Season of Glory (15 page)

Killian didn't like that I had called him out. He stared at me for a long moment
as the others grew silent. At first, I could feel his resentment, almost
hear
the
derogatory response on his tongue, but then there was a softening, the wash of wisdom
warming him, the soothing pull of the Way. “You speak the truth, Dri. But I'm telling
you now, it will be difficult to keep my anger in check.” He shook his head in apology,
and some of his dreadlocks fell over his shoulder.

“We're with you,” Bellona said, putting a hand on his other huge forearm. “Look to
us if you doubt your ability to discern between protection and retribution.”

“I will,” he said with a nod.

“It is imperative that we move with the Maker here, not in any way against him,”
Niero said, looking around at all of us. “As Tressa said, it begins with those she
is to heal. So let us find that person, or people, and then see where we are led
next. But now, we must move. Once it grows dark and people are indoors, our movement
will be more conspicuous.”

We rose, and as we did so we came together, putting our hands together in the center
of our circle, each saying a short prayer. “Protect us, Maker,” Niero said. “Go before
us,” Kapriel said.
Beside us . . . behind us . . . move within us . . . move those
around us . . . show the people your power . . . call them away from the dark . .
. and to the light.

By the time we were done praying, the energy in that dark stable felt more like the
warmth of a popping campfire, hours old. Pure joy and assurance surrounded us, the
hallmarks of the Maker. It was true; we all knew it.

We were here on his mission. Now it was time to see it through.

CHAPTER
17

KEALLACH

M
aximillian burst into the western sanctuary as I knelt on the floor, meditating.
I
cast
aside my irritation over his interruption; I hadn't managed to focus on any sense
of inner peace since the day I returned to the palace and found Andriana gone.

Seeing my silent assent, Max grinned. “They've been seen. All the Remnants are in
Zanzibar.”

“Zanzibar?” I said, rising, feeling my weak knees. She was there. They all were.
But in
Zanzibar
? “Surely they don't think they can win over anyone there to the Way.
Lord Darcel himself told me he'd have every one of their heads for daring to free
a prisoner from his palace walls.”

“Then perhaps Sethos and his men won't have as much to do upon their arrival,” Maximillian
said, grinning and crossing his arms. He held up his hands when he saw my expression.
“No,
no, Majesty. Lord Darcel has been informed. No harm is to come to either Lady
Andriana or Prince Kapriel.” He stepped closer and laid a hand on both of my shoulders.
I noticed he was looking stronger today, more himself. “Perhaps this very night,
it will be over. The Remnants—and their rebellion—quashed. Those you love, back where
they belong, where their gifting can be . . . utilized best. It's finally happening,
Keallach,” he added in a cheerful whisper, using my familiar name. “All that you've
dreamed of.”

He dropped his hands and went to the window with a spring in his step. “We'll bring
your brother here, reinstate him as sub regent to you, and you shall wed Andriana.
Together, the three of you will be the face of the new Pacifica. All will willingly
follow you.”

My heart pounded. Could it be? Had the Maker made a way for my own plans to unfold,
exactly as I had dreamed? A bit dazed, I walked to stand beside the window with Maximillian
and looked over the green lawn to the sea. Andriana had loved the sea. She'd wanted
to go swimming. Now she'd have the chance.

“How do you know they're in Zanzibar? Will they realize they've been recognized?”

“Easy, easy,” Maximillian said, a cocky quirk to his smile. “We have spies everywhere—not
among the Zanzibian guards, among the people. And it was two of them that radioed
us the information.”

I breathed a little easier. The Knights would've been very aware of any of the guards
or Zanzibian patrols. But in a crowded city like that . . .

“There's more,” Maximillian said, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “We've
activated Kapriel's and Andriana's ID chips. Not only will Sethos know they're in
Zanzibar, he'll know exactly where they are. I tell you, Majesty, tonight they shall
be ours again, and the Remnants' cause will be something of the past.”

I gaped at him. “The Aravanders took out the Pacifican servants' chips as soon as
they entered the Valley! Do you think they'd allow Kapriel and Dri to walk about
with them still embedded?”

“No,” he said, lifting a brow. “But neither of them know they have one. Kapriel's
was embedded in the center of his back when he was so terribly ill. Andriana's was
embedded when she was in and out of unconsciousness, in those first days in the palace.”
He held up his hands again when I shot him a dark look, remembering my rage at her
mistreatment. “It wasn't me. It was Sethos. And while I did not approve of his methods
at the time, I have to admit, it will serve us well in the days to come.”

“Where?” I grumbled. “Where did they put it on Dri?”

He steepled his fingers and looked back out to the ocean. “Directly atop her cracked
rib, where she was feeling some pain already and wouldn't think about it further.”

I let out a huff of a laugh and shook my head. The ID chips were incredibly tiny.
And given that neither carried their chip in the traditional Pacifican location of
the right shoulder . . .

I reached out and patted Maximillian on the back. “Well done, brother. Well done.
Now order a transport. We will travel through the night. I want to be near Zanzibar
as fast as possible. Because when this tide shifts, I want to be there to witness
it firsthand.”

RONAN

A
large part of me thought we would be heading into the inner district, the city's
dark
center,
where we'd encountered the prostitutes and drug dealers before, and where we'd eventually
found Tressa and Killian's hiding place, deep within the sewers below. But when the
Remnants urged us, as one, toward the palace, my breath caught.
Not there, Maker,
I breathed.
Anywhere but there.

Surely he wouldn't send us where we might be most in danger. Where we could not hide.
Where we'd have little chance of slipping in and then slipping out of this cursed
city.

Or would he?

I took a deep breath, and Vidar caught my look of understanding, clasping me on
the shoulder. “Hold on, brother,” he said. “This is bound to be . . . new.”

I concentrated on Dri's hand at my waist, her pace matching mine. She was with me,
behind me, I reminded myself. Safe for the moment. There was not one among us who
didn't understand that we were to go wherever the Maker sent us. But wariness and
wonder twined in every one of our hearts.

“Do you think there are any trackers here, in the city?” she asked quietly, memories
of our past experience clear in her tone. I wished I could turn and face her; I didn't
like that she wasn't beside me, my partner, my equal, my love. For all to see. And
I hated that she was afraid, that I couldn't protect her from the truth. “It's a
distinct possibility. Pacifica will want to protect her allies from the infiltration
of the Way.”

“Then why does he not show himself?”

“Because
they
do not yet want to be seen.”

She fell silent. But it was necessary, this warning. As readily as we'd gained entrance
to this city, I knew there would be no easy exit. And there was no way that Pacifica
wasn't watching every single person who entered or exited the Valley now, either.
Spies were everywhere. I'd felt their eyes upon us from the moment we had left the
comforting cover of the pines and had begun plodding through the damp sands of the
desert, and then with increasing weight as we drew closer to Zanzibar. Regardless
of what the Maker would have us do here, we had to do it quickly and return to the
relative safety of the Valley as soon as we possibly could.

Niero didn't pause at a cross street that would have led us deeper into the city.
He just continued, unabated, toward the palace, which loomed larger before us all
the time. Vidar, just ahead of me now, with Bellona trailing behind him, wavered
on occasion, and I knew he must have been seeing what we all sensed—the damnable
creatures of the dark, watching, observing our trek forward. And yet no soldiers
came against us; no whistles shrieked; no bells clanged in warning. I tried to ignore
the admiring, lustful glances of the men we passed by, knowing that my jealousy would
only increase Dri's angst. But thankfully, by walking in this manner and wearing
the band of leather around her wrist that marked her as a married woman in Zanzibar,
the glances were fleeting. The men knew there was one sure way to quarrel with another
in this city, and that was to make a move on another man's woman.

I silently thanked the elders for acquiescing and allowing our binding, if not full
marital vows. When we'd entered the city before, we'd been lucky to avoid detection
for our first precious hours on the streets, no one noticing our women were missing
the leather bracelets. But even Tonna hadn't offered anything but paperwork to get
us through the gates that day. I knew it was all a ruse, really. No piece of jewelry
or binding vows could keep Andriana fully safe. Only the Maker could. But I was fully
in favor of using every element at my disposal to try. And while our binding both
partially satisfied me and aggravated me because our union wasn't complete, it was
something. The Maker had made a way for us to be together and to honor the Community's
ways and the elders' intent. And I would choose to find satisfaction in that, over
and over again.

Zanzibar was a city with curving walls and concentric circling streets inside. But
the palace before us took up a good portion of the western edge of the city, and
what it lacked in graceful style, it made up for in sheer size. Before, we'd managed
to distract the
guards that patrolled high above and scaled the walls; I doubted
that trick would work again. And it appeared that Tressa was guiding Killian straight
to the palace gates, despite the fact that her Knight argued furiously over his shoulder
with her.
Straight to the gates?
My heart pounded, and sweat broke out on my clenched
palms. What sort of madness was this? Forget the bindings, the tattoos. We might
as well have just turned ourselves over to the city guards. We'd be hopelessly outnumbered
in the palace.

“Take courage, Knight,” Niero said, alongside of us for a moment. “We arrive here
far more powerful than when we were here last.”

I snorted. “But we didn't exactly enter into the lord's lair directly,” I hissed.
“We freed Tressa and ran, as I recall.”

“The time for running is over,” he said evenly, looking into my eyes. “It is time
to stand and claim what belongs to the Maker. And what belongs to the Maker?”

“Everything,” I said slowly, wondering over the truth of that word, even as it came
from my mouth.

“Indeed,” he said, giving me a hint of a smile. He and Azarel pressed forward, presumably
to be closer to Killian and Tressa when we reached the palace gates. There were no
beggars about as we neared it, as there were in the wealthier parts of other towns
and cities. There were no handicapped children or aged men that Tressa might be called
to heal. But then that made sense; the Lord of Zanzibar banished or killed anyone
with any infirmity at all. Which only led me to believe that the one we were called
to heal—the reason we'd been summoned to this foul city—was within.

I stifled a groan as Killian did what I'd feared and walked directly up to the palace
guards, standing at the center of twelve others. Above, on the wall, there were an
additional six. “We
demand an audience with the Lord of Zanzibar,” Killian said,
his voice sounding strangled.

“Of course you do,” retorted the guard, looking him up and down, as well as Tressa,
then on to the rest of us. “And who are you?” He brought up his gun and leveled it
at Killian's throat. We stilled. The other guards followed suit, all bringing up
their weapons and aiming them at us. Above us, I could hear the crack of additional
weapons coming off of safety.

“We are the prophesied Remnants,” Tressa said, coming out from behind Killian. “Zanzibian-born.
As well as our Knights and companions,” she went on, voice high and clear, her eyes
blazing with a confidence that could only come from the Maker. “There is one in this
palace who ails, and I have been called to heal him.”

The chief guard gaped at her. “Even if you are who you say you are, you have your
information wrong, girl,” he sneered, squinting at Tressa as if he recognized her.
Her hair was hidden beneath a hood, or they would surely have identified her as their
escaped prisoner. “The Lord of Zanzibar allows no illness outside his gates, let
alone within.”

“It is a child,” Chaza'el said, stepping forward, only stopping when another guard's
gun pressed into his chest. “A tiny babe. The lord's own son.”

“The lord's heir has yet to be born,” scoffed the guard, puffing out his chest. “And
when he is, he shall be as whole and hale as my own.”

“He was born this morning,” Tressa said. “But the child's heart is weak, his life
fading from him even now as we—”

The guard moved as if to strike her, and she shied away, but Killian stayed his hand.

Behind them, the gate unexpectedly opened. The chief guard scowled over his shoulder
and wrenched his wrist from Killian's
grip. A younger man hurried up to him, looking
tentative, and whispered in his ear. The chief guard straightened, took a breath,
and then turned to the other guards. “These people have been summoned within,” he
said gruffly, as if it was his own idea. “Relieve them of their weapons, and search
them to be certain no more remain in hidden places.”