Season of Glory (40 page)

“Release me,” I panted, blinking as a bead of sweat dripped into my eyes. “I command
it.”

“Command it?” Max scoffed. “Your days of commanding anyone are over,
Majesty
. You
were supposed to infiltrate them and bring home Kapriel and your bride. Sethos was
quite clear.”

“And I attempted it,” I said, my mind racing, trying to buy time. “But my efforts
were thwarted. In time, I came to peace about it. Because I found another way. And
has that way not brought both Kapriel and Andriana right here?”

Max let out a scoff. “You found another
Way
, all right. You became the head of the
enemy's party! Zanzibar? Georgii Post? Now Castle Vega? To us, it seems like you've
been conquered, swallowing the story of your fairy tale birthright hook, line, and
sinker.”

“It is not a false tale,” I ground out. “It is living truth. Release me, and I shall
tell you.”

“No,” he sniffed. “We are well aware of your gifting. Sethos believes that in this
posture that gift can be controlled. You need your hands before you.” He nodded,
and a guard beside me wrenched cruelly upward on the chains again. I thought my wrists
would break. I fought for breath as sweat ran down my brow and into my eyes.

“I am your
emperor
,” I seethed, reaching hard to try and make them remember the power
I once wielded.

Max leaned down. “Until you convince us otherwise, you are nothing more than a prisoner.”

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts into a believable tale—some way
to win them over to get out of their cruel hold. “When I arrived at the Citadel,
it became clear that I wouldn't be able to convince Kapriel to leave. He is too ingrained
with the rest, and the others were too protective for me to get him alone. Instead,
I focused on rebuilding our brotherly trust, and I was fairly successful at that.”

“Kapriel forgave you for . . . everything?” he said, his voice dripping with doubt.
“The Isle of Catal? Leaving him to languish? Your parents?”

I stared back at him, remembering how I had once loved him as my best friend. I now
hated him and wished I could send him sprawling with a wave of my hand. “My brother
has a greater capacity for forgiveness than I ever shall have,” I spat out.

“And the lovely Andriana? What came of your efforts with her?”

I glowered at him and turned my face away. Just remembering my move on her the night
before—my
efforts
, as he put it—made me despise myself. I had done as Sethos and
the Council had demanded, even though I knew it was wrong. With Kapriel and with
her. And yet it was all confused in my mind, because I wanted both of them. Wanted
a deeper relationship, wanted access. Wanted control . . . Oh, how I wanted to control
both of them. To own them. To know they served me.

I winced and moved my head slowly, feeling the dark pull again, capturing me, weaving
tendrils around my mind and heart, confusing my holy want with my human desire.

Maker . . .

“You came close to victory, didn't you?” Max whispered, turning a small circle around
me. “But then they managed to turn you for their own goals. You abandoned us,” he
said. “Betrayed us.”

“No,” I whispered back, confusion swirling my thoughts. “No.”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” Daivat said, coming closer, arms crossed. “We trusted you to
do this, Keallach. Believed in you.”

Believed in me.

Niero's words came back to me.
Trust in the Maker, not your own gifting.

This is not about any of you. But him. The Maker.

Maker
, I thought again.
Maker. Help me. You reclaimed me. Help me now.

Max stumbled backward as if I'd hit him, as did Fenris. The others were on their
feet, edging closer, two of them drawing swords, as if I'd drawn my own. And perhaps
I had.

Max advanced on me, digging his fingers across my head, as if he wished to will his
own thoughts into mine.

I cried out, a shameful, unmanly cry that I could not keep from escaping my lips.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You are ours, not theirs. Ours!”

My heart lurched, swelled, and then felt as if it were being torn in two. As if
I
was being torn in two, straight down the middle, the dark on one side and the light
on the other. “Maker,” I gasped.

“Shut up!” Max cried, leaning away to backhand me across the cheek.

My resulting swing to the left wrenched my injured shoulder again, and my vision
swam, making me dizzy.

Max leaned in and pulled me close. “Are we losing you, Keallach? Ah, well. As you
give into unconsciousness, think back on your promises and the call of the one who
made you all you were meant to be.” His tone dropped. “Who
is
that, Keallach? Who
made you who you are, not in legend, but in real life?”

The Maker
, was what came to mind first. But soon after,
Sethos
. He was the one who
had stood beside me for so many years. The one who had helped me usher Pacifica into
an era of wealth and prosperity and relative health. The one who had placed me on
the throne.

Sethos. My master. I'd failed him. Fell to weakness, surrounded by the Ailith.
Failed.
Failed, failed, failed . . .

Max smiled and patted my cheek. “There you are!” he said cheerfully.

Even that tiny motion set my shoulder on fire. And then the room was spinning again
and, blessedly, I succumbed at last to unconsciousness.

CHAPTER
38

RONAN

I
n Palace Pacifica,” Dri said, taking my hand, “we got down to the dungeons via the
servants'
staircase.
Think it's the same here?”

“It's a good guess,” Niero said. “Anyone go below, last time we were here?”

Everyone shook their head. “Only up,” Vidar said.

“Let's try it,” Niero said, already running down the hallway. We all followed behind,
nervously checking every doorway as we went. I kept Dri to the center of the hallway,
ready to yank her away from trouble if someone came from the opposite side and protect
her from my side too. But I grimly admitted to myself that we were just going deeper
into the trap.

“Wait!” I called, and Niero and Azarel pulled up, looking back at us.

“I don't like it,” I said, shaking my head, feeling my cheeks heat as I wondered
if they'd think I was a coward. “We're just getting
farther from any escape route
down there. What if we wait for them to approach us upstairs?”

Niero frowned and looked to Vidar. “What say you?”

Vidar shifted and glanced my way, then to Niero. “I don't like it either,” he said
with a shrug. “Our enemy is ahead. But so is our brother. And if we don't go after
him now, he might be dead or lost to us. Somehow, they've curtailed his gifting,
captured him. I think it's his hands, Niero. Somehow, he needs his hands to be free
in order to use his gift. And they've figured that out.”

I swallowed hard. It was true. And we needed Keallach and his gifting if we were
to win this war and honor what the Maker had put into motion.

Niero looked each of us in the eyes. “All right, I think we're in agreement. But
stay together. Do you understand me? We work
together
. Keallach is our example—if
they get you alone, they can expose a weakness. Those who are not Ailith, spread
out along the perimeter once inside, and work your way inward. Be ready for my call.
Those who are Ailith, stay together. Defend one another.”

His instructions were passed backward. I felt like we were a powerful, tremendous
force, but having to enter through a solitary doorway only big enough for one man
or woman at a time sent alarms ringing in my head. “Stay close, Dri,” I hissed. She
nodded and squeezed my hand, following behind me as we entered the dark, musty hall.

Ahead of us were two huge Aravanders, plus Niero, Azarel, and Kapriel. Tressa, Killian,
Vidar, and Bellona were behind us. Every protective fiber in me rose at the thought
of Keallach, swiped from our very grasp. The fact that they were able to accomplish
such a feat burned, and I inwardly vowed that neither Dri nor Kapriel would be taken
away from me in similar fashion. Not while I was still living.

We walked between two banks of cells, and I was chagrined to see people wasting away
within them. Some came to the iron bars, reaching out grimy hands to beseech us to
save them. If the Maker would smile upon us over the next hour, perhaps we could
come back this way and find a way to free them. Even as we passed, Tressa hurriedly
went to the well and took the full bucket that sat there taunting them, and passed
it to the nearest cell for the prisoners to share.

“Bless you, lady, bless you,” the prisoners murmured.

But our attention was on what was before us. A line of torches lit up the cavernous
room beyond that spread the entire width of the castle, from side to side, and was
braced by huge stone arches that climbed three stories above us. It was a foundation
level, providing the strength to shore up the weight of the impressive towers and
rooms above. It was an architectural triumph, really, something I'd read about in
the construction of castles of old, but had never seen for myself. Palace Pacifica
likely had something similar, but there I had focused on getting up above, to Andriana,
rather than beyond the dungeons that once held me.

I pulled her a bit closer as my arm cuff grew Hoarfrost-cold. Grimly, I recognized
we were heading right where we were supposed to go. To face our enemies. What form
would they take this time? I was glad for the additional troops, spreading now around
the massive hall's perimeter. They would flush out any enemy hiding among the crates
and bales of supplies. We walked and walked and finally saw Keallach, hanging by
a chain with his arms cruelly pinned behind him, on his knees, clearly unconscious.

Rage set my heart to pounding, even if it was Keallach. He was our brother. Our kin.
They would pay for his mistreatment.

“Together, Ailith,” Niero said, drawing both curved blades out as the Council stepped
into view, each carrying his own weapon. “Work together. Do not let them separate
you.”

“Niero,” Kapriel whispered, belatedly understanding as he stared in horror at his
twin. “Down here . . . without reach of the sky . . .”

We all comprehended his meaning at once. This was why they'd divided the twins. Why
they had kept Keallach from lifting his hands before him, and separated Kapriel
from the weather he could command. And without the twins' full gifting at our disposal,
this would be a more challenging fight than we'd even imagined. We'd lost our two
chief weapons. My hold tightened on my sword. Killian, Bellona, and Dri tensed around
me. Azarel drew back on her bow, arrow notched, and Vidar's fingers danced over the
triggers of two pistols. Tressa—bless her—shouldered a shield; I knew she had several
daggers at her belt, but her most significant weapon would be to pray protection
for all of us at the front—and for healing over those who fell.

“Welcome, welcome,” Maximillian said from behind Keallach's shadowed form, lifting
his hands and flashing us a grin, as if we joined him at a banquet table instead
of this dank pit. “How I've longed for this day.” With those words, he brought his
hands together and smiled over at us. “Undoubtedly, you thought you'd seen the last
of me,” he said, moving around Keallach's inert form. “Thankfully, Pacifica boasts
some fine physicians, and they were able to save me from death's fearsome clutches.
I regret to say, however, that none of those healers are here, in Castle Vega. So
as each of you”—he paused to look down the line of us—“lies dying here, your blood
seeping between the blocks of this wonderful castle, know this—
no one
will come to
save you.”

“It is you who are in mortal danger,” Niero said. “You are surrounded, our soldiers
moving closer even now!” He shouted the last of his words, and they echoed through
the massive chamber, giving those with us the signal to move in. Then he turned back
to Lord Jala with a narrowed gaze. “Surrender now, and we shall not kill you. We
will set you free with enough water and food to cross the Great Expanse on foot and
see where the Maker's will leaves you.”

“Well,” Lord Jala sniffed, “I don't much care for the sound of that. Your own journey
brought you close to death, did it not? Before you reached the emperor's sanctuary?”
He glanced down at Keallach, as if our brother was sitting on a throne instead of
in chains and unconscious. In that moment, I saw the glint of madness in his eyes
and knew that our last battle had not only done damage to his body, but also to his
mind. He'd always hovered at the edge of it. “No,” he said. “I don't believe that's
my chosen end.” He drew out his sword and stared straight at me.

Sethos chose that moment to enter the circle of light cast by the torches, his red
cape swirling about his legs as he stopped. I felt Andriana shrink back a bit, farther
behind me. “So there shall be blood,” he said, looking at Niero. “Or we shall take
Keallach, Kapriel, and Andriana and depart, leaving you and your precious Ailith
whole.”

“Never,” Niero ground out, his ivory wings peeking up over his shoulders.

“Never say never,” Sethos said, dark wings unfurling. “Attack!”

The two rose in a streak above us, staff and curved blades clanging as crates all
about us opened, the men hidden inside letting loose a battle cry. My momentary
hope that we outnumbered our enemy fell away like grim, dry flakes, and I turned
to counter Lord Jala's first strike.

He was surprisingly strong, given his grave injuries just weeks before. I remembered
him bleeding out across the intricate, beautiful flooring of Palace Pacifica and
wished I had finished him then so he wasn't here today.