  CHAPTER

  42

  RONAN

  What is happening?” I whispered to the servant girl who drew fresh water from the well and passed it from cell to cell. “What news have you?”

  She looked furtively to the guards at the end of the cellblock and didn’t answer me, moving back to the well, dropping the bucket, and pulling it upward again, each crank of the wheel seeming to take an eternity. She moved to the cell next to us, and I shoved men aside, ignoring their cries, so that I could get closer to her.

  “Please,” I said. “I’m a Knight of the Last Order. I need to know. Does Andriana live? What do they plan to do with us?”

  Her dark eyes shifted my way, weighing me to see if I told the truth. “Later,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, her lips barely moving.

  I swallowed my desire to continue to harangue her. She would bring me word if she could, somehow. I had to find the patience to wait. But it was dreadfully hard. With no more than two square feet to stand in, the combined stink of us was enough to send a grown man into a dead faint if one breathed through his nose, and more than two days without much sleep or a chance to sit down … I both wanted to collapse and fight my way out, all at once.

  Some had resorted to crying, on and off. Kapriel had led prayers every few hours, and I supposed his own years of captivity made him more resilient than I to this new torture. The Drifters and Aravanders were more given to screaming their frustration while rattling the bars of their doors. They were used to freedom and wide, open spaces. As I waited through the hours for the servant girl to return, I wondered for the thousandth time if we’d misread our call to this foul city, if we’d been more influenced by Keallach than the call in our own hearts. The Remnants had seemed so certain, so clear that Castle Vega was next. And it had been logical, given that it was the last bastion of Pacifica outside the Wall. But had we allowed pride to rush us? Had it truly been the Maker who called us here, or our brother who just made it seem that way?

  But then, hadn’t Vidar said that we were not alone, that angels accompanied us?

  I shook my head, arguing with myself. If it had been just Keallach … I had my doubts about him, especially now. He’d been so ready to jump in, to offer for Andriana. Yes, it was a means to save her. But wasn’t it somewhat convenient, given what happened at Georgii Post?

  A sound from the hall brought my head up, and it didn’t take long to know that many soldiers were approaching. As they came into sight, with a ring of keys in the first man’s hand, people began to cry out, half in fear, half in hope of release. There were rumors that we were all to be executed. Some said they’d shoot us each through the head. Others said we’d be hanged. Still more thought we’d be impaled, so that our deaths would be as excruciating as possible. “Make an example of us, that’s what they’ll aim for,” said a Drifter.

  The soldiers stopped in the center of the cellblock. “Where is Prince Kapriel? And Ronan of the Valley?”

  “Here,” I said, coughing.

  Kapriel identified himself, several cells down. Both of our doors were opened, and we stumbled out. I gaped at the others as the soldiers stuffed them back in, even as I took my first full breath in days. I could barely move, my legs partially asleep, and the guards roughly took my arms. I looked for the others.

  I spied Vidar first. “Are we alone?” I asked him as we passed. “Are any of our friends about?”

  He gave his head a brief shake. “Not since Niero …”

  I contemplated that. So we could count on no heavenly intervention.

  They put a hood over Kapriel’s head and bound his hands behind his back. Would that be enough to keep him from commanding the skies? I racked my brain for memory of him doing so, but every one involved his hands. Still, could not Dri read another’s emotion, even if she wasn’t touching the person? And Vidar could see without even opening his eyes.

  A sick feeling went through me when another thought came to me. Perhaps we were heading for our executions first. The prince who might threaten his brother’s rule. And Andriana’s guardian and handfasted husband. Were we not the two most threatening of the Ailith? To kill us first might bring the rest low. But if that’s what they thought, they were wrong. Killian and Tressa, Bellona and Vidar … they would find a way to fight back.

  I squinted and winced as we reached the top of the stairs, the daylight nearly blinding me. The guards at my side hastened me forward, making me stumble.

  “Watch it,” grumbled the one on my right. They pulled Kapriel and me down the hallway and took a left, then down another hallway. We emerged onto the patio, where there was a pool, fountain, and luscious green plants.

  Sethos, Keallach, and the Council were awaiting us. A shiver ran down my back. All were in their traditional Pacifican clothes in various shades o
f ivory, except for Sethos, who was in his crimson cape. But unlike the last time we were here, no women paraded about, serving the men drinks and food. My eyes narrowed as I saw that there was another dressed in a red robe. I did a double take. It was Zulon, the monk we’d encountered at Wadi Qelt.

  I thought there was a small smile behind his eyes, which did not bode well for what was to come. We had not parted as friends.

  Keallach rose, one arm in a sling and the other bound behind his back. The Council reluctantly followed suit. Sethos stood behind him. We drew closer, and Keallach approached his brother. “Kapriel, I am here,” he said, leaning toward his twin. “If we remove your hood and free you, do you swear that you shall not use your gifting against us?”

  “I swear it,” Kapriel said after a moment’s hesitation.

  Keallach nodded, and a guard stepped forward and pulled the hood from Kapriel’s head. When he pulled a decorative dagger from his belt and went around Kapriel to cut him loose, Lord Jala interceded. “Not quite yet with that,” he said. “Let us keep some safeguard, shall we? It’s one thing to let him see; it’s another to allow him use of his hands.”

  Keallach grew rigid, as if upset by this intervention, but he said nothing as the guard sheathed the dagger.

  Kapriel blinked slowly, his hair in disarray, as he gradually focused on his brother and the others behind him. “What is it you want?” he said, his voice sandy.

  “We need your help,” Keallach said. “I need your help.”

  I searched his eyes, his gestures, anything that could tell me that he was playing a part, pretending in order to give us some edge, but I could detect nothing. My angst grew.

  “We have brought you forth,” Lord Jala said, stepping up beside Keallach to face Kapriel, “to give you one final chance, my lord prince. Keallach has told us that, over these last weeks, you two have been able to bridge past pain and that you were able to forgive him for the … injustices you feel may have occurred.”

  “Injustices,” Kapriel repeated benignly. “Such as murdering our parents?”

  Keallach inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, as if suffering over the mere mention of their deaths.

  Lord Jala stared back at him dolefully. “For one, yes,” he sniffed.

  “Or imprisoning me for years?”

  “Yes, for that too.” Lord Jala glanced at Keallach and took a step toward Kapriel. “It was our understanding that you might be ready to set your past behind you and rule together with your brother.”

  Kapriel lifted his chin and stared straight back at his twin. “I was ready to rule with him when I thought he had left his dark past behind him. Clearly,” he said, bitterness and betrayal lacing his tone, “I was wrong.”

  Lord Jala looked to Keallach. “You told me you had him in hand. That he would capitulate.”

  “I told you I thought he would work with us. If you would give me a moment to speak to him alone, I—”

  “No,” Sethos said, stepping forward. “This is not a negotiation,” he said, turning back to Kapriel. “This is a simple offer. Rule with your brother or die. There will be no more martyred prince, languishing in a prison. We will kill you and be done with it.”

  Kapriel’s face twisted. “It is not an offer. It is a trap. Just like everything you’ve always ‘offered.’ It’s a means for you and the Council to control us, use us. So to your offer, I have one answer,” he said, leaning forward. “No.”

  “Kapriel,” Keallach began.

  Sethos lifted a hand to him, and he fell silent. It was clear that any power Keallach had once enjoyed was gone. So then, what was his game? What did he hope to accomplish in their fold? I watched him, hoping he would look my way.

  Lord Jala abruptly turned to face me. He lifted his hands to my filthy tunic and straightened it, patting my chest in an overly familiar way. I fought to stay where I was. “I suppose that leads us to you, Ronan of the Valley.” He looked up into my face. “You see, we have two routes to resolve this tiresome dispute with the Trading Union and quell the unrest at home. A throne shared by the twins,” he said, with a wave between them, “or what you most fear.”

  I swallowed hard, my lips clenched.

  “Marriage between Keallach and Andriana,” he went on. “It wouldn’t be quite the same, not nearly as strong, and we had hoped that our wayward princes would let bygones be bygones, but …” He took a deep, dramatic breath with his hand on his belly. “It appears Kapriel has made up his mind, leaving us only one choice. You must dissolve your handfasting with Andriana, and she shall wed Keallach this very night. You were very brave in relinquishing. It had never occurred to me,” he said, leaning in, “that any man would be able to keep himself from bedding his bride at the first opportunity.”

  “Maximillian,” Keallach barked as the rest of the Council chortled and hid their smiles. My face burned, and I longed to wrench free of my ropes and throttle the pretty man’s neck.

  “It was selfless,” Lord Jala went on, straightening. “And had you not acted on your heroic impulse, she would have bled out on the stones yesterday. So you should take that as a comfort, Ronan.”

  He patted my chest again, and I closed my eyes, refusing to flinch. He would like to see that he had power to agitate me. He took a slow turn around me. “We will bring Andriana to us now. The monk from Wadi Qelt will perform the ceremony to dissolve your handfasting. And then you shall stand here to bear witness as she exchanges her vows with Keallach.”

  “No,” Kapriel erupted, his guards holding him back. “Keallach, you can’t.”

  Keallach was staring at the ground. My heart pounded. Was this what he really wanted? Deep down? And wasn’t it a bit convenient that he could blame Sethos and his Council for forcing him to do this?

  “Keallach!” Kapriel shouted, straining to escape again. “What are you doing? What’s happened to you?”

  “Enough, enough,” Lord Jala said wearily. “Be silent now, or we shall gag you.” He looked to me. “You know it must be done, don’t you? Release her willingly, or we shall make her watch you die so that your handfasting vows will be dissolved in the clearest way possible.”

  “Give me the night,” I said, trying to buy time. “Let me consider it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said, waving behind me. I turned with Kapriel to look to the women who approached. First Tressa. Then Andriana, dressed in finery like I’d never seen. Her gown was high-necked and tight across the arms and down her torso, hugging every curve in a sheath of dark blue. There was a teardrop cutout giving a peek at her cleavage, and everything else was covered, but obvious. She was barefoot, and her hair fell in dark curls about her shoulders. Her eyes and lips had been made up, making her impossibly beautiful.

  I gaped at her, my belly a mix of agony and glory. My best friend. My soulmate. My wife. My future lover.

  And yet my wife for not much longer. No longer my future lover.

  Keallach’s.

  I whipped my head toward him. He stood, enraptured at the sight of her too. Full lips parted. Eyes wide. Brows curved in wonder.

  He loved her. He honestly loved her too. And as a Remnant, he had twice the reason to care for her, protect her. Was this the Maker’s way? To save her? Perhaps to work through the two of them to see justice restored to Pacifica? I remembered how she had argued for Keallach, how she’d wished to reach him, turn him back to us. How it had seemed to work.

  But had it? Had it? I searched my mind and heart to discover the truth of it. Was Keallach ours? Or had he been playing us all along?

  He dragged his eyes to me then, with apology and pain clear in them. “Forgive me, brother. It’s the only way,” he said.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “It is. Please,” he said, dropping his tone so Dri couldn’t hear. “Don’t make this any harder on her than it has to be.”

  “Keallach …” Kapriel said, his voice pleading now. “Let us sit down and talk.”

  Keallach ignored him. He didn’t
look away from me. “They’ll kill you,” he whispered. “It is not an idle threat. You saw what it did to her, losing Niero. Don’t make her watch your death too. Not if you can help it. They will use such darkness in her,” he whispered, leaning in, “against us.”

  “Keallach!” Sethos barked, clearly displeased by his whispers.

  But our eyes were locked, a silent promise being made. Keallach was still with us. Warning me of their plans. They hoped I would fight, hoped they would have reason to kill me. Hoped it would throw open the door within Andriana that she always fought, the door that allowed the dark to wreak havoc within her.

  I nodded once and then bowed my head, unable to watch as Dri was led toward me. I forced myself to look at her as my hands were cut free and the small monk approached us. Then the Council encircled us, with Tressa and Kapriel standing on either side of me, bearing silent witness.

  “Ronan,” Dri whispered.

  “Trust me,” I whispered back, tears welling in my eyes too. I knew she felt my pain, the agony within me over this. I hoped she would recognize my surety in this action too. It was the only way. For us to survive. To fight another day.

  “Take her hand, Ronan of the Valley,” Zulon said.

  I did as he asked, wondering if I would ever feel her long, strong fingers in mine again. I felt like I was being strangled.

  The monk took a long silk strip from his shoulder and wound it around our hands, over and under, just as the elder in the Valley had done. He paused a moment, then looked to me. “Say the words,” he said.

  I took a breath and then closed my mouth, unable to force them from my lips.

  She stared at me, openly crying now.

  It was then that I felt the point of a dagger at my lower back, pressing in toward my kidney. “Say them,” Lord Jala hissed.

  I took another deep breath, my eyes searching her face, wanting to memorize every bit of her—her smell, the way she looked, even weeping.