Season of Glory (37 page)

“What has he done?” Kapriel said.

Niero looked to Andriana. “He has compromised your sister, calling upon the low gifts
to compel her when she resisted.”

Kapriel gaped at me with horror in his eyes.

“He . . . kissed me,” Dri said softly, a blush rising on her pretty cheeks and down
her neck—a neck that, Maker help me, I still longed to kiss. “Perhaps compelled me
to kiss him in return. I cannot be certain,” she rushed on, glancing guiltily toward
Ronan, “if it was my own darkness or a darkness within him, or both.”

“What say you?” Niero barked to me.

“It's true,” I said, hating the quaver to my voice. “I gave into my lower gifting,
out of an old desire to have Andriana as my own. I have failed her, Ronan, and the
rest of the Ailith,” I said quickly, lifting both hands in beseeching fashion. “I
beg for your forgiveness, all of you. Trust me. No one wants this . . . untoward
desire to disappear more than I.”

Vidar's smile had faded, and he crossed his arms, chin in one hand, nodding thoughtfully.
He glanced over at his peers, both Remnant and Knight. “We knew when we accepted
him that there was a risk of the dark rising in him again. And if a kiss is the worst
it gets . . .” He quirked a brow and tilted a toothy grin, looking for humorous agreement,
right and left. Finding none, he quickly sobered. “Honestly? I sense no more darkness
in this brother than I do in any of the rest of us. It's just like it is in Andriana—a
kite that seems to catch wind once in a while, threatening to rip away from its string.”

“Or is he merely more adept at keeping it hidden?” Killian asked, edging closer,
as if he could make out the word
guilty
written across my damp, chilled skin. “After
all those years in Sethos's care?”

“If we begin doubting everyone because of what we cannot sense, rather than what
we can,” Tressa said, “then the enemy will bind us without ever touching us! Wouldn't
that be a lovely trick of Sethos's? Planting doubt everywhere, rather than trust.
Come, let us arrive at a quick decision and move on. There are people
I must see
before we leave this place this night, good people we are to heal so they might serve
the Way. I say that Keallach has confessed his shortcomings, his sin.” She moved
past Killian and peered up at my face, toward what must be a bruise, now, on my jaw.
“And from the looks of it, Ronan has exacted his own manner of punishment.” She straightened,
not offering to lend me her healing touch—choosing to let me suffer—and stepped away
again.

“Tressa speaks the truth,” Niero said. “You cannot let such things tie you in knots
for long. You must press through this. It is as important for Keallach as it is for
the rest of you. Search yourself for wisdom.”

Kapriel had begun to pace, hands behind his back, cheeks red. It was as if he felt
my sin as his own. “Have him kneel,” he said.

I did as he asked before Niero could shove me down. I shook my head. This was it.
“I swear I will never harm any of you—or knowingly cause any of you to falter—again.”

“Gather around and place your hands on him,” Kapriel said, ignoring me. They drew
closer, each placing a hand on my head or shoulders or back, as instructed. As they
did so, my arm cuff began to warm as it hadn't in some time. “Search deep within
for the Maker's wisdom, as Niero instructed,” Kapriel said.

“Please,” I whispered, my heart thundering in panic. This was where I belonged. Where
I had been called. “Brothers. Sisters. I was wrong. Please don't cast me out because
of my mistake.”

No one responded. They were silent, closing their eyes, as if listening, searching
me as thoroughly as Andriana could, paying attention to their arm cuffs, but more
than that too. I kept my head bowed, submitting, as I'd not done since the night
of my acceptance into their fold.
Face the truth with humility. Remain confident
in the outcome.

Please, Maker. Let me stay. Let me stay, let me stay, let me stay . . . I was wrong.
So wrong. Help me to avoid such action in the future. I am yours. Theirs . . .

“He is genuine in his apology,” Dri said to the others, her voice little more than
a reverent whisper.

“Or is he genuine in his desire to remain here, with us?” Ronan returned.

Silence resumed as new guilt shot through me. The Knight was correct in his assumption.
What did motivate me more? My desire to stay with them or my contrite heart? I focused
in on what had led me to Andriana, how I'd let passion and desire and an overwhelming
impulse to control her, own her, claim her, be my guide. I felt the lifting of her
hand, as she knew this within me too.

Stick with that line of thinking,
Niero said silently to me.
If you dare to clean
out the dark oils that Sethos left behind, you may find healing. Freedom.

I did as he asked, pressing in when much of me wished to withdraw. Being a Remnant
demanded I find new ways to express the courage that the Maker had planted in me.

Since the moment he knit you together in your mother's womb.

I swallowed hard.
Mother
. I could see her, in memory. So soft. Eyes alight with knowledge
and hope. Until she was dead on the floor, bleeding out.
Mother
.

Father
. So firm and strong, but with a propensity toward playing little jokes on
Kapriel and me. Presenting us with riddles. Laughing. Laughing so hard that his whole
body shook and his face became red, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Father
.

I was weeping. It made me angry that they pressed me so, my supposed Ailith kin.
I fought the urge to send them all flying back, ramming against the far walls, and
barely contained it in time.
I heard Vidar gasp, and then Dri. But I contained it,
focusing on how their goal was my good, our good, not my downfall. They sought not
to control me but to free me of the dark choices I had made, both in the distant
and near past.

“Hold on to him,” Vidar said, and I felt Dri's hand return to my back. “You are ours,
brother,” he said to me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “No longer the enemy's.”
I heard it and recognized his words, but it felt like I was a good distance away,
twisting, turning, and trying to figure out which route I was supposed to take.

“We claim this one as the son of the One who was, and is, and is to come,” Vidar
said. “A child of the Light. Darkness has no place here.” I felt power flow through
me, pushing through me, as if driving out another. I felt sick to my stomach and
feared that all I'd eaten for supper was soon to spew outward.

“You are a
Remnant
,” Tressa said, her small hands lifting my face. Feeling wild,
I fought to focus on her blue, steady gaze, her words ringing with wisdom. “You were
a Remnant from the beginning, and you are a Remnant to the end. Do not allow anyone
else to claim that power, brother. You chose us once. Choose us now, forever.”

I registered her words as the healing balm I needed. Invitation. Direction. Hope.

Life. Abundant life.

“I choose life,” I said, reaching out to grasp her hands in mine and looking around
at the rest. “I choose you, brothers and sisters.”

Killian put a hand on top of mine. “We choose you,” he said solemnly.

“We forgive you,” Vidar said, setting his hand atop Killian's.

“We forgive you,” Bellona repeated, setting hers atop Vidar's.

In turn, the rest repeated those words—the very last being Dri and Ronan—and as I
closed my eyes, I likened it to Dagan, shoveling layer upon layer of dark, moist,
earth atop my pleading seed, allowing it to rest, then to sprout and blossom.

And praying that it didn't get lost among the weeds.

CHAPTER
35

ANDRIANA

I
said the words along with my brothers and sisters, reclaiming Keallach from the
dark
that
threatened to pull him away from us. I still wanted him with us, regardless of what
had transpired, because I was certain it was the Maker's desire. But with my hand
on his back, I knew the wrestling within him. The concern. The doubt. It made my
mouth dry and my palms sweat, all at once. And yet as he gripped arms with the men
and hugged the women, he seemed settled, once again ours in total.

I couldn't really hold him accountable for something that I, too, wrestled with periodically.
Once you'd dabbled with the dark, it left windows open in the soul that the dark
ones loved to visit, trying to gain deeper access. Only time, Asher had once told
me, would help me seal those windows for good. “But they'll always have slightly
weaker locks than others,”
he'd said, giving me a squeeze of the hand and a look
with his brown eyes that made me feel completely seen and understood and loved.

Ronan sidled closer to me, folding his arms and looking toward Keallach, who was
embracing his brother and looking even more repentant. “It's okay?” he whispered
to me. “With him,” he added, jutting out his chin. “He's feeling what he says he's
feeling.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think.”

He cocked a brow, and his hand slid into mine. “You
think
? Now Andriana, are you
using your head instead of your heart?”

“On occasion,” I said, bumping him with my hip and smiling at his gentle teasing.
“I've been told once or twice I should use both.”

“Ahh, yes.” His smile deepened. “And you have such a pretty head . . . and neck .
. . and . . .” His eyes drifted downward.

“
Ronan
,” I said, feeling a blush rush to my cheeks. It wasn't our way to talk about
such things. Was it knowing that Keallach had pressed his way with me that made him
start thinking in such a manner too?

“What?” he said, casting an innocent brow upward. “A husband is allowed to admire
his wife, isn't he?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “for things the Community would admire. Peacefulness, patience,
loving-kindness . . .”

“Ah, well, you have those too, of course. I just also like what it's all wrapped
up in,” he said, finishing the last of his words in a conspiratorial whisper to my
ear.

I ducked my head, as his breath sent a shiver down my neck. And then I looked around
quickly, both worried that someone had seen and irritated that I was worried. He
was my husband, after all.

I thought I caught a glance from Keallach. But when I looked back, he was turning
to leave with Kapriel, as if I was the last person he could possibly be thinking
about. And I thought,
Is this his darkness we're wrestling with, or mine?

There was no debate among us. We departed for Castle Vega as the sun was just rising,
feeling buoyed in spirit by our warm reception at Georgii Post. And yet as we drew
closer to the castle in the Drifter vehicles and trader trucks, I could feel the
tension between my shoulders draw them tighter and tighter. Awkwardly, I moved forward
in the truck, reaching out to steady myself with one handhold after another, until
I could stand and hold a crossbeam beside Vidar and Bellona. I'd noticed him stand
up earlier, and I could tell from his stance that he was feeling a warning too.

“What is it?” I asked loudly, the wind blowing my hair from my face. “What are you
sensing?”

He gave me a half shrug, “Nothing definitive yet. Just a vague foreboding. You too?”

I nodded and looked with him and his Knight to the horizon, where Castle Vega had
just come into view. From this distance, it hardly looked imposing, but we all remembered
it well. What it represented. The dark arts that were practiced there in the streets.
The prostitutes. The fortune-telling. A shiver ran down my back.

“This won't be another Georgii Post experience,” Vidar said to me, no trace of humor
in his eyes, only warning. He'd become more certain in the few moments I'd stood
beside him. “We need to prepare ourselves for a real battle here.”

I nodded and found myself absently reaching for my arm cuff. He was right, of course.
Already, there was a hint of chill
in the metal fused to my skin that had nothing
to do with the cool morning wind blowing in our faces. And yet there was nothing
in me that said anything but
forward
. Nor did I sense anything contrary among the
Ailith.

The caravan pulled to a stop outside the towering gates of Castle Vega, which were
shut up tight. Ronan hopped down off the truck bed and reached for my hand. “It appears
they're expecting us.”

“There's no way they want what happened at Georgii Post to happen here,” Kapriel
said. “It's Pacifica's last outpost within the Union. If word got out that the Pacificans
had been so easily ousted there, Pacifica might be ours without a fight.”